Well, peeps…three days and no Cymbalta. I hit a bit of a wall today and felt like my eyes weren’t quite connected to my body. It’s quite hard to explain…sort of like being tipsy, but not all the time, just at the most unexpected moments. Right now, I’m feeling reasonably okay, but I am sitting down. Head hurts.
I left work early due to this issue and driving home was creepy. A bit of a white-knuckled adventure. My reflexes didn’t feel right and it shook me up. So, sweetie’s going to take over the driving until this shakes out.
Puppy! Nina is now eight weeks old, used to her nightly stint in the crate. Buddy, our Rott/German Shepherd is her Big Brother and tends to her, plays with her and lets her maul him with all the strength in her five pound body. Daisy, on the other hand, is the grumpy old lady who merely tolerates the pup and gets crabby with her on a regular basis. Pictures coming soon.
Life! I have one again! Sweetie and I are putting a roof on our deck and will be sanding and refinishing it. The trip last weekend to Lowe’s to pick out the lumber took me back a few years. We hadn’t done that sort of errand together for awhile…it was always another election season, or meeting, or training or something for a Party that decided I wasn’t really worth their loyalty.
Time for bed everyone…sweetie leaves EARLY in the morning.
So far so good. I am below the “therapeutic” dose and am doing okay. I was a bit dizzy today, and my eyes are having some issues. It’s like I feel them moving in my sockets. Weird. Emotionally: fine. What I’m getting excited about is that I am starting to “feel” more. Slightly more intense emotions. I like it.
I hesitated as to whether I would write this and then keep you posted on my progress, but why not? It’s a bit of a change-up and might help me keep my sanity in the next weeks. For six months I’ve been on Cymbalta, starting in the week before Christmas. Good thing, because I was a mess, crying daily in the car and just altogther ready to pack it in. Everything was just an overwhelming burden. I couldn’t find the energy of even desire to prepare for Christmas. We agreed to have family over and it seemed like a monumental effort and a week before I hadn’t even started preparing. Gifts hadn’t been bought for even my immediate family. You get the picture. My psyche was in a pit a million feet deep and I saw no way out. I spent more time crying than just about anything else. Finally, I reached out to my doctor of ten years. She tried to hide her shock at my appearance which by then looked exceedingly tired and desperate. Some people sleep through depression, I stay up, then suffer later from the lack of sleep. Viscious cyle.
I was prescribed a low (30mg) dose to get my body used to it, but in a week I went up to the therapeutic dose (60mg) and have been on them for the past six months. It did its job, but its power has begun to fade and my body has been rebelling physically to the daily regimen.
It’s time to wean myself. The stress of the primary election is over, and another loss (menses) means I need to be clear thinking on how to proceed with THAT. And although the drug got rid of my really really low lows, it also got rid of my delicious highs. I want them back. No…I’ve not been diagnosed bipolar, just clinical depression (runs in the family). Cymbalta stabilizes mood, I am told. I’m ready to shake off being a flatliner with a dip or rise here and there and get back to feeling, really feeling.
So…tomorrow begins my first day cutting back to a daily 30mg capsule, which will begin a three week taper, followed by another 3 weeks of taking a pill every other day. Things may go smooth, or they may go rough. As I understand it, this is one of the hardest drugs to quit.
We know what could be, but we don’t know what my withdrawal will be like, but as always Sweetie is in my corner, and is my rock.