Here’s what my days have looked like lately: wake up around noon. Wash up, put “real” clothes on (maybe), and immediately regret waking up so late. Thanks, meds.
That’s where I gave up. If I couldn’t even check the mail without Xanax, I couldn’t survive day-to-day life with a fetus swimming around in my uterus. Would it drown in my adrenaline?
Have an anxiety disorder? Hate being sick? Throw some cold meds into the mix and you might really end up feeling bonkers.
Why overload my body with a medicine that might be just as effective at half strength?
I decided to make the next dosage cut: 20 mg to 15 mg. I would have preferred a brief hiatus at 17.5 mg, but measuring out seven-eighths of a pinky nail-sized pill would be, frankly, a pain in the ass.
I kept hearing the same old line from my doctor about how if I still needed a benzodiazepine to get through a day at work or a trip to the store, then my Celexa dosage was wrong.
I’ve forgotten to keep a detailed journal — in part because life is keeping me busy with life-y things like work and buying a house and stuff — and I’m wondering if I’ve suffered less because of it.
I want to make a baby, and I don’t want Baby swimming in SSRI soup.
“If you don’t like Celexa, you don’t have to continue taking it,” my doctor said. Yeah, I thought. I’ve heard that story before.
“I think you’d feel much better if you tried some medication other than Xanax,” he said. His concern was genuine. “Instead of treating your panic as it happens, we should try to prevent it.”