[DISCLAIMER: This is a long, drawn-out post, as it stands right now.  I’m having trouble being succinct, and so I feel like I just went on about twelve tangents below, trying to get to a point.  Hopefully I’ll re-read this in a couple of days and figure out how to make the post read better. For now, I just apologize.  I thought it was more important to just put something out there and try to fix it later.  I’m sorry :)]

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I have fuzzy-head.

That’s what I use to describe the feeling I get when I stop talking my anti-anxiety medication.  If you don’t decrease your dosage properly as you wean yourself off, you end up feeling strange.  Specifically, I often lose my train of thought, feel sorta ill all the time, and have headaches – it’s like you’re walking around in a fog, as though you have cotton in your brain.  Hence, fuzzy-head.

I started talking a low-dose of an anti-anxiety pill about 9 years ago, not long after I graduated college and moved to Boston.  I started having acute anxiety, sometimes coupled with panic attacks, when I went out at night.  It eventually got to the point where I could only go to work and home; everything else made me fill with panic.  This wasn’t practical, so I finally got some help (it didn’t hurt that I worked at a hospital at the time).  After describing my anxiety, I was prescribed Celexa, which is a combination anti-depressant/anti-anxiety.  I started taking them.

And it made a world of difference.

You see, I suffered from anxiety throughout my childhood, although I really wasn’t aware that what I felt was true panic/anxiety (and not just some “phase” that all children go through).  I just thought I had issues.  It started with not being able to sleep by myself.  Sure, plenty of children go through this stage, but most have it conquered by age 4/5.  They learn coping mechanisms at first, and then they become comfortable on their own – one step towards independence!  Unfortunately, that’s not what happened with me.  I didn’t learn to cope with it.  My parents thought it “wasn’t a big deal” and that I would “grow out of it.”  My mother had to stay with me each night while I went to bed, and usually for a few hours after that.  If I woke up and she wasn’t there, I went into a pure panic, physically.  I would become sick to my stomach with fear, start rapidly breathing, dry mouth, eventually make myself dizzy…all the signs of a panic attack.  I didn’t learn to cope with my anxiety then, and it followed me throughout my childhood and into adulthood.

I think this is why I get really frustrated when I see parents allowing their children to sleep in their beds, for far too long.  It’s very important to teach your children to become comfortable with being separated from you, and with being alone.  To conquer that fear.  It really bothers me, because I don’t want any child to have to deal with the anxiety I had growing up.  You miss out on a lot – sleepovers with friends, overnights with grandparents, extended school trips, etc.  And while I grew out of needing my mother right there with me each night – although it took YEARS – I needed to be in my house to fall asleep most of the time.  To this day, I am bitter about not being able to go on my 8th Grade Field Trip to Washington, DC.  Very bitter.

The strange thing is that the separation anxiety I had would come and go throughout my years growing up.  Some years I would be fine spending the night at a friend’s house, other years I wouldn’t be able to go to the movies without getting anxious.  It was hard to deal with, because I just didn’t know what caused it, or what would trigger it.  That alone led me to have anxiety that I might have anxiety (vicious cycle of over-thinking).

So, back to Boston.  Right away, I felt relief with the Xanax that I was given in the interim period until my Celexa took effect.  Xanax was the first miracle drug I found – it was such an amazing feeling to find something that would take away the anxiety, the fear – in what felt like an instant.  Twenty minutes and I went from pure, in-a-sweat-and-feeling-dizzy-and-ill, panic to feeling calm.  Twenty minutes.  It was like discovering paradise.

Once the Celexa started working, all the (unwarranted) anxiety slipped right out of my life.  I was no longer trapped by it.  It was freedom.  At first, I really couldn’t believe I had lived so long with the anxiety.  I was actually really pissed that my parents didn’t do the little research it would have taken to get me help.  Looking back, I can partly see how didn’t realize it was that bad.  I guess I kept a lot hidden, out of shame/embarrassment.

For several years, I took the little pill and lived a much fuller and happier life; and I never really thought much of it, the need for medicine.  Then came the day that a lot of people experience, when they are dependent on a drug to cope with an issue.  They start believing they are cured.  They start thinking they don’t need the pills to get the same effect.  That they’ve permanently changed something in themselves.  Yes, I started thinking I didn’t have anxiety anymore – and I didn’t, because of the medicine in my system.  However, I believed that I didn’t need the medicine to keep this feeling going.

I also believed that I shouldn’t need a drug to deal with (what I thought) a purely mental issue.  That I should be able to cope with it on my own, no drugs needed.  I felt weak in needing a chemical in my system to deal with a feeling I was having.

It was those thoughts that led me to stop taking Celexa the first time.  And I wasn’t smart about it, I didn’t decrease slowly enough.  I halved my doses a few times and then stopped altogether.  I got serious fuzzy-head.  To the point where I only lasted a couple of weeks before I had to go back on the medicine.  I simply couldn’t think straight, couldn’t focus, and just felt really lousy.

