Ok, part 3, and hopefully the last that brings us to present day.
So, these meds. that I was now on (Effexor and Lorazepam) were daily doing more harm than good. It would seem that about an hour after taking the Lorazepam (in the morning and at night), my panic would come back worse than before. It became so bad, that my parents and I came to the conclusion that I needed to get off of the meds and just start from scratch, or "start with a clean slate."
Easier said than done. We decided that I should get off of the Effexor first and since I was already on the lowest dose available, I more or less stopped taking it cold turkey. That wasn't a fun week. Keep in mind, I had been taking Effexor every day for just about two years. The withdrawal was bad, or what I had considered bad at the time. It was like being in the twilight zone. I felt anxious and restless and was crying all the time asking my parents to "Please, make it stop." While these were difficult days for me, and my family, I was still taking the Lorazepam which helped with some of the withdrawal symptoms. Next up, the Lorazepam. Again, I was already taking the lowest dose available for this pill, and had hoped this one wouldn't be so hard to get off of. Wrong again.
Since this one was an actual pill, and not a capsule like the anti-depressant, I got a pill cutter and tried cutting them in halves, even down to a quarter of the pill. I felt like some kind of drug dealer, cutting up my pills and hoping it would help ease the withdrawal. Finally, one evening, I was having horrible panic attacks and at first my parents decided to give me more of the Lorazepam. It seemed that the more they gave me, the worse the panic would get, until finally they decided I was done. They were not allowing me to take any more of those and that started the worst days of my life. I had thought that the withdrawal from the Effexor was bad, turned out it was a walk in the park compared to what would come next.
When I tell the story about what happened during this withdrawal, I usually sum it up with "I went to hell and back" and let's just say the "back" part didn't happen as quickly as I'd hoped. Coming off of this stuff left me in such a blind panic that I can hardly describe it. I was more or less having a panic attack 24/7. I couldn't be alone for a minute which meant my parents (especially my mom) was with me at all times. I didn't sleep for four days straight, and I am NOT exaggerating. I couldn't even (try to) sleep alone, and I always had either my dad, mom, or brother camping out with me in the living room. I could hardly eat or drink anything because I was so scared and I was constantly shaking like a leaf. It was the worse week of my life and it was no picnic for my family either. They were just trying to keep me alive. They contemplated more than once about whether or not to take me to the emergency room because they knew I was getting dehydrated, malnourished, not to mention just out of control, but they were left with the fear that taking me in would mean I would get a shot of the same stuff I was trying to get away from, and then we'd be back to square one. I would literally try to pound my head against a wall or abruptly scream just so I would feel something other than the fear. I threatened to hurt myself and repeatedly asked my parents if I was dying. I don't think anybody will ever know the full extent of how horrible these days were except for my family that was here with me. The fear was indescribable and what was really only a week, felt like months of my life, the scariest months of my life at that. My family and I are Christians and very strong in our faith and I firmly believe the only thing that got me through this horrible time (and still gets me through) are prayers and hope and the knowledge that God has something great waiting for me on the other side of this mountain.
This all happened in March of 2009 and as time has passed things have gotten much better. It started with trying to get through hour by hour, then day by day, and so on. Now I have gotten to a point where I haven't had a panic attack in months. I still have some general anxiety but nothing that I'm not able to cope with. I am not on any meds still, even though I have been prescribed new ones, I refuse to take them and ever go back to what I dealt with.
While time does heal, it doesn't heal everything. I have been stuck in the house so long trying to get where I'm just comfortable there that now I have a social anxiety. I'm agoraphobic and now faced with the daunting task of exposure therapy to get my life back. I've spent two birthdays (19 & 20, should be great ones), two Christmas', one Thanksgiving, and countless other celebrations, in this house because of my fear. I've also missed the birth of my older brother's first child and my younger brother's high school graduation because of it and nothing will ever take away the guilt I feel for missing those major events. The time spent here hasn't been all a lost cause I suppose. I have been able to continue school with online courses and have made the dean's list for the two semesters i've been enrolled. I'm ready to get back out into the world and reclaim the life that was swiped out from under me. That is why I started writing this blog. I wanted to have something to hold me accountable for the progress I make and hopefully some support from others who have been through the same ordeal.
If you have a comment, feel free to leave it, I would love to hear any suggestions or words of encouragement. I could really use them. Hope all is well with those who read this and that your journey is taking you where you want to be.
