Discussion»Questions»Health and Wellness» Do your meds make you do crazy things or do they keep you from it? I think I know the answer but I'd love to hear your version of reality.
I'm not sure how to answer that but I can think of two instances where some odd things have happened. Once I awoke to find myself banned from several online groups. Why? I have no clue. LOL And on yet one other occasion, I wrote a rather bizarre letter in the middle of the night to my little chickadee and do not recall doing it, but the ramblings have been preserved in the anals of history.
OMG! That letter. LOL! That was the same night you were whacked out on Ambien here at the Mug. Funny stuff. Don't tempt me to post that letter. I still have a copy. Rich material indeed.
Ever since the doctors prescribed me this set of pills, I’ve had this strange penchant for collecting a particular punctuation mark, I obsess about English grammar, and for some odd reason, I crave sandwiches that must be made for me by beautiful women. Other than that, I’m fine!
Haven't been on meds for 8 years. But prior to that, I was on an antidepressant (SSRI) for two years the first time, and six years the second.
The first time, it took four weeks for the effects to kick in, but when they did it was a revelation. It was suddenly clear that throughout my life, I had rarely been happy, didn't really know what happiness was. Suddenly, even breathing was a pleasure.
The effects accumulated over time - leading eventually to a total loss of fear - and that became dangerous. Have to go now, but I'll return tomorrow to finish the post.
So, during that first two years on the SSRI, Aropax, my happiness was related to the new ability to notice and savour the simplest pleasures - fresh air, a hot shower, a cup of tea, the flower on a weed in a gutter.
In the beginning, the drug had little effect on my sex drive. But as is accumulated in my system, a shift took place. I moved from desire and enthusiasm to just not minding if I had sex or not. Although Ari still did what had always worked before, nothing could turn me on. I did it for Ari's pleasure. Over the two years, my loss of libido slowly increased. Physiological changes made it uncomfortable and I became averse. This was emotionally very painful for Ari who felt rejected and unloved. It says a lot for the depth of friendship that our relationship survived this phase. Ari and I got married at about this time - and the honeymoon was a beautiful sojourn in Daintree National Park, but utterly sexless.
One of the best surprises was losing my fear of people. That deep unconscious anxiety, the fear of bullying and of rejection, had been keeping me isolated in my sculpture studio for years. On the SSRI, I could go to gallery openings, community meetings, hippie encampments - talk to anyone and enjoy it. I made many acquaintances and a few friendships developed. But there were other side effects creeping up. I was losing fear - and didn't yet recognise it. Growing careless with money, I bought a young Arabian stallion, kept him stabled at Centennial Park (was living in Glebe in the centre of Sydney in those days) and rode him every day. I felt sorry for him, bought him two young Arabian mares and moved them out to agistment outside Sydney, where I commuted to continue training and riding. I'd given up making sculpture. Seeing the prospect of foals, I sold up my studio, bought the 64 acres where we live now, built a huge barn for the horses to shelter from bad weather (while Ari and I lived in a tiny tin shack) and began in earnest to become an Arabian breeder and trainer. This was a shortcut to financial disaster.
After moving to our new property in 2002, I went off the SSRI's for a period. Libido didn't return - other factors, menopause and Ari's aging, interfered. My social dis-ease returned. It was easy to be isolated in the country and I didn't mind it one bit; I loved setting up a green lifestyle, working with the horses and with nature and did so with a passion. The optimism wore off. I began to see ugly aspects to both the Arabian show scene and the endurance riding scene. I realised how few horse lovers are actually good horse carers, handlers, and riders, how many tragedies there are in the horse scene, and how many keep it hidden or lie about it. I became very reluctant to sell the foals I had imprinted, raised and trained - more willing to give a horse away to a good home than to hold out for a high price to a dubious home. Money flew into the ether. The 2008 stock market crash hit. I'd been over-leveraged in the bull market - so I lost everything but the farm and what was on it. I cleaned stables at the next door Andalusian stud for $6 per hour (legal minimum wage = $20ph.) I kept hunting for better-paid work. But this area is notorious for lack of employment, and at 52 I was no longer most people's first pick. I'd been out of art teaching for too long - the department of education would have required me to retrain. The strain began to take it toll. The cost of feeding the horses was part of it. The species of grasses that grow in a sub-tropical environment leach calcium form horses' bones; unless they are fed supplements they soon die of osteoporosis. Now, with insufficient money to keep the horses fed, I was contemplating euthanasing both them and myself. I made an attempt to illegally acquire the xylazine and sodium pentothal (1.5 litres per horse plus 100 mls for me) in sufficient quantity for 19 horses. I got caught. The Police quickly realised I was depressed and referred me to the psych ward at the nearest hospital. I was sectioned.
And suddenly I was back on the SSRI with the advice from a shrink that I should stay on it for life.
Oh dear - have run out of time again... here endeth the second instalment. Will try to finish next time
This post was edited by inky at January 7, 2020 8:39 AM MST
My better half is on a SNRI (desvenlafaxine). Has been since the twins were stillborn. Yes, it affects her libido - every now and again she forgets to take it or is late refilling the script, that's when she feels like a little horizontal bungee-jumping.
I wonder whether, in her case, she was experiencing natural grief, and some doctor decided it was too extreme or going on for too long and decided to slap the label of depression on her feelings.
I believe it's important for people to grieve naturally in their own way, and that there's nothing better that supportive and loving friends who normalise it and let it be OK to go through the process.
If she ever comes off the SNRI, there's a good chance that the unresolved grief will re-emerge and so she who still have to go through the terrible sense of loss.
You might know her work already. Elizabeth Kubler Ross is perhaps the world's best writer on grief.
Very hard on you with her libido down. Glad she still enjoys the bungee sometimes. :)
Whether this question is treated as a joke or not doesn't matter to me. If someone wants to play with the humour in meds and craziness - that's fine - perfect topic.
But having lived through it, I know how dire it can be - and I know there's a high probability that there are others here who've had similar experiences - or other versions with different conditions and meds. I know it's possible to eliminate the shame and give each other mutual support by talking about it. When one initiates, sometimes it can often help others to feel free to do the same. Sites like this are great fun for humour, but they can also serve as a social resource for health and well-being.
Hey sweety, I saw my name invoked on your post. My history is littered with treatment plans by so-called professionals, stacks of prescriptions and empty bottles. All in a futile attempt to treat crushing depression that has become unbearable over the years.
For much too long, I too have not known what happiness was... Every day I felt as though I was drowning in a vast sea of despair.
I m still wading in the waters but now, with the love of and for my precious Twinkle firmly in my back pocket, I can stand with my head above the water. There was more that helped guide me to shore, but it all starts with him.
The human spirit is amazing. One person from more than a thousand miles away heard me cry in the night, reached out, and took me by the hand at a time when I needed him the most.
I have more I can say about this emotional quagmire I have been lodged in for so long, but I really am not comfortable sharing that openly. Perhaps someday we can chat in private if you like.
Benedict Arnold 