The next time I stopped taking my pills was recently, about two months ago.  This time I did a gradually decrease in dosage; there were much less withdrawal symptoms.  It took a long time, but I’m mostly back to normal.  Well, back to my normal – which just means that I no longer feel sick from not taking it.  There are still some lingering affects, though.

Most noticeably, I feel raw with emotion all of the time.  Meaning, little things can set me off and I feel like I’m going to tear up and start crying.  Not necessarily bad things, either.  I can see something happy or sad or funny, and still have the same reaction – tears.  It’s sorta scary.  For someone who used to NEVER CRY, it’s very strange to see a commercial or listen to a song and start feeling “verklement!”

But here’s the issue, friends.  I’m unsure what to do.  Should I go back on the pills to feel more emotionally stable and without anxiety (I am starting to feel some anxiety, recently), OR should I continue pill-free and try to find ways of naturally coping with my emotions, no matter how strong (and unjustifiable) they are?

It’s hard for me to make a decision because I’m just not sure what to think of the anxiety itself.  Is it purely a brain chemical-imbalance, or is it simply a case of mind-over-matter?  I’m leaning towards both – that it’s a mixture of the two – but there’s no way to half medicate myself.  I do want to learn to cope with my emotions.  However, I believe that I have a naturally tendency towards unjustified anxiety.  And the anxiety is strong enough that it interferes with my life.

One of the downsides to taking medicine is that it might be making me numb to my real emotions. I wasn’t without emotion when I was taking them, but I certainly didn’t feel the “raw” emotion I feel right now (but who knows if that is even my “normal,” or simply a lingering after effect of the drug).

The point is, I’m confused.  And I thought I would share it with you all 🙂

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ADDENDUM:  So, after trying to compose the above post, for a good two days, I finally finished.  It was then that I decided to watch this TED Talk, that my friend Melissa blogged about last week.  It has to do with vulnerability and how this one factor is the difference between those who truly feel connected with others and believe themselves to be worthy of love (yes, I know how cheesy that sounds).  Melissa summarizes the talk well:

“Connection is why we’re here.” This is the crux of the matter, says Brown. Basically, human beings are wired to be connected toward one another. What keeps us from connecting? Shame and fear…things inside us that we feel if we expose, someone will not love us. (The “I’m not good enough” feeling.) BUT, in order for deep, meaningful connection to occur (if you’ve forgotten already, that’s our whole purpose on this planet- to connect), we must be vulnerable…we have to allow ourselves to be seen. Truly seen. Deeply seen.

In her research, Brown discovered that people who have what she refers to as a “sense of worthiness [towards being loved]” are separated from people who don’t by just ONE factor. The factor is: They *believe* they’re worthy. That’s it. That’s the only variable. The way these “whole-hearted” people live revolves around four main areas: the courage to be imperfect, the compassion to be kind to yourself first (and then to other people), the connection that results from that authenticity. And finally, vulnerability. Letting go of who you”should be” to be who you are. These people fully embrace the concept of vulnerability, even though they don’t talk about it as “comfortable”, just necessary. They realize there must be a willingness to take risks where there are no guarantees and invest in things that may or may not work out. Even if it hurts.

And here’s the part that got me.  Brown talks about how we numb our pain through addictions like drugs, pain, and alcohol.  How there is no way to numb just the bad feelings, that you also close yourself off to the possibility of joy and happiness.

And THAT is what reinforced the idea that I should keep pushing through without the meds….now I’m just doubly confused.

You should watch this talk – it’s long (20 minutes, which is long for an internet video), but it’s solid.  Really good stuff.

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Ok, so time for something light and funny (that doesn’t cause me any tears).  In Season 1 we meet Tracy’s physician, Dr. Spaceman (pronounced “Spa-che-men”….or something like that).   Tracy’s about to go on “Conan” and has stopped taking his meds, which makes him act certifiable.  Dr. Spaceman to the rescue!

Liz: Hi, I work with Tracy Jordan, and I think he’s having a reaction to some of the medication you’ve put him on.

Dr. Spaceman: I was afraid this might happen. You know, he’s on so many different neuroleptics and tricyclics that there’s no telling how they’ll mix. But, what can you do? Medicine’s not a science.

Liz: What exactly are you treating him for?

Dr. Spaceman: There’s not really a name for what Tracy has. Basically, it’s erratic tendencies and delusions brought on by excessive notoriety, and certainly not helped by my wildly experimental treatments. Boy, I’m being awfully open with you, Miss. I should not have taken those blue things.

Liz: So, is he dangerous?

Dr. Spaceman: No, he should be fine; so long as you keep him away from bright lights, loud music, and crowds. You know, I’ll call in a prescription for something to settle him down as soon as possible…do you need anything for yourself?

Liz: What? No! Just where can I pick up Tracy’s prescription!