Possible Side Effects.

NB: This post is personal. If you are gonna judge, kindly fuck off. Thankyou for your kindness.






I am addicted. I don't want to be. It is one of the most addictive anti-depressants around. It is one of the most loathed anti-depressants around. It is commonly known as the worst around. People in-the-know hear the name and cringe. Many people have been on it once or twice, but shun it quickly. Unfortunately, when I started taking Efexor, I was sick. Very sick. I needed all the help I could get, and it was the only medication that didn't make me violently ill.

I have been taking Efexor XR for over 6 years now. To begin with, it helped. It took the edge off my anxiety and depression. I was young, and my doctor was doing his best to help me out of a black hole.

The side effects of Efexor include nausea, dry mouth, sweating, sleepiness or insomnia, and diarrhea or constipation, weight gain and loss of libido. Most people only get one or two, if any, of these. Others, like myself, get bouts of every single one. The sweating is obsurd. If you have ever seen me out, you understand. I get anxious that I'll sweat, so I sweat. A vicious cycle. Weight gain was drastic, I was once flat stomached and boney. Insomnia is mind-blowing, but in turn becomes hypersomnia.

Once or twice, years ago, I cracked the poops with the drug and stopped taking it for a week. I thought I was going to die. I looked like a junkie withdrawing from heroin. I was vomiting, shaking so hard that it was almost convulsions, so dizzy that even thinking about standing up sent me spinning. I was saturated with sweat and struggling to string together a coherent sentence. I now know that cold turkey is not the smart way to quit, especially not when on the 150mg dose (or the 225mg as it were at one point).

Every now and then, mostly when I have had a particularly bad sweaty experience, I get angry and decide I will go to my doctor and wean off the bastard drug. Problem is, my GP lives an hour away and requires appointments three weeks in advance. I cannot afford a regular GP where I live, I'm all about the bulk billing, and coming off Efexor really needs to be a closely monitored experience.

Just three days ago I (again) had a moment of stubborness and decided that I'm over it. I realised that I am a crazy person. I am going to need to learn how to deal with that. I can't keep bandaiding my emotions for the rest of my life. It is more logical (and cheaper) to simply man-up and find ways to cope with my instability and craziness. I don't want to be popping pills until I'm old and grey. I NEED to do this, I need to figure out who I am without the Efexor buzzing around in the background. Depression and anxiety are seemingly going to be facts of my life, might as well work with them rather than try to unsuccesfully hide them away.

I have moments like these, then I have a breakdown. The reason I'm not at Uni is because I couldn't cope. I tried to write an assignment and I would find myself wrapped up in my blanket lying on my couch for days on end. I can barely muster up the energy to get out of bed, let alone do anything productive. Not working has made it much worse, I need to get into working full time, so I can occupy myself, rather than lie around all day analyzing every little detail about everything and making myself crazy. Anyway, as I said, I have moments like these, then I break down. After I had my little burst of motivation the other day, I had a fight with my woman. After a very long day of arguing, being ignored, yelling and toxic friendships not helping the anxiety, I found myself sitting in a park, with a bottle of passion pop and a stanley knife. Nothing serious, just some chicken scratches, nothing that will scar, but enough to make me stop and slap myself in the face and say 'what the fuck are you doing?'. Firstly, I never drink to drown my sorrows, I talk about doing it all the time, but actually following through rarely happens. Secondly, except for one slip up recently, I haven't done that to myself in so long.

The other night begs me to ask the question, am I ready to stop pill-popping, or should I keep bandaiding my mind for the rest of my life? I know dealing with this will take work, and deep down I think I am capable. Is it worth risking a handful of rotten days to potentially create a more fulfilling emotional state? My concern is that if I am still this bad ON drugs, what lies beneath? How bad could this get if I stop? I guess the only way to tell is to try. Surround myself with supportive, positive people. Find a worthwhile, time consuming job. Look into actual counselling, rather than just thinking about it.

I'll be okay.

Don't you know that you're toxic?

