In the past few weeks, I’ve started to taper off the anti-depressant I went on in 2004. Something had to help me survive that sweltering summer of chemo hell. And trust me, it worked wonders. But I’ve been feeling for months like I didn’t need it anymore; signs started showing up to support my suspicions: The doctor who originally prescribed it wouldn’t renew; my insurance carrier required all kinds of crap to cover the cost; I ponied up full-price for many months in the meantime. You name it, it happened to make it hard. While I knew what to do, my friend fear found me & raised all the right questions:
- Without my Wellbutrin, would I return to the pre-cancer state in which I essentially gave up on my life?
- Would the me I’ve rediscovered get lost again?
- Would I turn back to eating & drinking for comfort in the absence of my chemical crutch?
Nonetheless, I fought to find the place inside myself that said I could do it & I’d be just fine. But, let me tell you, it’s been anything but fun. Riding the roller-coaster of withdrawal, I’ve been hungry, weepy, angry, unmotivated, irate & anti-social, among other attractive emotions. I apologize to all those around me who might have experienced any of the above personally although I tried to keep it under control. But here I am now – down to every other day – one happy camper again.
I know the hole I have needs to be filled with something. Here’s hoping that yoga, singing lessons, playing the piano & loving myself like a mofo is the best medicine. Thanks, Wellbutrin, for being there when I needed you the most. I might not miss you but that’s a testament to what we’ve accomplished together.
The only way is up!
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