Wednesday, May 2, 2012

It's a little bit like that terrifying mouse roller coaster at Lagoon

A couple years ago I started taking Paxil (see previous post for reason why) to help me get out of bed and take care of my kids and not kill someone or myself and on and on. I have this to say about selective serotonin re-uptake inhibitors:


I needed it about 7 years ago when I had postpartum depression that turned into regular 'ol depression then into homicidal, home wreckin' lunacy. Yeah. That happened.
Fast forward to the day after my 31st birthday. I love the strange birthday connection. 
It went something like this:

Dr. Jones: looks like you've been going at this for about two years. What do you think about...
Dr Jones: GEEZ! Get a fucking grip, lady! 
Dr. Jones: The only way to know is to try.
Dr. Jones: Maybe you need something a little stronger, PSYCHO!

Ok really. I was scared and Dr. Jones (in his infinite wisdom) told me that I could go back on it if it turned into a disaster and that made everything better. We made this really tricky weaning plan that had something to do with serotonin sickness and Jedi mind tricks. He assured me that my friends and family would DEFINITELY tell me if I needed to get back on it. The Weather Bunny promised that she would tell me if I was being a whack-job and that she would be right there waiting for me when I got over hating her for calling me crazy. Jennie and Greg (team of therapists. not joking. i like therapy and believe in voodoo doctors) would support me if it got hard. Bri promised she would point and laugh when I cried over lambs. (I did it to her so I deserve it)

Here I am. 3 weeks in. It has been uneventful for the most part. I have not done anything that is alarming to anyone and I have not felt like I couldn't lift my arms or get out of bed at any point! YES! YES! YES! I'm doing it!

There have been weird physical withdrawal symptoms, a little bit of yelling and a whole lot of crying. It all seems pretty normal! The best part of it is that I KNOW that I'm going to be ok. I can laugh at my crying and I can look at myself and say: That is reasonable, that is crazy talk, that is being creepily codependent, those are terrible boundaries, that is a great place to be vulnerable, that is not about you, it's ok to cry about lambs and Peregrine Falcon eggs but it's not ok to obsess about one person's raised eyebrow or lack of returning phone calls. YOU, Sarah O'Dell, ROCK! In and of yourself regardless of how anyone else behaves. 

Now to the best part where you get to laugh and point about my withdrawal:

I have a lot of tears in there and they are mostly those happy or deeply touched tears. Not sad tears. 
I have cried TODAY about Peregrine Falcons, Jamie, Warren, 3 songs, and an old blog post. It's only noon.

I diagnosed myself with Restless Leg Syndrome at 4am this morning. Thank you WebMD for fueling the imaginations of hypochondriacs everywhere. 

I added TuneWiki to my Spotify apps so I could sing sad songs really loudly and sing the right words.

Funny crazy roller coaster ride. Not so bad. Thanks for the fun, Paxil. See you on the flip side!