The side effects are starting with the whole crazy person drug business. I hate this part. I’m ready to just give up and go back to figuring out the anxiety disorder with talk therapy and the occasional chill pill.
Because that was working out so brilliantly.
Seriously, I know that I need to be doing this. I know that my therapist is not some extremist drug pusher, that she respects the reasons that I don’t want to be on an SSRI. I know that figuring out the right meds will take time and there will be some discomfort. I know that I made a sincere effort to get by with just the talk therapy. I know my anxiety is real and that it needs to be treated. I know I’m doing this for my family as much as I’m doing it for myself. I know I’m in my comfort zone-my therapist and my prescriber are the same person and that is of the utmost importance to me. It never worked for me when some random doc who didn’t know my history prescribed my drugs. I think that system is terribly flawed frankly dangerous. So yes, I know that I need to be doing this.
But it motherfucking sucks balls.
A couple of days ago I upped my dose of the new meds. Eventually my therapist wants me to be on about 45mg of Buspirone a day. We starteed with 15mg a day and now I’m up to 22.5mg, 7.5mg in the morning after C wakes and I nurse him and 15mg at night after I nurse C and put him to bed. About 20 minutes after swallowing the pill I’m getting the spins like crazy. Last night they were so strong that I had to go to bed or risk puking all over the place. The vertigo passes after another half an hour or so, but it is frightening to feel so out of control.
The diarrhea has started. I knew there was the possibility it would be a side effect and it’s so bad that I think I have to make the call to the butt doctor on Monday. The “Hey! Happy Monday morning poor-receptionist-who-has-to-take-about-ass-maladies-all-day-long! I think my anal fissure is back! Let’s schedule an appointment so I have an exam! Can we talk about humiliating it is to drop your drawers and bend over the exam table so some stranger can look at my asshole with a magnifying glass? No? You don’t care?” call. Man, do I love that conversation.
My next therapy session is Wednesday morning. And we will talk through all this shit. But the thing that drives me crazy is I can’t just make the decision to go on meds and then wake up several weeks later and realize they worked! I am suddenly no longer crazy! I mean, maybe it works that way for some people, but it doesn’t for me. Things will probably eventually get better, but first there is the terrifying slog through adjusting to meds. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.
I don’t think the docs and shrinks have been holding out on me. If there was a magic pill to make my self loathing go away, to make the world feel less terrifying, to make me comfortable in my own skin, to cure the IBS, to make me not scared to leave the house, to make me NORMAL they would have given it to me more than a decade ago. There are no promises of miracle cures. This disease requires constant work, tweaking here and there, commitment on my part not to get lazy but to actively try and help myself. Which kind of blows. Man, I wish there was a magic pill.
Ok, how about something pleasant for a change. I made pierogi last night for the first time. It was fun and they were delicious.
T with a lovely chocolate soul patch.
Still freaked out by their aptitude when it comes to technology. They are going to know more than me within the next year or so. Not that it takes a lot to outpace my knowledge when it comes to electronics.