What Skipping Your Meds Really Feels Like

And why you seriously shouldn’t

I’ve been on anti-depressants for as long as I could remember- maybe since I was 13 (and that’s a whole decade already.)

About two years ago, my doctor convinced me that it would be in my best interest to up my dosage from 5mg to 10 mg in an effort to remedy my chronic anxiety, fatigued mind, lack of motivation, and general lackluster for life that came in waves during times of high-stress.

I was hesitant to do this but eventually agreed, desperate to manage my troubles with a little white pill that tucked me into my cocoon of safety each night.

With such a low dosage typically prescribed for children, the drug never granted me feelings of bliss but rather allowed my frantic mind to maintain focus while calming my fragile heart.

Recently, I was hired at a new place.

The job is manageable and it pays well. I’ve been getting lots of headaches there, perhaps from the hot temperature and novel stressors.

Over the past week, I have taken three Advils, when typically I wouldn’t consume that many in two months! I’m that person who will refuse medicine until I’m severely ill.

I’ve read that Lexapro and Advil don’t mix well, and in an effort to prevent a hangover-like migraine in the morning, I have skipped my pill and opted for an aspirin — a few times.

Withdrawal Symptoms Incur Immediately

The consequences have proven brutal. There’s a difference between sadness and depression, indecipherable to many, yet profound in situations like this one. Skipping my meds three days in one week has drastically affected my ability to maintain focus on a single task.

I have experienced rapid mood swings, similar to hormonal PMS symptoms. Unable to devote time and practice to pleasurable activities like yoga and cooking, I have found myself drowning in science fiction films or mindless Instagram scrolling post-work, neglecting both my passions and my self-care activities.

I find that depression expresses itself in deplorable ways, by manipulating my motor functions, processing speed, and general functionality to manage basic needs for myself. In an effort to stay sane, I resort to yelling at loved ones, as I desperately cry out for help.

My words are seemingly trapped in a dusty speech bubble in my mind, boggled and thrown around like a ship at sea during a storm.

I am unable to articulate or navigate my whirlwind of thoughts, as they are accompanied by my pounding heart, exaggerated by the fear of uncertainty.

I moan in distress and squeeze my eyes tight as I hurl my body over and hold my temples. I whimper and even scream, “Help me, help me!” I cry. I curse — a lot.

My pace is slowed to that of a snail.

Every movement takes the utmost effort and concentration. I have no will or motivation to bathe or clean or cook or do anything but sleep.

In times of mental discomfort, my best form of entertainment yet release is sleep because it feels like nothing- something of which I can process with ease.

I try to be kind to others but my patience is frail.

My emotions take over me, and I’m constantly on the verge of an episode, unable to manage my feelings in public or maintain a sense of professionalism.

My ego is too busy not giving a fuck, relinquishing its well-practiced filter, being free, and doing what it pleases, unscathed by the threat of a negative consequence. I moan in distress and squeeze my eyes tight as I hurl my body over and hold my temples.

I whimper and even scream, “Help me, help me!” I cry. I curse — a lot.

Skipping my meds not only affects my mind, my body, my thought process, but most importantly my quality of life, and my relationship with my higher self and those around me.

It’s now been a few days after the incident, and I’m grounded enough to be able to squeeze this article out, in an attempt to record my feelings and behaviors for myself and to hopefully help others to never do what I did.

I’ve learned my lesson and thankfully didn’t experience suicidal thoughts or tendencies, or the desire to physically maim myself or others. I’m lucky. I know that, and sadly I know what it feels like to drown in a galaxy of mourning and regret, with a degree of sadness that burns a hole in your chest and strips you of your joy and wisdom.

Whatever you do — please don’t go off your medication without conferring with your health care provider.

You are worthy of love, and should never be embarrassed by taking medicine to maintain your mental health. You are courageous and responsible.

You. Are. Enough.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline:

1–800–273–8255

Best,

🆂🆄🆉🍊

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