So I’ve realized I’m struggling to regain stability in my mental state and my primary care doctor recommended a mental health specialist to further assist me. My nurse practitioner said my medication had stopped working. There’s a medical term for it, but it’s commonly just described as “Prozac pooping out.” I didn’t know such a thing was possible. Fortunately, this time, I was able to help rule out a whole bunch of drugs that wouldn’t work for me and we landed on something that seemed to help pretty quickly.
She started me on Cymbalta in January 2017 and things seemed to be going well. Then about six months later, she added Wellbutrin 150. After about eight months of treatment, I started having panic attacks, so Buspar was thrown into the mix. Nothing makes you feel like a complete fuck up, medically draining, mentally unstable sack of shit than needing to be on three different medications so you can get through the day.
To be honest, my nurse practitioner scared me. She did whatever I wanted. I’d mention a concern or something I’d heard and she wouldn’t hesitate to make adjustments. Many of these adjustments came at risk to my health. When I asked her to figure out which of the three drugs I could eliminate in January 2018 so I only had to take two medications (or maybe even one!?), she quickly suggested I drop down on Cymbalta for two weeks, increase the Wellbutrin, and then stop it completely.
Struggling To Regain Stability With No Help
She worked part-time. The office policy was your prescriber was the only one to treat you. A week after I stopped taking my reduced dosage, my nurse practitioner was not in the office and I started having severe side effects. No one at the facility would help me. I’m both nervous and eager to share what I now describe as the worst day of my life. The day I wished I would no longer be a part of this world. The day I wanted to die.
The side effects were so severe. I had electrical shocks pulsating fast and furious through my body, I didn’t feel comfortable in my own skin and I felt like everything was crumbling in around me. The mood swings, anxiety, and crippling depression were enough to make me end it all.
While I had no interest in physically hurting myself or ingesting anything, I would close my eyes and pray to God to take me away. I didn’t want to live life this way. I couldn’t. Then I would wake up and think about my two beautiful girls and think “Not being here for them for the rest of their life will be way worse than you being here in the current state you’re in. They will learn to deal with your illness. They will never recover from you not being here.”
Do You Need To Talk to Someone?
If you or someone you know is in crisis, please call 911, go to the nearest emergency room, call 1-800-273-TALK (8255) to reach a 24-hour crisis center or text MHA to 741741 at the Crisis Text Line.
More resources here on how you can help a suicidal friend.