Venlafaxine
Such idle twilight, even in skin-
the one part of the body on which we can count
to rebuild. But not now, not in this afghan gloom-
my opened pall. Here are the flies, the swarm
of my own whoredom: I entered full-throated, center-red,
wad of myself, and left
in a pentagonian lollygag. Where is the rind of me?
It is unidentifiable. Even ugly words tout regret.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Friday, August 15, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
What's Up With The New Trend?
So, I've noticed several journals now update their blogs with a partial list of contributers for an upcoming issue, one for which they are still reading and taking submissions.
Why did journals start doing this?
It just makes me nervous as a "subber" - I haven't received a rejection or acceptance letter from two journals who have very recently placed an "updated contributers list" to their blogs. And, uh, I'm not on the list! It makes me feel like I just received a rejection letter via passive blog post!
Rachel is going to cry now.
Why did journals start doing this?
It just makes me nervous as a "subber" - I haven't received a rejection or acceptance letter from two journals who have very recently placed an "updated contributers list" to their blogs. And, uh, I'm not on the list! It makes me feel like I just received a rejection letter via passive blog post!
Rachel is going to cry now.
Monday, August 11, 2008
A Not So Brief Commentary On Antidepressants (or rachel's flash memoir)
Many of you who read my blog know that I rarely get on my soap-box. Sure, I make short snarky remarks mostly regarding the Republican Party, religion, and the media - but I’m hardly one to preach, lecture, or posture. However, something very close and personal to me has happened in my life that I feel very strongly about that I want to share with anyone who may stumble across this blog.
I’ve mentioned in earlier posts that I have C-PTSD. I’ve had PTSD since childhood and have suffered the symptoms since I was eight years old. Two very memorable moments in my childhood were when I started showing signs of extreme stress: the first was anxiety attacks in my pre-teen years. At that time, my doctors had no idea what could be causing my “shortness of breath” – I was incorrectly diagnosed as having asthma and given an inhaler. The second was a serious bout of psoriasis that broke out all over my stomach as a teenager, to which there was again, an unknown cause. Now that I’m older, my doctors and I now understand the causes of those mysterious symptoms so early in life.
As far back as my memory allows me to recall, I’ve suffered from melancholia. Doctors now refer to this as “dysthymia”. On occasion, I experience what are considered “major depressive episodes” – however, those go away and I’m back to melancholia which I’ve lived with- well- forever. As I’ve grown older, my anxiety attacks turned into panic attacks and my bouts of “rage” (a symptom of PTSD) continue. However, these symptoms are all cyclical (usually caused by triggers), except the dysthymia.
When I was finally diagnosed with PTSD in 2004, I was put on antidepressants – the first being Lexapro. This was also about the time that my insomnia kicked into full gear. (Which is funny ha-ha seeing as how I started writing this at 3:00 a.m.) Along with my prescription of Lexapro, I was also prescribed Ambien and Xanax – the Ambien to take at night for sleep and Xanax to take as needed whenever I experienced an anxiety or panic attack.
I had zero positive results with Lexapro during my six month stint. What I did experience on Lexapro was nausea, a loss of libido, and a general loss of interest in life. Nothing was joyful and nothing caused sadness. I was simply going through motions like a well programmed robotic instrument. My anxiety and panic attacks continued and on those rare moments I ever felt anything, it was anger.
I told my doctor what I was experiencing on Lexapro so it was determined that instead, I should switch to Zoloft. It didn’t take long for me start feeling the effects of this particular antidepressant. I sat on the couch for nearly a month not able to carry the weight of my own head. Finally, my father pulled me off the couch and demanded me back to the doctor, where it was decided again, that I should switch to a different antidepressant. This time it was Wellbutrin.
Something strange happened while on Wellbutrin. I started craving alcohol like I had never craved alcohol before. In fact, I craved several drugs during this time and engaged in those activities. While I had engaged in those sorts of activities during previous times in life, I never once craved them. The day I got in my car and moved from Florida to VA, I stopped taking the Wellbutrin. My cravings also stopped. However, I was still using my Xanax as needed for anxiety/panic. At this point, the Ambien was no longer working as an aid for sleep and neither was Lunesta. My doctor would not prescribe me extra Xanax for sleep so I decided to start buying extra off of the street since Xanax was the only thing that would allow me to sleep through the night.