I have just experienced a falling out with a person who, for a long while, I considered to be my best friend. I have mentioned her before. She is the one who broke my heart by leaving me for another woman. Not that we were ever together as such...but you get the point. We have never really got past that. We tried, but things have never been the same since she disappeared into her new relationship.

Just recently her partner broke her heart. I shall not delve into detail as it is not my place, and frankly, I don't give a shit about the situation. My sole involvement was to be an ear for my heartbroken friend (Let's call her A). The point of me bringing this up is to give a slight introduction to this mornings rant.

The girl who broke her heart (we'll call her B) is the one who A left me for. The same one who was snide, rude, smug and sometimes vicious towards me when I was nursing my heart. Most people who know B, think she is the bees knees. They adore her. This is because she is a fabulous actor and grade-A kissarse. I have experienced the cruelty and dishonesty lurking beneath, I have witnessed the power-tripping callousnes and am starting to understand when other 'in-the-know' people speak of her being a compulsive liar.

B has been lying to A about her actions and other peoples actions. She has left her relationship shattered and, I guess her vengefulness is coming out here, it seems as though she doesn't like the idea of me and A being close while A is vulnerable (never mind my being in a relationship). Thinking about it, maybe B is the reason why A and myself were never the same... So, to cover her own trail of lies, B told A that basically I had been sticking my nose in their business and concocting stories to a third party. In reality, I was an innocent bystander who still barely knows the full story.

A now doesn't trust me, cannot believe B is that shit of a person (rose coloured glasses anyone?) and, due to her notorious craziness, won't listen to reason. This upsets me immensly. First, I fucking HATE people telling lies about me. If I fuck up, and I get pulled up on it, yes, it stinks, but it's called for. If people lie about me to cater to their own agenda, and make me look bad. I see red. I become a savage, scathing, cruel person. I think of nothing other than how to give this lying sonofabitch their comeuppance. Nothing infuriates me more than blatant dishonestly like that. The legal term for these lies is 'slander'. I'll leave it at that.

Anyway, this is not meant to be a blog about my anger with B (although there is plenty of it). No, it is to examine my relationship with A. As I said, I am upset that B had to interfere in my life in such a way, leaving A thinking so low of me. But, I have been pondering this for hours on end, as only a real crazy-person would, breaking down every aspect of everything, and maybe this is a good thing. It's a shame that we are on such strained terms, but in reality, looking at our relationship, A could be considered to be a toxic friend.

*cue dramatic narrative delay*

*cue fuzzy flashback to the way things were*

Once upon a time, when our friendship was in it's prime, so to speak, things were dandy. As all friends do, we had our quirks, our tiffs, but in general we got along famously. As I have said, A is notorious for her craziness. She is a nutter. Simple as that. Anybody who knows her would agree with me wholeheartedly. Which is possibly why I have been overlooking any toxicity in the relationship for so long.

Simple things, such as seducing me at night, then in the morning announcing her crush on B. Going from divulging everything to suddenly 'oh, I didn't think you would be interested'. Calling me to look after her after an incident with some sleeping pills, me driving for two hours, only to be made to feel like I am intruding. Things that are, I guess, understandable, like insensitivity to my feelings when beginning the relationship with B. A made me feel like a terrible person for not being able to show proper enthusiasm at their instant loving, for not being able to be the third wheel to their outings. Small words, that I doubt she even knows cut deeper than any knife. On a 45 degree day she says "I don't think your medication is what makes you sweaty, I think you'd just be a sweaty person". Out of the blue. It hurt, as she knows I am overly self-conscious about my sweat, and it is a proven side effect of my medication (and hey, she didn't know me before I was on it), so why she felt the need to mention it is beyond me.

Since her relationship with B began, A stopped being available for anything other than B. They merged almost instantly. When I tried to extend an invitation to spend time together, she was rarely interested. This is all understandable, it happens in new relationships. What is not understandable is the guilt being forced onto me for not putting in enough effort. I hurt when during a bout of illness, she shied away from a hug from me and told (yelled at) me to stop judging her when I suggested she should take a rest, but went and snuggled into someone else a second later.

