My Tribe

Tribe. I always hear people talking about their tribes or reading articles about how we, especially women, should have them. And I always roll my eyes. I’ve got a few good friends and some family. That’s certainly not a tribe. They’re not braiding my hair or making me dinner. We don’t have matching shirts, and we certainly don’t go on camping trips together. They’re just my people, and I can count on some of them, and others, not so much. That’s not a tribe. Right? Wrong. Turns out, I do have a tribe. Mine saved my life. 
Three-ish weeks ago I had a psychotic breakdown. This was different than the last two really bad ones. This one was ME breaking down, not my medication. I wanted to die. I wanted to cut myself. I wanted to burn myself. I wanted to slice my wrists open or swallow a whole bottle of pills. I felt that everyone, except for Lorelei (which is the thing that holds my place here on earth), would be so much better off without me. I was crying all of the time. Everything hurt…

On Disappointment

If there is one thing I can always, always rely on, it's disappointment. Sadly, that disappointment is never not disappointing. I'm so tired of battling myself. I get my hopes up knowing that I will fail, clinging to some fantasy that maybe this time I won't. But I always do. I read this quote recently while trying to make sense of this pattern:

"On disappointment: Don't immediately brush it off. Feel it first, and then it will leave you quicker. Here's the thing about broken glass: it needs to be acknowledged and swept up so you don't step on it later."

The quote is by Victoria Erickson. I have no idea who that is, but damn is she right. But also...I do feel it. Sometimes too much. That's the case with me, something is either too much or not enough. I guess that's two things I can always rely on: I am never good enough.

I'll be finding glass in my feet for awhile after this one.

Mental Health Update

Last week I received sweet, sweet relief: my insurance company approved my medication. I have now been on Provigil for about a week, and I feel different. Provigil is not prescribed for anxiety or depression, it's a "smart drug" for those with Narcolepsy, ADD/ADHD, and Sleep Shift Disorder. It is also prescribed for a myriad of off-label reasons, two of them being depression and anxiety. The medication isn't supposed to fix me, but it is supposed to increase the efficacy of my Wellbutrin.

So how's it going? It is going alright. I feel as though I've returned to myself; not 100%, but maybe 80-85% and that is fucking great. My rage is gone, the brain zaps have stopped, I am sleeping again, and many of the side effects mentioned in my previous post have subsided or disappeared entirely. The thing that still remains are the tears. I am very quick to sadness, and feel it profoundly right now. I am convinced that this is a form of PTSD from the things that transpir…

Side Effects

It's been nearly a month since I stopped Zoloft and have been without a replacement. Many people, prescribing physicians mostly, don't believe that there are withdrawal side effects when antidepressants/anti-anxiety medications are involved; it is sad and devastating to those who live through it. My doctor doesn't appear to be one of those truth deniers, but my previous doctor most certainly was. I'm going to list the side effects that I have been experiencing since this nightmare of a journey began:

Side Effects

Brain zaps. The best way I can describe it is the sound (and probably feeling) of a bug getting electrocuted by a bug zapper. My cats can hear the zaps. I know this because their ears perk up when it happens.ExhaustionInsomniaRealistic dreams and nightmares that leave me wondering what is real. Seriously.HeadachesEye pressureTemple pressure (think of a railroad spike going through your temples)Rage. All the rage.Sadness. All the sadness.Tears. All the tears. Op…

The Year of Selfish

2018 is the year of Me. I am giving myself permission to put myself first and to tell other people ”no” without explaining or feeling like I have to. I’m giving myself permission to be a mess and to clean it up when I am good and ready because clearly forcing myself into happiness has not worked thus far. I give myself permission to be in love with people, in any way I see fit (emotionally), and to not stuff those feelings down. Those feelings are mine and I deserve to feel them and shouldn’t make myself feel bad for doing so.

2018 will be a year in which I cry more often in public because my heart is sad and I am a deeply feeling person. I will be attentive to friendships and begin burning down the walls of inhibition. I am 34 years old. I want to live to be 35, both literally and figuratively. I have held myself back so much.

This year I am giving myself permission to figure out what I need to be happy and to foster those needs until I get there. I give myself permission to enjoy po…


Last night I had trouble pronouncing basic words; think “real” and “great.” At first I had a good laugh because I couldn’t carry on a conversation without sounding like a moron, but that all changed when I went to read in bed and had trouble there as well. I was able to make out a lot of words, but I did not retain any of the plot line and again, basic words were foreign to my brain. This was, undoubtedly, a withdrawal side effect from Zoloft. It was also the scariest I’ve dealt with so far.

The inability to carry on an intelligible conversation caused me to have a really shitty panic attack. I couldn’t breathe, my heart was racing, and I legit thought I was going to die. Fortunately going outside and staring at the super moon while standing in the freezing cold helped. I also threw up, and I swear I was basically John Coffey from The Green Mile, spewing out the garbage of whatever is going on inside of me. I sound fucking insane. But that’s what happened.

I woke up this morning still…


I attempted to do an online suicide prevention chat; I was number 49. Seriously? People are suicidal and have to be in a line to talk with someone? That is not right. It's been a rough night. It's been a rough few weeks. I'm having terrible withdrawals from Zoloft and I can't control my reactions. I am so quick to anger and rage. I am so sad and tired and can't sleep. I cry so much. I think about cutting myself. I've thought about driving my car into a tree at top speed. My brain is zapping me every time I move my eyes, which, as you know, people move their eyes all the time.

The people in my house suck. I love them to death, but they suck. We've had conversations about this. I have point blank told them that I need help, and I wrote down the ways that I need them to do it. They said they understood. They apologized. They had conversations about how they could support me together because I am almost not in control of myself. And yet they went and did the sa…