Last night was a drug- fuelled doozy – diazepam, zopiclone, 200mg quitiapine and still I kept waking up in pain.
Morning comes and I greet the day feeling jittery and scared. That terrible, pit of the stomach, fear that just makes you hold onto yourself tighter and tighter until the trembling stops. But the trembling doesn’t stop.
And then comes THE question … ‘what’s wrong?’
And I sit and sob and cry and snot and try to stop and blub and all that I have been holding in escapes. All the fear and uncertainty , the fear of being afraid, the uncertainty about it ever stopping.
My head hurts. My shirt is wet and ‘no, I don’t know what brought this on.’
We have lived together long enough for he who thinks logically and manages my condition much better than me, to usually have an idea at this point.
He has forgotten to give them to me this morning.
I hate that he has to manage my meds (like I have some sort of chronic illness or something) but this happens much more regularly if I am in charge. Also he has to hide the bad boys in constant far of me deciding that today is one day too long for me to be on the planet.
So an astonishing four hours after I usually take them, I am a trembling wreck in the corner.
That is how long it takes for withdrawal to kick in from 225mg slow release venlafaxine people.
Half an hour later and I am my normal, drug- addled calm person.
Is this what I would be without my meds?
Or is it just magnified by the withdrawal process?
I am seriously not ready to find out yet.