I feel as if I've been underwater for days on end. My skin is wrinkly from too much time spent submerged in a sea of despair, anger, fear, depression and self pity. At least I had the foresight to send up a smoke signal to a couple of friends who have been hanging onto me with everything they have, and kept my head above the water. But I tell ya, it's gonna take ages for my skin to lose it's Sharpei-like appearance.
I suppose I need to backtrack a little for any of this to make sense.
Since discovering that the increased dosage of Zoloft was going to damn near kill me, Sweeney Todd had me back way off of it. He also had me start Cymbalta today. The dizziness abated rather quickly whilst the nausea hung around. Feeling like I'm going to be ill was far preferable over the dizziness. Just sayin! However, I was not expecting to feel as if I wanted everything to end and literally, did not want to go on anymore.
Don't worry, I didn't take action on those thoughts. But nonetheless, it scared the living shit out of me to the point that I was actually having thoughts of sitting in a bathtub full of water whilst I bled to death. I'm not sure if a massive anxiety attack was the precursor to it or the after-effects because the past two days I've suffered absolutely paralyzing panic attacks that have left me physically ill. Yesterday was the worst though.
Whilst I rarely leave the house, the days that the Little Imp is in Montessori, I do have to pick her up. It's way out in the middle of nowhere and I usually try and time her pick up when not a lot of other parents will be there as well. Once I got her in the car I burst into tears and immediately thought about how much better her life would be without me. I thought about how Meg and I wouldn't be going through something akin to pre-separation anxiety as she readies to leave for college. And my hubby...my loving, supportive hubby who has to be so tired of this bullshit, although he never says an unkind word and is the first person to advocate for me, and is my constant cheerleader...he's put up with so much. I just felt like they'd all be better off without me. Scary stuff kiddies, scary stuff.
Once I got home, I phoned Sweeney Todd and told him what was going on. I was, at that point, less weepy but still in a pretty dark place. He then tells me that what I'm going through is common in someone coming off a high dosage of Zoloft and if I felt I was in any danger to immediately go to the ER.
WHAT THE FLYING FUCK?
Um, excuse me Mr. Comb-Over-With-a-PHd...nice goddamn time to tell me this. Don't you think you should have told me this before we decided to taper off the Zoloft? It would have been nice to know there was a chance I might feel like this. I told him I was having a rather Emo day, to say the least, and some advance warning would have been swell.
Thankfully none of the scary shit came to fruition, I started the Cymbalta today and I'm not anywhere near the abyss that I was yesterday. And that is in great part, NOT due to Sweeney Todd, but to some awesome bloggy friends, one in particular that I emailed when I knew what I was feeling was BAD. VERY.BAD. And not even knowing me very well, Steph immediately reached back out and threw me a lifeline and told me to hang on with everything I have. And I did. I'm so incredibly grateful for the time she spent emailing me, assuring me there was something worth holding onto, and to not give in to the shit that wanted to pull me under. And then there is my beloved Beej who has made it a point to check on me each and every day, and in her own Fucking Awesome way, make sure I hadn't drowned.
And, it goes without saying, everyone that's left me comments on my various posts about all of this...your words, your prayers and thoughts and heartfelt sentiments mean the world to me. I promise, I will reach out to each and every one of you when the sun starts shining a little brighter. Just know that you mean the world to me and I'm gobsmacked at the depth of your care and concern over what's going on in my life. It's completely overwhelming...in a good way. I can't leave out my Twitter peeps who've kept me giggling, whether it be about doable celebrity snake owners or the short list of doable fictional movie and literature characters.
That reminds me, Mrs. Waltz , I promise to keep mum about Angel and Spike, if you keep quiet about the twins. Deal?
On that note, I am going to take Steph's suggestion and go squeeze my Little Imp.