Withdrawal diaries: Weeks 3-6

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Time flies while having fun.

Lets go over what I said at the previous part of my withdrawal diaries:

I always feel a bit iffy when people ask about other people’s experiences of different meds online, because everyone’s unique. Still, I feel like it’s useful to write about my experiences of coming off of my antidepressants because it can give someone at least one account since no medical professional has ever warned me of anything. They’ve just left me to it. Still, be mindful that these are only my experiences, your experiences might be completely different, and I’m coming off of my meds gradually under medical supervision. Pls don’t flush your meds down the toilet.

Ok, lets continue.

I’m so hot. Not even in the flattering way. It’s supposed to settle by now but clearly the part of my brain that controls my body heat didn’t get the message.

You’d think that sweating alone can’t be that much of a problem but it is. It’s not normal sweating, it’s like someone has just chucked a bucket of water on my head. It’s not like I haven’t had this throughout the time when I’ve been on meds but it refuses to go away.

My makeup literally slides off my face whilst applying it. I wait for my hair to be cut for the first time since lockdown and the sweat droplets fall in my lap like rain. I try to run an errand while incredibly aware of the lone sweat droplet seductively making its way down my back. I walk five minutes to town and by the time I get home I have to walk straight into shower because I look like I’ve already had one.

I’m honestly trying not to whinge. What am I talking about, I live to whinge. I try not to do it all the time however, but this is so hard. I haven’t done anything and I’m exhausted.

My belly is so swollen that I’m this close to joining a pregnant women’s yoga class.

‘In my experience, most people quit the process after the first week of withdrawals’, my counsellor tells me.

I can understand why.

I wake up twice a night to change the sheets and shower after I’ve sweat through the bedding.

The towel is still wet from the previous shower when I crawl in the tub at 4.27am.

I keep my water bottle next to the bed so my body will have something to perspirate.

We decide it’s better for me to stay on this same dose for another week to help my body adjust.

It’s nothing compared to being on some sort of meds for three years.

I’m so sick of this though.

‘How are you doing on the meds front?’ someone asks and I’d like to repeatedly and rhythmically slam my forehead on the table as a response.

I don’t know how else to express this but I’m constantly shitting. I might as well live in the bathroom by now.

I could slumber in the tub (a delightfully cool place now that I think about it), occasionally turn on the shower to water myself like a hippopotamus in a zoo enclosure and only roll out to use the toilet. Ingenious.

This definitely isn’t the most dignified time of my life.

You know what though?

I’m down to just one pill a day from four pills a day.

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