Fast forward a bit: I got married, sold my condo in Florida and bought a house in North Carolina and moved once more. In August of that same year, I attempted to quit smoking cigarettes.
All of these major life decisions combined may not have been the best choice to make for myself, but I didn’t quite have a grasp on PTSD yet and didn’t really know what I was really in for: a breakdown. I became a raving lunatic, so back to the doctor I went, now having been off of any antidepressant for a little over a year but still taking Xanax for the anxiety/panic/sleep.
It was like groundhogs day: my doctor started me back on a regimen of Lexapro, despite it’s uselessness in the past. I gave in and took them anyway. The same side-effects plagued me just like the last time, so after several months I’m sitting back in my doctor’s office explaining the situation. This time, it was decided that I would combine my current Lexapro dosage with Wellbutrin, in order to curb some of the unpleasant side effects. The result? Hallucinations. I was pumping gas one day during my lunch break, I sat in my car waiting for the pump to top off when I thought my car started to roll down the slope of the gas station – in a panic, I grabbed my steering wheel and slammed on my breaks – but, of course, the car wasn’t moving and never had been. I was shaking, disoriented, and extremely frightened. I didn’t know how I was going to make it back to work.
After doing some research myself on Wellbutrin, I came to find out that it is not an appropriate drug to prescribe to someone who suffers extreme anxiety or panic as it exacerbates those symptoms. This would explain the strange cravings I experienced before on Wellbutrin and the current hallucinations. When I called my doctor to tell him what I was experiencing, his reaction was that of shock and said that he had never heard of those sorts of side effects before.
I was taken off of the Wellbutrin and Lexapro mix immediately and placed on Effexor. Within a month of being on Effexor, my dosage was upped twice, reaching 150 mg. It was explained to me that Effexor is the type of drug that is typically maxed out on at 300 mg and it was very probable that within a few months I would be prescribed the maximum dosage. I was confused when I heard this – why would I need to max out? Why does this drug constantly require an increase in dosing amounts? Why are my doctors already setting me up to max out before I’ve even reached that point without knowing that I would actually need that much SNRI in my system?
But I sludged on and took my pills like a good little girl. At one point, I started experiencing horrific nightmares (a symptom of PTSD), I told my doctors (I have two) – they put me on yet another mix of antidepressants by adding Trazodone to my already prescribed Effexor. The result: a major depressive episode. This time, I didn’t even call my doctor; I quit taking the Trazodone, but stayed on the Effexor.
Since starting on this new journey of antidepressants (in August of ‘07), I’ve quit my job, live in my pajamas, and haven’t felt a single emotion for a year. In fact, an entire year of my life has passed right by without my involvement: I took no part in a full year of my own life. I can remember instances in which my mind could logically process the fact that I was unresponsive to life’s stimuli and knew that I had to do something about it, yet those sentiments became a spilt-second afterthought because I was unable to feel anything about the situation or how it was affecting my life and the lives of those around me. All of this is very complex when on antidepressants because, at least for me, immersed in the fog of Effexor, I also seemed to have lost my memory – most importantly – how I used to be. For me, life on antidepressants was a moment to moment existence in which I survived but not thrived.
A few weeks ago, I came to the conclusion that I wanted my life back, whatever that was prior to antidepressants, so I decided to come off of the Effexor. I didn’t dare call my doctor because I knew full well what the response would be: “we have to up your dosage”- remember, maxing me out was on the list of things to do before it ever needed to be done.
I did my research before starting the process and put a plan into place. I decided that I would try to come off of the Effexor cold turkey, despite recommendations to wean off. After a few days of not taking the Effexor during which I experienced extreme stomach upsets, brain and finger pulses (also known as “zaps”), dizziness, hot/cold flashes, and unbearable bodily discomfort, I broke down and took a pill. Since then, I’ve been weaning myself off by opening the capsules and “dumping” – I’m currently down to ¼ of my originally prescribed dosage. However, I’m still experiencing withdrawal side effects, though not to the degree that I was experiencing when I tried to come off completely. The problem is: I’m down to ¼ and can’t seem to come down anymore without the horrific withdrawal side-effects. I’m stuck.
