Antidepressants are miracle drugs. In the quarter century since antidepressants have become widely available, they have transformed treatment for diseases of the brain and changed society’s attitudes toward those diseases. Reliable, unbiased data are hard to find, but there’s little doubt that modern antidepressants have saved thousands of lives. They might have saved mine.
For all the good they’ve done me, however, I’ve become convinced it’s time for me to go off the meds. This wasn’t an easy decision to make. For one thing, doctors trained in “defensive medicine” see less risk in keeping you on the drugs indefinitely, rather than letting you go off them and run the risk you’ll go crazy and hurt yourself. Faced with an uncooperative doctor (but a supportive therapist), I decided to go it alone, based on s—t I read on the internet.
Then, there’s the inconvenient matter of the drugs’ addictiveness. No one ever told me my medication was habit-forming, and from what I’ve read, my experience is typical. To be fair, there are good reasons to downplay the side effects of antidepressants-- for some patients, getting on a good regimen can make the difference between life and death. Even for me, I don’t think the possibility of addiction would have scared me away when I was mired in desperate sorrow, and my doctor offered something she felt would help. Regardless, it’s a rude awakening when you decide you don’t want the s—t in your brain anymore, only to discover that quitting is going to be a bitch.
Keep in mind, I’m no stranger to drug withdrawal. I quit a pack-a-day cigarette habit cold turkey. I abruptly stopped smoking obscene amounts of marijuana. And while I still drink, I have dramatically cut back my consumption to something resembling healthy levels (for an Irishman, anyway). I read about side-effects on the internet, but I’ll confess I assumed they were overblown. I had been through worse; I would make it through this.
Until this week, I couldn’t complain—I’m off one of my antidepressants completely, and as of Tuesday, I’m down to 50% of my original dose on the second. That last step down, however, hit me like a ton of bricks. I’m constantly cold—which never happens to me. I can’t concentrate. I’m nervous and irritable; it takes a massive effort not to be completely rude to the people I care about. And of course, this was the week that everything at my job decided to go crazy all at once. If I had the flu, I could call in sick, but I can’t very well say “I’m staying home today because I’m going off my meds and it’s making me f—king crazy.” We’ve come a long way in public attitudes toward diseases of the brain, but we have much farther to go before something like that becomes a valid excuse to skip work. We might never get there.
Antidepressants might have saved my life. They certainly created the conditions that allowed me to cope with high stress, combined with personal tragedy I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. I believe they are wonder drugs, and for every case of overprescription, there are probably two cases where a patient would benefit but either can’t get a prescription, or won’t take his/her doctor’s advice. I’m glad I had a doctor who found the right medications for me. I just she was as helpful now, on the back end, as she was on the front end.
Meanwhile, if I’m even more of a miserable prick than usual, I hope you’ll cut me some slack. I’ll be myself again in a few weeks.
For all the good they’ve done me, however, I’ve become convinced it’s time for me to go off the meds. This wasn’t an easy decision to make. For one thing, doctors trained in “defensive medicine” see less risk in keeping you on the drugs indefinitely, rather than letting you go off them and run the risk you’ll go crazy and hurt yourself. Faced with an uncooperative doctor (but a supportive therapist), I decided to go it alone, based on s—t I read on the internet.
Then, there’s the inconvenient matter of the drugs’ addictiveness. No one ever told me my medication was habit-forming, and from what I’ve read, my experience is typical. To be fair, there are good reasons to downplay the side effects of antidepressants-- for some patients, getting on a good regimen can make the difference between life and death. Even for me, I don’t think the possibility of addiction would have scared me away when I was mired in desperate sorrow, and my doctor offered something she felt would help. Regardless, it’s a rude awakening when you decide you don’t want the s—t in your brain anymore, only to discover that quitting is going to be a bitch.
Keep in mind, I’m no stranger to drug withdrawal. I quit a pack-a-day cigarette habit cold turkey. I abruptly stopped smoking obscene amounts of marijuana. And while I still drink, I have dramatically cut back my consumption to something resembling healthy levels (for an Irishman, anyway). I read about side-effects on the internet, but I’ll confess I assumed they were overblown. I had been through worse; I would make it through this.
Until this week, I couldn’t complain—I’m off one of my antidepressants completely, and as of Tuesday, I’m down to 50% of my original dose on the second. That last step down, however, hit me like a ton of bricks. I’m constantly cold—which never happens to me. I can’t concentrate. I’m nervous and irritable; it takes a massive effort not to be completely rude to the people I care about. And of course, this was the week that everything at my job decided to go crazy all at once. If I had the flu, I could call in sick, but I can’t very well say “I’m staying home today because I’m going off my meds and it’s making me f—king crazy.” We’ve come a long way in public attitudes toward diseases of the brain, but we have much farther to go before something like that becomes a valid excuse to skip work. We might never get there.
Antidepressants might have saved my life. They certainly created the conditions that allowed me to cope with high stress, combined with personal tragedy I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. I believe they are wonder drugs, and for every case of overprescription, there are probably two cases where a patient would benefit but either can’t get a prescription, or won’t take his/her doctor’s advice. I’m glad I had a doctor who found the right medications for me. I just she was as helpful now, on the back end, as she was on the front end.
Meanwhile, if I’m even more of a miserable prick than usual, I hope you’ll cut me some slack. I’ll be myself again in a few weeks.
), I'm petrified of it actually changing my mental state - which is, of course, the point.