Always playing the devils advocate, I have often said sometimes a person simply needs someone to nod and agree, for humours sake, just to feel better. A never gives me that satisfaction. She is always siding with the other person or coming up with ridiculous reasons for a situation, just so she can argue with me, when almost in tears, it is clear that a smile and nod is all I need. She has been mad at me for the most obscure things, yet I feel guilty for feeling the same thing over her actions. She once left me hanging in another suburb, waiting for her to arrive for 3 hours, until B finally informed me that she was ill. No message. No phonecall. Nothing. Yet I am made to feel guilty for...shit, I don't even know.

I would like to go into detail about the other night, it is a perfect example, making me feel guilty for simple human emotions. Mocking me about our short-lived fling in one breath, then explaining that she can't stay at my house for comfort as she 'might not have the strength to keep my hands off your parts'. Confusing? Mind boggling? Judging me and guilting me and being rude. As someone also pointed out to me, she really only comes to me when B is unavailable anyway...thus me being her fallback, but as soon as B is there, I'm gone, again.

Basically, as these are only some examples, and even though I know these are only parts of the story, she is actually a good person for the most part, I am starting to realise that being so close to her hurts me. Alot.

I don't want to have to do this, but I think I am going to leave her not talking to me. I am currently not seeing the point in fighting for something when I am sure to be ditched as soon as someone better comes along anyway. It's not good for me and my state of mind to be letting little things hurt me so frequently.

I hate that the above portrays her in a bad light, but as I have said, I don't think she even realises she is doing it. She is just a little crazy, and possibly just doesn't know how to deal with me or our past or something. I do love her, I just think it might be healthier for me to leave the relationship as it is, and keep it business-like in future situations.

2011

Three days, two hours and thirty-nine minutes. That is how long it took me to cry for the first time in the new year. On one hand, a good effort. On the other, wow, not even a week. How pathetic. Luckily, I guess, it was for something worthwhile. Coming to the harsh realisation that I have a hard task ahead. A task which could very well break me. I hope I have the strength to go ahead, soldier on. Come out the end a happier person.


Twenty-eleven is going to be a year of new opportunities. I am going to move to the big smoke. I am going to try new things. Meet new people. Find a new job. I am going to smile. I am going to make attempts at enjoying my life. I am going to try to so all the things I said I would do last year but instead spent my time in bed. I will kick this depressions arse. I will read more books (I have to read more than 41 to top last year). I want to be a better person. Interesting, happy, nice. Not miserable, boring and grumpy.

I would post my goals for the year, my to-do list, but they are personal. Now that I know people actually read this on occasion, I feel the need to censor myself. I don't like that I feel the need to do this, in my own blog, but hey, whatever.

I have so many things to say. Unfortunately though, I lack motivation. I have my best ideas for writing as I'm falling asleep. I have entire stories, entire blogs written word for word in my head. I can actually see the words written. If I could type them out without actually typing, I would be a published author. When I come to out them onto paper/screen though, anxiety about my writing hits and I suddenly forget everything. Anxiety about my writing, you ask? Whatever do you mean?

Well, you see, in primary school, I was the spelling geek. I was the grade 6 girls spelling champion (I would have been the overall champion if it wasn't for an unfortunate incident involving a quickly scrawled 'U' looking like a 'C', thus making my 'vacuum' looking like 'vaccum'). In year seven and eight, my english teacher had me doing year eight and nine work. He encouraged me and pushed me in ways I rarely have been since. I would have been in the accelerated learning class in year 10, had it not been for my hatred of school and everyone in it making my rebeliousness blossom. As a sidenote, I was suspended six times in six years of schooling. Anyway. When I changed schools in year eleven, I continued my lack of doing anything in class (my mother later admitted to doubting my chances of finishing school at all). In year twelve, however, something sparked, and I somehow managed to wrangle Dux of English for my year. Of all the students in my year twelve class, I was the one who produced the best writing skills. There were some amazing students. Some ranking very high in the state. I was told by many people that my writing was fantastic. I know it was. I managed to bring tears to my own eyes with a piece I wrote. Now, since leaving uni, I feel as though my intelligence has plummeted. I used to feel smart. Now I feel daft, a step away from chroming paint in a shop doorway. I don't want to be scanning purchases at a checkout in twenty years time. I'm too smart for that. Well. I used to be too smart for that. Now, who knows.