I want other people to know what these “non addictive” drugs really do and how irresponsibly doctors are handing out these prescriptions like candy at a Christmas parade without ever mentioning the withdrawal symptoms therefore relinquishing people of options.
What peeves me even more is how society views certain drugs compared to others. Drugs like antidepressants are deemed okay because society/academia/big corporation/religious ideologists/whoever has simply placed labels on certain drugs and not on others in order to further some sociological/economical gain.
In my personal opinion, from first hand experience, antidepressants are addictive by textbook definition – they are as addictive as my benzodiazepines. Antidepressants produce uncontrollable cravings. If we are going to play the "addiction" game then, I say, let's play fair. Antidepressants are addictive just like any other vice drug is addictive.
The difference between the two is that one is more desirable because it produces a bodily sensation that some people crave, therefore making one more abused than the other by individuals. However, the abuse of antidepressants has been at the hands of doctors. We are made to believe that we aren't allowed to "Feel Good" because anything that brings about a bodily high is wrong - we are only allowed to take drugs that allow us to be somewhat productive, that make us have no feelings at all, an existence of drones.
Fine- if vice drugs are going to carry the addictive label then so should antidepressants and then those will be stigmatized too because that's what this society does – OR-
we stop stigmatizing altogether.
In this entire journey, the only medication that has consistently worked for me is benzodiazepines. I have never once, in my four years of using them, abused them. Yet, I have experienced first hand stigma because of it. In fact, if you search the archives of this blog, you’ll recall a time when I left a doctor’s office in tears because of the way I was treated when I first moved to Charlotte and requested benzodiazepines from the first doctor I saw here, how I was made to feel like a junkie and how instead, I received ten free packets of Lexapro and sent on my not-so-merry way. The following morning I ended up in the emergency room. In the land of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, I underwent what is called secondary traumatization.
I feel there are important distinctions that need addressed within the psychiatric community involving the words “addictive” and “abused”. Antidepressants ARE addictive. All one has to do is look up the term. The difference between drugs like antidepressants and drugs like benzodiazepines (or any other drug that produces a bodily high) is that one is more likely to be *abused* than the other and *only* at the hands of the individual taking them. If we were to remove the individual from this equation – antidepressants are also being *abused*, except they are being abused by big pharma and doctors.
In no way is this post negating the positive effects that antidepressants have for certain people at certain points in their life. It is not about that. It is about an unfair playing field, trickery, stigmatization, and gross misrepresentations. It is about the lack of understanding, by doctors, of the disorder called Post Traumatic Stress and their lack of understanding, in general, about SSRIs and SNRIs.
Today, I went to the lake with my dog and husband. We swam in the lake and I felt the mud between my toes, I grasped the happiness in the wag of my dog’s tail, I appreciated the slight release from this year’s oppressive summer, and I sang along to The National on our way home, hands sticking out the sun roof:
I think this place is full of spies
I think they're onto me
Didn't anybody, didn't anybody tell you
Didn't anybody tell you how to gracefully disappear in a room
I know you put in the hours to keep me in sunglasses, I know
And so and now I'm sorry I missed you
I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain
It went the dull and wicked ordinary way
It went the dull and wicked ordinary way
And now I'm sorry I missed you
I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain
I think this place is full of spies
I think I'm ruined
Didn't anybody, didn't anybody tell you
Didn't anybody tell you, this river's full of lost sharks
I know you put in the hours to keep me in sunglasses, I know
And so and now I'm sorry I missed you
I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain
It went the dull and wicked ordinary way
It went the dull and wicked ordinary way
And now I'm sorry I missed you
I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain
And now I'm sorry I missed you
I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain
It went the dull and wicked ordinary way
(Secret Meeting, The National)
This is not up for debate on my blog. I’m in no mood for it and my blog is not a democracy. If any comments are attacking in nature, or even argumentative, maybe even bordering the “debate” line – I’m removing the comment. This is my story, my opinion.
