Psych Ward: The Nothing takes root. 

KIt felt like jail. The whole experience is burnt in my mind like a brand. I would only return if I had to escape a zombie apocolypse because nothing gets in or out of there without a fancy badge and a finger print scan.


My antidepressants failed me. I was grief stricken, sad, suffering and spinning slowly, painfully out of control. I knew I had a problem.

My psychiatrist was trying to switch my medications slowly from one antidepressant to another. The new one, Cymbalta, is supposed to help those of us with chronic pain better than the Effexor that I’ve been taking for a little over a year or more.

Both are in the same class of Serotonin norepinephrine reuptake inhibitors. (SNRIs) are a class of antidepressant used to treat depression and other affective disorders. Cymbalta is also indicated for diabetic nerve pain and fibromyalgia.

I was halfway through the slow and dreadful switch. My mood had slowly dropped from barely interested to no interest in anything. Then no interest in living and on to rather not live at all.

I knew these feelings were not mine. I began the quest to infill my psyche with the research of happiness. I knew, at the time my brain was not well, it was not my fault and I did not have to act on the thoughts and plans that were seeping in. I began to feel anxiety and reluctance upon reading, listening or trying to enable any happiness theories.  It took one emotional fight with my husband and I was doomed, lost in the dark reaches of depression. The fact was that the fight and the cause of the fight was because by my low self esteem, anxiety and depression in the first place.

The day after the fight, I sent an email to my psychiatrist to let her know that I was not doing well. My husband and I had made up, but the subject matter was still a huge burden on my soul. I wanted to ask her if we could adjust my new medication to help with the deep, deep sadness that I was feeling. My doctor called me immediately and set me up with an appointment the following Monday and instructed me to increase the Cymbalta from 40mg to 60mg in order to alleviate the horrible darkness that was encroaching. I agreed. I could most definitely hold on through the weekend, it was our five year wedding anniversary, after all.  She also mentioned tms therapy and even ketamine therapy to help me through the medication change. I hung up that Thursday, hopeful that the change in meds would help and the appointment would be superfluous. By Monday, the suicidal thoughts finally became an obsession….

To Be Continued


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