The Drugs Don’t Work

Fluoxetine HCl 20mg Capsules (Prozac) - Image via Wikipedia

Sometimes, the drugs don’t work…they just make you worse…like that song by The Verve, which just happened to play on my iPod last night while it was in shuffle mode on my drive home from physical therapy.

It was an unfortunate coincidence that made me more emotional, because I recently experienced a situation, and am still experiencing it to a certain degree, an example of when the drugs don’t work…they just make you worse.

You may have noticed in a previous post that my doctor recently increased my dose of Prozac as my original 40 mg dose wasn’t helping anymore.  He raised me to 60 mg, which seemed logical to me, and said to give it 6 weeks unless I notice that I’m feeling worse.

Well, after four days on the increased dose, my best friend said, “You’re acting kinda bitchy, like more than usual.  Are you okay?”

Uhm…I hadn’t noticed anything, I thought.  Maybe I’m just tired?

"Panic Attack or Anxiety PTSD" - Image via Wikipedia

After a week on the increased dose, I found myself feeling very anxious.  My mind was racing, but I didn’t have the energy to do anything. Once I started doing something, I felt like someone used a remote control to put me on fast forward as I baked cupcakes for a party.  I was shaking, and I couldn’t take control of my mind.

My appetite was gone as well.  I was grossed out by the dinner I made, which was honestly kinda gross, even to my family, as I attempted experimenting with something new for dinner and it failed miserably.

Cooking tip from the Always Sick Chick:  Do not attempt new recipes in the kitchen while taking new drugs or new dosages of drugs.

Even so, without the nastiness I made and had the nerve to call “dinner”, nothing else in the house was appetizing. I was nauseated. I was hungry, but I couldn’t eat.  This alone is very strange for me.

I laid down on the couch.  My body was exhausted, but my brain wouldn’t shut up.  Suddenly, it felt as if a cloud lifted.

“You look like you’re feeling better,” my husband said to me.

“I suddenly feel like I can breathe again,” I replied.

In the morning, although I was tired, I was feeling better. My husband took care of the bulk of the chores, knowing that I was near useless and wanting to be helpful before going rock climbing.  Before he left, I felt fine and told him he could go.

Imagine a baby crying, & now imagine a grown woman crying like this baby. That was me, and that is the face of PPD. - Image via Wikipedia

Shortly after he left, however, I began to break down again.  This time, instead of racing thoughts and me acting like I was on speed, I was breaking down on my office floor in tears like I just heard the news that someone close to me just died.

There was no reason for me feeling the way I was feeling.  Usually, even my depression and anxiety are triggered by something that I’m stressed out about or unhappy about, and I just can’t deal with the emotions and thoughts, so I spiral out of control.  This time, however, I just felt like my world was coming undone…for no reason.

I was bawling my eyes out and shaking.  I was having a complete and total breakdown, and I was having flashbacks of my PPD (Postpartum Depression) and immediately felt grateful that my kids were well occupied playing on their Wii…and equally grateful that there were no babies in the house that would begin to cry and require my attention and care as I sat useless and pathetic up against my filing cabinet.

PPD was so much harder.  Babies need their moms for everything, and that’s difficult and painful when Mommy is falling apart.

I couldn’t get ahold of my husband.  Naturally, one doesn’t receive much in the way of cellphone service on a mountainside.  I sent him a text: “I’m not doing well.  Please come home and call me.”

I had a party to go to, but I wasn’t sure I would make it.  Even so, I kept preparing for the party. After all, I was in charge of bringing the food. Even if I didn’t make it to the party, my husband could deliver the food and cake and I would at least have contributed what I said I would.  I could stay home and have my breakdown in the confines and privacy of my home and not ruin anyone’s day.

But before I could pull myself together enough to prepare for the party, I sat on the floor hugging my knees falling apart while holding my phone wondering who I could call if I couldn’t pull myself together.

In the end, I didn’t call anyone.  Thankfully, I didn’t need to.  But it could’ve gone differently if I hadn’t decided to push through it.

"I Think I'm Paranoid And Complicated" - Image by camerakarrie via Flickr

I decided, even though I wasn’t okay, I still needed to get stuff done. So I wrapped the gifts for the party.  Gift wrapping was amazingly therapeutic.  I calmed down, my head cleared again, and I sent my husband another text.  “I’m okay now.  But please call me.”

I went to the party, and I was able to enjoy myself, but the entire time, I had to check my emotional responses to things.  My logical mind was, thankfully, still intact, and I was able to remind myself, “Don’t let that bother you. That doesn’t usually bother you. It was just a joke.  Don’t take it personally.  Take a breath and calm down.”

Five years ago, I would’ve blown up in such a situation.  But I know now that such responses aren’t logical or appropriate.  I felt uncomfortable the whole time, but enjoyed myself for the most part and kept reminding myself that this too shall pass.

I reduced my dose of Prozac back down that night.  I’ve been on the lower dose for 3 days now.  I’m still a little emotional, feeling like I could cry at the drop of a hat.  I feel extremely depressed, undeserving of happiness, and paranoid.  When I say paranoid, I mean things like, “My husband is going to leave me because I’m crazy,” and “My husband hates me.” I do that with other people too. When I’m in social situations, and I’m in the wrong frame of mind, my paranoia tells me, “These people don’t actually like me.  They pretend to care about me to my face, but they really hate me, talk about me when I’m not around, and laugh about me and my problems.”

When I don’t feel mentally ill, I feel like I can trust these same people, and I tell myself that if it turns out I can’t trust them, then screw them.  I don’t need people in my life who will treat me that way.  When I’m not right in the head, my brain says something else.  My mind loses all logic and I just become afraid.  I’m afraid of being myself. I’m afraid of being vulnerable, because I’m as vulnerable as I could ever be at that moment, and I’m also terrified that I’m going to do something to embarrass myself.

A public breakdown frightens me more than anything.  Why? Because people are so judgmental, and being that vulnerable in a public place surrounded by strangers and acquaintances or people who aren’t my family, is the most terrifying thing that I think could potentially happen to me next to losing one of my children.

Question:  Have you ever had thoughts and feelings like those I have described above?  How do you handle it?