I’ve mentioned in earlier posts that I have C-PTSD. I’ve had PTSD since childhood and have suffered the symptoms since I was eight years old. Two very memorable moments in my childhood were when I started showing signs of extreme stress: the first was anxiety attacks in my pre-teen years. At that time, my doctors had no idea what could be causing my “shortness of breath” – I was incorrectly diagnosed as having asthma and given an inhaler. The second was a serious bout of psoriasis that broke out all over my stomach as a teenager, to which there was again, an unknown cause. Now that I’m older, my doctors and I now understand the causes of those mysterious symptoms so early in life.
As far back as my memory allows me to recall, I’ve suffered from melancholia. Doctors now refer to this as “dysthymia”. On occasion, I experience what are considered “major depressive episodes” – however, those go away and I’m back to melancholia which I’ve lived with- well- forever. As I’ve grown older, my anxiety attacks turned into panic attacks and my bouts of “rage” (a symptom of PTSD) continue. However, these symptoms are all cyclical (usually caused by triggers), except the dysthymia.
When I was finally diagnosed with PTSD in 2004, I was put on antidepressants – the first being Lexapro. This was also about the time that my insomnia kicked into full gear. (Which is funny ha-ha seeing as how I started writing this at 3:00 a.m.) Along with my prescription of Lexapro, I was also prescribed Ambien and Xanax – the Ambien to take at night for sleep and Xanax to take as needed whenever I experienced an anxiety or panic attack.
I had zero positive results with Lexapro during my six month stint. What I did experience on Lexapro was nausea, a loss of libido, and a general loss of interest in life. Nothing was joyful and nothing caused sadness. I was simply going through motions like a well programmed robotic instrument. My anxiety and panic attacks continued and on those rare moments I ever felt anything, it was anger.
I told my doctor what I was experiencing on Lexapro so it was determined that instead, I should switch to Zoloft. It didn’t take long for me start feeling the effects of this particular antidepressant. I sat on the couch for nearly a month not able to carry the weight of my own head. Finally, my father pulled me off the couch and demanded me back to the doctor, where it was decided again, that I should switch to a different antidepressant. This time it was Wellbutrin.
Something strange happened while on Wellbutrin. I started craving alcohol like I had never craved alcohol before. In fact, I craved several drugs during this time and engaged in those activities. While I had engaged in those sorts of activities during previous times in life, I never once craved them. The day I got in my car and moved from Florida to VA, I stopped taking the Wellbutrin. My cravings also stopped. However, I was still using my Xanax as needed for anxiety/panic. At this point, the Ambien was no longer working as an aid for sleep and neither was Lunesta. My doctor would not prescribe me extra Xanax for sleep so I decided to start buying extra off of the street since Xanax was the only thing that would allow me to sleep through the night.
Fast forward a bit: I got married, sold my condo in Florida and bought a house in North Carolina and moved once more. In August of that same year, I attempted to quit smoking cigarettes.
All of these major life decisions combined may not have been the best choice to make for myself, but I didn’t quite have a grasp on PTSD yet and didn’t really know what I was really in for: a breakdown. I became a raving lunatic, so back to the doctor I went, now having been off of any antidepressant for a little over a year but still taking Xanax for the anxiety/panic/sleep.
It was like groundhogs day: my doctor started me back on a regimen of Lexapro, despite it’s uselessness in the past. I gave in and took them anyway. The same side-effects plagued me just like the last time, so after several months I’m sitting back in my doctor’s office explaining the situation. This time, it was decided that I would combine my current Lexapro dosage with Wellbutrin, in order to curb some of the unpleasant side effects. The result? Hallucinations. I was pumping gas one day during my lunch break, I sat in my car waiting for the pump to top off when I thought my car started to roll down the slope of the gas station – in a panic, I grabbed my steering wheel and slammed on my breaks – but, of course, the car wasn’t moving and never had been. I was shaking, disoriented, and extremely frightened. I didn’t know how I was going to make it back to work.