Shit, that was a bit of a tangent that I wandered off along, but the point I was trying to make was, because of my high standards of writing in my past, I now can't write anything without judging it against my (very talented) peers. The more I want to write well, the harder it is to actually produce anything of quality. Thus, I clam up, and write a whingeing pile of crud like this. I am physically unable to write without overthinking everything. I would like to be funny, sarcastic, interesting, intelligent in my writing like I once was, years ago. Instead, my self-loathing and self-indulgent shyte like this is the only thing that will spew onto the page from my mind.

Until next time, I hope you guys are happier than me, and your new year is a good one.


ScarXo

2010 reading list

- The book thief - Zuzak
- Choke - Palanhuik
- Shadow of the wind - Zafon
- Dead as a doornail - Harris
- Definately dead - Harris
- All together dead - Harris
- Kissing Kate - Myracle
- Glass - Hopkins
- Dead to worse - Harris
- Punk like me - Glass
- Punk and zen - Glass
- Twelve - McDonnell
- Rush of wings - Phoenix
- Animal farm - Orwell
- Red light - Glass
- American goth - Glass
- Sickened - Gregory
- We need to talk about Kevin - Shriver
- Dead and gone - Harris
- The man who mistook his wife for a hat - Sacks
- I play drums in a band called OKAY - Litt
- Tipping the velvet - Waters
- Today I'm Alice - Jamieson
- Bait - Sanchez
- I am not a serial killer - Wells
- Burned - Hopkins
- Disgrace - Coetzee
- Affinity - Waters
- Living Dead Girl - Scott
- Possible side effects - Burroughs
- Nineteen minutes - Picoult
- Keeping you a secret - Peters
- Candy - Davies
- The Pact - Picoult
- F2M - Edwards + Kennedy
- The Messenger - Zuzak
- Fight Club - Palahnuik
- Written on the Body - Wintersun
- Naked - Sedaris
- The tenth circle - Picoult
and to bring in the New year...
- High Fidelity - Hornby


As someone who worked in a bookstore and mocked the women who read Picoult, I have recently had to eat my words. I first picked up Nineteen Minutes at a Target store as it was ten dollars. I was intrigued about the topic - a school shooting - and decided to swallow my pride and buy it. I was entranced. Loved it. The same situation occured when I found The Pact. Then, when I got The Tenth Circle for christmas, I was a little wary, thinking surely I have used up my Picoult-luck, but no, this book was also very enjoyable. I think, though, that this is the end of my Picoult-streak. I believe alot of my enjoyment of these books has had to do with the topics. School shooting, suicide pact, rape and murder. I doubt I would have the same enthusiasm over some of her other books.

The man who mistook his wife for a hat by Oliver Sacks. Amazing. As a psychology degree dropout, I admit, the brain and the mind fascinate me no end. People are amazing creatures. Do not confuse this as admiration, I thoroughly dislike most humans, HOWEVER, I do love watching them. I would love nothing more than to run experiments like they did before ethics committees existed. This book blew my mind. I cannot even describe how much so. If studying psychology were anywhere near as interesting as this book, I would already have my Doctorate.

As a strong recommendation by many friends, I located a copy of High Fidelity. I am yet to finish, I keep falling asleep lately. I am enjoying it thoroughly. It hits a little too close to home though. There are too many sentiments in there that are too similar to me. I don't like it, it makes me think about how pathetic I am. Even more so than Rob, the narrator, as he at least has a record store and semi-regular sex.

This year, 2011, I plan to start afresh. I will read plenty, rather than sitting here on the computer. I will nourish my mind, rather than watching the pretty lights on the screen kills my brain cells.