Two different flavours of shit

Back in March I decided to withdraw from my anti depressant. I’d been on it for around theee years; it no longer seemed to be elevating my mood and I am already on lots of other meds for pain/anxiety/minor ailments so thought it was time to prune away excess medication.

What followed was a period of five weeks of ‘good’ (but for me, ABSOLUTELYFUCKINAMAZINGWONDERFUL) health: normal functioning, I left the house every day, went to the gym, went to Machynlleth comedy festival. I let new people, wrote and started to plan the future

But after that time my mood started cycling rapidly. My anxiety returned. In order to cope with the chaos I self-harmed and became bulimic: both tactics I hadn’t resorted to for a few years. I cried about five times at day at adverts, the kindness of strangers, buzzfeed articles, and the general minutiae of life.  I encountered terrifying hangovers, where my anxiety was so bad I would have chucked myself out of the window to make it stop.

After about ten weeks of this, including a stay in a crisis house, my mate said ‘I think things are worse now you’re off the anti depressant mate’. I reluctantly agreed and restarted it.

Since then, it’s like I’ve been dead inside. My anxiety and agoraphobia have returned with a vengeance; I don’t leave the house for weeks at a time and never without a carer. I’ve socially isolated myself as I can’t bear my friends to see me in this pathetic ungroomed, un-cared-for state.

I’ve gone from having an active, sparky brain, fizzing with ideas, writing thousands of words every day, to someone afraid of opening their computer.

So, it seems I have a choice between CRAZY BANANAS ROLLERCOASTER life that might well end in suicide or d e a d  i n s i d e life propped up by Valium and codeine to get through the endless days.

What should I do?