This week has been quite the week and I can say that I’m officially ending it with more appreciation and respect for recovering alcoholics and drug addicts.
Rewind to Tuesday, the 12th. My 3rd and final “introductory” session with a new therapist. (side note: previous therapist fell off of the face of the planet, thanks COVID, so I sought out someone new and I really like her – she’s an older radical hippy, we get along smashingly) My appointment was at 10 am and it flew by. I went back to work and by that afternoon I had developed a lovely headache later on. Oh well, the downfalls of office life, right? Fast forward to when I was particularly unpleasant when I got home that afternoon, for no damn reason, and decided to put myself to bed by 8:30 before I wreaked any more havoc on the day. Getting ready for bed, I noticed the pill bottles sitting next to the sink and thought to myself “What are the odds I forgot to take them this morning…” and sure as shit…
I forgot both of my antidepressants.
When you’re prescribed antidepressants, you get all sorts of information on what you can expect, side effects, warnings, etc. You also get told about the importance of not missing doses in order for the product to work properly. Duh, just like my birth control. What they DON’T tell you.. is that if you miss just ONE dose after a few years of taking it, you’ll go through withdrawals. And feel like you were hit by a Mack truck. Or have the worst hangover of your life. Either way, it’s not fun.
Now withdrawals are different for everyone I would imagine, but a lot of the symptoms are the same. I thought that Wednesday would be the only day I felt like shit – managed to make it through work and the rest of the day just fine. Come Thursday morning at 5am – night sweats, body aches, and a pounding headache that felt like an anvil being continuously dropped on my head. 10 out of 10 would not recommend. Didn’t know antidepressant withdrawal is a thing, now I do and now I have set alarms to avoid that shit show again.
It’s Friday and I’m finally back to feeling semi-normal, whatever the fuck that is, but I’m no longer “dying” like I thought I was yesterday.
I’ve always respected and have had appreciation for those trying to quit their addictions, but even more so now. I couldn’t imagine trying to wean off of anything aside from my happy pills if that’s the physical body response our body gives. We all know someone in our lives addicted to some substance, whether it be nicotine, drugs, or alcohol. Should they decide to try and quit these bad habits, just be there for them. Not only is it mentally and emotionally taxing, but the physical side effects are something else on their own entirely.
Until next time, all my love 💗
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