I feel like I should start off by apologizing. To my husband, my kids, my friends, my neighbors. For the screaming, the intolerance, the ignoring, the lack of eye contact, the desire to disappear (just under a rock. Don't get nervous). I'm going through what I typically would refer to as a funk. Over the years different things triggered the funk. Work, childbirth, the weather, finances, my weight, parenting, a stranger's rudeness. But a few years ago I nipped the funk in the bud with medication.
A year or so ago I was put on Cymbalta for pain management due to fibromyalgia. I was, along with probably everyone around me, delighted to see that it not only did ease the pain, but it also "lightened" my mood quite a bit. Less ups & downs, fewer screaming episodes etc. Funny what an anti-depressant can do for you. Yes, my hands were no longer ham-hocks, I could get up from the floor without feeling like my body would crack and I could fall asleep with the pain in my kicking legs keeping me awake. That was the entire point of the anti-depressant; pain management. And it helped. A lot. What seemed like a side-effect was that my edge was gone. The funks were gone (or at least limited) and this was good for pretty much everyone around me. I was "evened out."
And then I did what I think many people on "mood altering" drugs do; I felt better so I stopped taking them. My body felt better. My personality was much more calm and easy-going. And to make the decision simple, my insurance stopped paying for the Cymbalta so I was going to need to contact my doctor to get on another brand of anti-depressant to manage pain (and personality). So off I went. At first, it was a rough week physically but then I was excited to see that the pain hadn't really come back and I was still plugging along really well with plenty of energy and good nature. Then a month went by.
You know when you take a nap in the middle of the day, but sleep a little too long and you can't really fully wake back up. So groggy that you might as well go back to bed. That's a good way to understand what I feel like most of the time right now. But mix in anger, frustration and physical pain.
Please don't get distressed by this. I tend to refer to myself as a sad clown. I'm pretty good out in the world (still nailing the jokes, smiling at the check-out ladies, volunteering for too much and making plans for the summer). My mild mental irritation (if you will) is directed more toward those who have to be around me every day. Luckies. Really, I just don't want to be around anyone and for those unfortunate to live in my house, the price is paid by enduring my anger, frustration, disinterest, blame and general blahs. Hence, starting this post with apologies to all these guys.
The point! I actually have one. The point for writing all of this down is to a.) express how completely disappointing and depressing it is to confirm for myself that I need to be on medication. That it adjusts my personality to a place that makes me so much happier and removes the eggshells for everyone around me. And b.) this is "part 1" of my little story as I thought I would follow up on my well-being once I get back on an anti-depressant that clearly manages quite a bit for me. It's all okay. It's going to be even more okay in a few weeks when the physical pain is under control and my severe edge is smoothed out a bit. And now that I have accepted the fact that I need a little "support" in pill form to keep the rockiness at bay, I can continue to make summer plans and anticipate that they might actually be fun. For everyone. I will keep you posted.