After doing some research myself on Wellbutrin, I came to find out that it is not an appropriate drug to prescribe to someone who suffers extreme anxiety or panic as it exacerbates those symptoms. This would explain the strange cravings I experienced before on Wellbutrin and the current hallucinations. When I called my doctor to tell him what I was experiencing, his reaction was that of shock and said that he had never heard of those sorts of side effects before.
I was taken off of the Wellbutrin and Lexapro mix immediately and placed on Effexor. Within a month of being on Effexor, my dosage was upped twice, reaching 150 mg. It was explained to me that Effexor is the type of drug that is typically maxed out on at 300 mg and it was very probable that within a few months I would be prescribed the maximum dosage. I was confused when I heard this – why would I need to max out? Why does this drug constantly require an increase in dosing amounts? Why are my doctors already setting me up to max out before I’ve even reached that point without knowing that I would actually need that much SNRI in my system?
But I sludged on and took my pills like a good little girl. At one point, I started experiencing horrific nightmares (a symptom of PTSD), I told my doctors (I have two) – they put me on yet another mix of antidepressants by adding Trazodone to my already prescribed Effexor. The result: a major depressive episode. This time, I didn’t even call my doctor; I quit taking the Trazodone, but stayed on the Effexor.
Since starting on this new journey of antidepressants (in August of ‘07), I’ve quit my job, live in my pajamas, and haven’t felt a single emotion for a year. In fact, an entire year of my life has passed right by without my involvement: I took no part in a full year of my own life. I can remember instances in which my mind could logically process the fact that I was unresponsive to life’s stimuli and knew that I had to do something about it, yet those sentiments became a spilt-second afterthought because I was unable to feel anything about the situation or how it was affecting my life and the lives of those around me. All of this is very complex when on antidepressants because, at least for me, immersed in the fog of Effexor, I also seemed to have lost my memory – most importantly – how I used to be. For me, life on antidepressants was a moment to moment existence in which I survived but not thrived.
A few weeks ago, I came to the conclusion that I wanted my life back, whatever that was prior to antidepressants, so I decided to come off of the Effexor. I didn’t dare call my doctor because I knew full well what the response would be: “we have to up your dosage”- remember, maxing me out was on the list of things to do before it ever needed to be done.
I did my research before starting the process and put a plan into place. I decided that I would try to come off of the Effexor cold turkey, despite recommendations to wean off. After a few days of not taking the Effexor during which I experienced extreme stomach upsets, brain and finger pulses (also known as “zaps”), dizziness, hot/cold flashes, and unbearable bodily discomfort, I broke down and took a pill. Since then, I’ve been weaning myself off by opening the capsules and “dumping” – I’m currently down to ¼ of my originally prescribed dosage. However, I’m still experiencing withdrawal side effects, though not to the degree that I was experiencing when I tried to come off completely. The problem is: I’m down to ¼ and can’t seem to come down anymore without the horrific withdrawal side-effects. I’m stuck.
I want other people to know what these “non addictive” drugs really do and how irresponsibly doctors are handing out these prescriptions like candy at a Christmas parade without ever mentioning the withdrawal symptoms therefore relinquishing people of options.
What peeves me even more is how society views certain drugs compared to others. Drugs like antidepressants are deemed okay because society/academia/big corporation/religious ideologists/whoever has simply placed labels on certain drugs and not on others in order to further some sociological/economical gain.
In my personal opinion, from first hand experience, antidepressants are addictive by textbook definition – they are as addictive as my benzodiazepines. Antidepressants produce uncontrollable cravings. If we are going to play the "addiction" game then, I say, let's play fair. Antidepressants are addictive just like any other vice drug is addictive.
The difference between the two is that one is more desirable because it produces a bodily sensation that some people crave, therefore making one more abused than the other by individuals. However, the abuse of antidepressants has been at the hands of doctors. We are made to believe that we aren't allowed to "Feel Good" because anything that brings about a bodily high is wrong - we are only allowed to take drugs that allow us to be somewhat productive, that make us have no feelings at all, an existence of drones.
