Post Withdrawal
May 16th, 2001.
Thinking the worst was over, I began looking for work on February 16th, 2001, about three months after I got off Paxil. I began to take what I thought were the first steps towards living my life again. I still had a hypersensitivity to light and sound, but it didn’t seem to kick in until much later on in the day, usually somewhere between 7 and 8pm, which was manageable to me and which seemed to indicate the withdrawal effects were gradually working themselves out of my system.
Psychologically, the transition was more difficult than I thought it would be. Just being around people again in a normal social environment took some getting used to. I found myself feeling apprehensive, hesitant and less spontaneous than I was used to being. But after seven months of social isolation, I suppose this was understandable. Socially, I was feeling a little rusty, but I was confident that I’d be all right as soon as I could find a job, get into a routine and develop a normal structure of social relationships again, all that good stuff. I’d been in starting-from-scratch situations before and, although I had my down days, I knew I could get through it if I kept pushing myself.
The social adjustment wasn’t easy. Things were made even more difficult when I began having bad headaches after the first week. I now understand what people mean when they refer to a “pounding headache.” It was as if I could feel my heart pounding — but inside my head; it was a pulsating pain. I took every kind of headache pill to fight off the headaches, but nothing worked. As the headaches continued, the hypersensitivity began to set in earlier during the day until I was eventually hypersensitive all the time, twenty-four hours a day.
It was a sinking realization the day I said to myself, “It’s still not over.” The withdrawal seizures were over and done with, but my life still wasn’t mine. I was determined not to let this experience take away any more of my life, and so I tried to jump back on the horse the first chance I had. But that determination may have gotten the better of me.
I can’t say for certain, but I probably shouldn’t have pushed so hard so soon after my withdrawal. My body, physiologically, neurologically, was still in recovery and in need of healing. I don’t know what the hell I should have done (sitting around on my ass out in the country by myself was driving me crazy), but I probably should have given myself another month to take it easy, to give myself more time to heal instead of throwing myself into a situation that was more stressful than I anticipated. It’s as if I was trying to will my life back, but my body wouldn’t let me. Mind over matter, my ass.
The headaches and the hypersensitivity got so bad that I could barely function. Trying to put on a pleasant face during an interview or any kind of social interaction was — well, it wasn’t working. I couldn’t fake it. I was so physically miserable that my spirit couldn’t fight it anymore. And after a month or so of trying to walk it off, I had to give in to the damn withdrawal again. At this point I may have wanted to blow my brains out. I wasn’t exactly taking track and was having a hard time really giving a damn about anything anymore.
That was about two months ago as I write this. I’m taking a small dose of Xanax to help with the headaches, and although I can still feel a pounding in my head, it’s not killing me like it was before, and my hypersensitivity is gone. (But I don’t know how long I want to keep taking these pills.)
In the opening to her novel, Ordinary People, Judith Guest writes that to have a reason to get up in the morning, it is necessary to possess a guiding principle, a belief of some kind; even a bumper sticker will do. But I don’t know what the hell keeps me going anymore. I don’t know what my next move is. I’m still waiting around for the withdrawal to work itself out of my system, I guess.
I’m not so sure how high my confidence is flying right now, or even if it’s confidence that I’m lacking. Which leads me to a question of faith (not religion). This is a big one.
I’ll leave my final thoughts on that, though, for when we get to the end of this blog. Until then, what follows is a sample of how my post-withdrawal experience played itself out between February and July 2001. (July 2001 would be a year since my initial withdrawal experience.)