I started taking Pristiq today, a selective norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor (SNRI) which is supposed to alleviate symptoms of depression and anxiety. It’s the third new anti-depressant drug I’ve started in a month and a half.
I have a long history with anti-depressants. I was on Wellbutrin and a small amount of Celexa for most of my 20s until moving to Australia, where they don’t have the same kind of that drug. I switched to Zoloft, which did not very much, and then got off it, which was hell. I really tried to stick the landing as an unmedicated person, but after six months of mood swings, anxiety, and increasing anhedonia I had to admit it wasn’t working for me. So a month and a half ago I went onto Lexapro.
It worked. After a few weeks, on a sunset walk through Preston, I realized I felt truly happy for the first time in months. But there’s no such thing as a free nice walk on anti-depressants. Though my mood has improved dramatically, I’ve also experienced maddening side effects like akathisia. After waiting it out for a few weeks, I had could no longer wait for them to go away. I tried switching to Celexa, which is essentially a less-potent Lexapro, but the side effects remained.
Now I’m on Pristiq, which is similar to Effexor, which I’ve heard all kinds of terrifying stories about from people who’ve tried to get off it. Let’s spin the symptom wheel again and see what happens, I guess.
I’m pretty sure a lot of what we consider mental illness is culturally determined and quite possibly a totally reasonable response to the world we live in. But it still really sucks.
A week before I decided to go back on meds I broke down crying to my partner. I told him that as bad as being anxious and depressed felt, what was even worse was that I felt like it was all my fault. If I was “perfect,” if I did yoga every day, meditated, exercised, never ate junk food or drank, then i would be “allowed” to feel bad. As it was, I felt like I was just lazy and “making up” my distress as a way to avoid having to do anything hard. I ruminated on this until I felt totally worthless, a classic depression symptom. Thankfully, I eventually pushed through this morass of self-doubt and shame to make an appointment with the doctor.
The last month, rife though it’s been with bullshit side effects and switching meds repeatedly, I’ve still felt better than I have in years. I started this newsletter, something I would never have done a few months ago while wracked with insecurity and self-hatred. We are living in the dark ages of mental health treatment, but I’m glad I’m trying this. It’s not perfect, but it’s something.