Fine- if vice drugs are going to carry the addictive label then so should antidepressants and then those will be stigmatized too because that's what this society does – OR-
we stop stigmatizing altogether.
In this entire journey, the only medication that has consistently worked for me is benzodiazepines. I have never once, in my four years of using them, abused them. Yet, I have experienced first hand stigma because of it. In fact, if you search the archives of this blog, you’ll recall a time when I left a doctor’s office in tears because of the way I was treated when I first moved to Charlotte and requested benzodiazepines from the first doctor I saw here, how I was made to feel like a junkie and how instead, I received ten free packets of Lexapro and sent on my not-so-merry way. The following morning I ended up in the emergency room. In the land of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, I underwent what is called secondary traumatization.
I feel there are important distinctions that need addressed within the psychiatric community involving the words “addictive” and “abused”. Antidepressants ARE addictive. All one has to do is look up the term. The difference between drugs like antidepressants and drugs like benzodiazepines (or any other drug that produces a bodily high) is that one is more likely to be *abused* than the other and *only* at the hands of the individual taking them. If we were to remove the individual from this equation – antidepressants are also being *abused*, except they are being abused by big pharma and doctors.
In no way is this post negating the positive effects that antidepressants have for certain people at certain points in their life. It is not about that. It is about an unfair playing field, trickery, stigmatization, and gross misrepresentations. It is about the lack of understanding, by doctors, of the disorder called Post Traumatic Stress and their lack of understanding, in general, about SSRIs and SNRIs.
Today, I went to the lake with my dog and husband. We swam in the lake and I felt the mud between my toes, I grasped the happiness in the wag of my dog’s tail, I appreciated the slight release from this year’s oppressive summer, and I sang along to The National on our way home, hands sticking out the sun roof:
I think this place is full of spies
I think they're onto me
Didn't anybody, didn't anybody tell you
Didn't anybody tell you how to gracefully disappear in a room
I know you put in the hours to keep me in sunglasses, I know
And so and now I'm sorry I missed you
I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain
It went the dull and wicked ordinary way
It went the dull and wicked ordinary way
And now I'm sorry I missed you
I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain
I think this place is full of spies
I think I'm ruined
Didn't anybody, didn't anybody tell you
Didn't anybody tell you, this river's full of lost sharks
I know you put in the hours to keep me in sunglasses, I know
And so and now I'm sorry I missed you
I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain
It went the dull and wicked ordinary way
It went the dull and wicked ordinary way
And now I'm sorry I missed you
I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain
And now I'm sorry I missed you
I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain
It went the dull and wicked ordinary way
(Secret Meeting, The National)
This is not up for debate on my blog. I’m in no mood for it and my blog is not a democracy. If any comments are attacking in nature, or even argumentative, maybe even bordering the “debate” line – I’m removing the comment. This is my story, my opinion.
Friday, August 08, 2008
Dear Shameless Media,
please leave John Edwards and his family alone. No one cares about his extramarital affair except you.
f-off exponentially,
Rachel Mallino
f-off exponentially,
Rachel Mallino
Thursday, August 07, 2008
National Poetry Prompt Appreciation Day
In honor of National Poetry Prompt Appreciation Day I've written a poem using no adjectives and have enjambed all lines. Of course, this is a first draft - all comments and suggestions are welcome.
(poem removed)
(poem removed)
Monday, August 04, 2008
I'm officially
thirty-one years old. I'm vowing to not let 31 throw me into a depressive state like thirty did. I'm going to the zoo tomorrow with hubby and then cocktails afterward with some "peeps".
Yay for animal pictures. Nay on being another year older. I hope I'm, at the least, wiser.
For some reason, my blog entry says it's "monday, august 4th". But really, it's Tuesday, August 5th - get with it, blogger!
Yay for animal pictures. Nay on being another year older. I hope I'm, at the least, wiser.
For some reason, my blog entry says it's "monday, august 4th". But really, it's Tuesday, August 5th - get with it, blogger!
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