Hello, my friends. It has now been one week since I quit the Zoloft. (And for you Catholics, it has been much more than one week since my last Confession.) I spent Thursday and Friday being violently ill, but I think that was just a fabulously luck coincidence than something withdrawal-related. I’m still having the weird feeling behind my eyeballs, though, and I’m quite sure that’s because of the Zoloft. Do you know the weirdness I’m talking about? It’s not pain or dizziness . . . it’s more of a little zap of consciousness that rubs itself along the backs of my eyeballs whenever my head changes altitudes. It’s unpleasant, but tolerable as I know it’s temporary.
I’m also waking up from that vague anti-depressant numbness, I think. Every. Little. Thing. Makes. Me. Cry. And not necessarily in a bad way. It’s not like I cried over sewing a crooked hem into Teddy’s pants (I didn’t! I swear!). I cried yesterday because I could overhear Teddy and his friend playing in the basement; they were so serious about “making a movie” (they weren’t even filming it) wherein one of them was Anakin Skywalker and the other was James Potter, among other characters . . . I was amused at first, but then I realized that very soon neither one of those boys will even admit to playing so imaginatively and earnestly . . . and so I cried.
Ted and I watched Goblet of Fire on DVD this weekend, and I cried like a baby when Amos Diggory realized that Cedric was dead (“That’s my BOY!”). I heard a story on Weekend Edition about a woman whose dad used to glow with pride when she performed Danny Boy each year at some production, and who didn’t realize until she sang it at his funeral how much it must have hurt him when she got too cool and refused to sing in the show any longer. Nothing like driving and crying, let me tell you. Because you know what? MY dad is going to die. Not any time soon (he’s only 57 and in decent shape for a man who doesn’t give a crap about diet or exercise [and HE’S not fat, why is that?]), but SOMEDAY.
I cried watching the repeat of Friends where Chandler proposes to Monica. I cried when I read a story in some crappy weekly supermarket magazine (Women’s World?) where a girl wrote about how much she loves her older sister who has Downs Syndrome. I bawled during different parts of The Book of Joe (you should pick it up if you haven’t read it—it’s a bargain book at Barnes & Noble right now, and totally worth $6).
So I guess I’m having some unleashing of pent up emotion? I guess that’s good, right? But God help us all if Little Miss Nice starts letting the anger get out. I’ve never been good with that, so I’ve probably been sitting on lots of anger for a long time. In fact, it’s quite possible that the extra forty pounds I’ve accumulated since going on Zoloft (shortly after Teddy’s dad pulled his stunt and moved out) is ACTUALLY ANGER.
Hmmm . . . .
21 comments:
Thanks for the play-by-play on the Zoloft withdrawal. You are a stronger woman than me. I hate how I feel even just missing a couple of days. (what can I say, I'm not always the model of compliance)
I have a hard time believing that the feeling behind your eyes and in your head is temporary. Do you feel kind of like your head is floating above your body?
I know it's temporary because I've had it before, when going off (or getting on, for some) other drugs.
I'll ride out the weird stuff and hopefully be back to my normal self (whatever that is) soon.
Get angry. I do. I just don't lose my cool.
Wait.
That's not true.
I lost my cool almost exactly 20 years ago and I remember people being paper-white with fear because I am generally as even-keeled as they come. So don't do THAT.
Where was I going with this?
-J.
P.S. Oh, yeah. Holding anger in AND gaining 40 pounds seems like a lose-lose thing to me.
Joke's right. Being angry and being just an angry nutball? Two different htings. You have reason to be angry about some things. So go for it.
Unless you're mad at me, in which case you should repress it forever : )
I think I'm just going to stand over here and not say much of anything.
Okay?
The world it full of things to cry about and get angry about - I could cry just thinking about the things that made other people cry! But I'm not such an angry person since I had kids. I realise now everyone is flawed like me, and everyone is just trying to get through life like me finding enjoyment where they can, maybe cutting corners if possible, or being a coward if necessary, or blaming others if it helps - but we are all just trying to make our way.
There endeth my lesson on the philosophy of life :)
I hate that behind-the-eyeballs feeling. I tried to go off Effexor recently and it was a resounding failure. My anxiety spiked and I started the crying thing. So I decided to bag it and go back on. Apparently I have to take it for the rest of my life...
Gina, every woman cries when Chandler proposes to Monica.
That said, hang in there. I never understood the "depression is anger turned inside" bit until this past year when I got in touch with my anger (sorry, a Jerry Maguire moment there). And I still cry more than yell. Today I had a sob fest--and it feels good to cry. I think it has something to do with estrogen as opposed to testosterone...
So hang in there. We will be here with the hankies. And I, for one, will not judge your medical decisions.
SL, who takes many drugs daily and has crappy days when she forgets a pill or two or five.
And I know how BB feels about Anne Lamott, but if you want a book with great cleansing crying in it, I recommend the audio (or the paper version) of Crooked Little Heart.
Those librarians and their bibliotherapy...I would also recommend NOT listening to country music (I don't know if you ever did, but THIS is not the week to start.)
You sound pregnant. Heh heh.
I cried when Chandler proposed to Monica because SHE'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR HIM.
Also, re: Anne LaMotte, I don't believe I have anything against LaMotte at all. I think she's a bit of a freak - aren't we all - but a decent writer and I even own some of her books.
Babs, it's Lamott, not LaMotte. Sorry, I remember us having some Salon-related conversation in which you said you thought you didn't like her. I've been wrong before, and guess what? I will be again. Sucks to be human sometimes...
Sary Lou, I always mix that up because of the whole Christabel LaMotte thing.
Oh the post happy pill crying - I did exactly the same but had actually forgotten about it until now. And that weird vortex feeling - yes yes yes. It does all pass, although I still get those weird swoony type moments, and come, sit by me we can compare our multiple pounds and WEEP together. Over everything and anything - it's like the You're-A-Mum! version of getting stoned.
So basically, I think I can speak for us all: "Thanks for sharing." Because weeping is just a part of the xx chromosone. and a lot of it is inflicted by the xy chromosone. (though, in actually, not all.) oh, I have got to go be with people!
after I kill this VW! Which *would* make me weep but I'm just going to STOMP on its toes.
I *do* sound pregnant, don't I? I can assure you that if I were pregnant I'd be buying a ticket to the Vatican, because it'd be a miracle birth. I think a Born Again Virgin birth would qualify, don't you?
Oooh! Can I design the St. Gina prayer card?
-J.
Martyrdom *does* run in my family (although perhaps not the extreme-martyrdom required for canonization). If you decide to design that St. Gina card, please make me pretty. :-)
Well, OK. But practice looking all beatific and serene. Oh, and you need to hold two really strange things in each hand. Like, say, a Slinky and squeegee. For some reason, all the cards I have ever seen had the Saint in question holding incongruous stuff.
-J.
You just made my day, Joke! :-)
...and her my parents thought they wasted all that tuition money sending me to study with Jesuits. HA!
-J.
When will you design this card, J? This would be a good meme...
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