My GP is so comforting. I emailed her on Friday around quitting time that I needed that new scrip, and in no uncertain terms needed it soon, and she emailed back on Sunday to confirm it was as good as faxed.
After spending the weekend re-reading side-effects for Effexor, the one I'm going to try next, I have to say I'm a tiny bit concerned... they keep getting worse rather than better as I progress away from SSRIs and non-standard drug types, and march off into SNRI territory.
Oh well, at least we haven't gotten to lithium or other heavy-duty anti-psychotics yet. That's where things are going to get extremely messed up.
I took a fairly risky bet and did not taper-down on the Lexapro at all, so in the span of about three and a half days I've mostly gotten out from under it. The half life is 27-32 hours and it's been over 72, so hopefully this debilitating headache that feels like the offspring of caffeine withdrawal, a massive alcohol hang-over, and a full-head migraine, is the last I'm going to even suspect could be symptoms.
I really had no others, aside from one of my episodes on Saturday, where I was so depressive and non-verbal I almost got into several fights with my parents because I could not express my needs well. But I get those a few times per month no matter what else is going on, seemingly, and I'm no closer to having any idea what causes them or what they are than ever. Fun times.
If anyone had told me toward the end of 2016 that a year later I was going to be on HRT and pretty much the worst-off I had ever been mentally in my entire life I would literally have scoffed at them. This is so not the place I wanted to be after my first year, I cannot even sufficiently express the mass and breadth of my expansive disappointment.
Hormones were supposed to make everything better, even just enough that I could survive on my own without having to live with my parents. Having that turn out to be entirely the opposite of the case is not a particularly good feeling, and one that actually makes me feel even more dependent than ever on people who are so seriously tired of me at this point I'm surprised they haven't evicted me yet.
At least my acquaintances seem to know when to leave well enough alone at this point, I suppose?
My newish twitter buddy messaged me last night for a while until, I assume, it became apparent I wasn't ever going to ever get any more interesting than tersely simple one sentence responses. At which point she thankfully gave up.
And my very-much-closer-at-one-point friend with whom I used to share everything has been avoiding me all together, which shows incredibly good foresight on his part. Not to mention his having stepped back like twenty miles in terms of how familiar and intimate he's willing to be with me, which I completely understand. I'm a terrible friend, a dreadful listener compared to how I used to be, and a worse confidant. Mostly because all I ever end up doing is whinging about how frustrated I am with my life due to mental health issues, I suppose. This situation is entirely my own fault. I readily admit that. I don't begrudge him anything, his sanity is way more important to both of us than mine is. Seriously.
I swear if I can't find a drug that helps with anxiety, which nothing I have tried to date has touched I'm going to have to quit my job. The anxiety levels are so high at this point, it's not unusual to get to work and have a stress headache upon arrival. I'm talking before I have even clocked-in or started work yet.
Now that's dedication to a cause, amirite?