Brain Zaps. A tutorial for the rest of you.

So, I'm totally off the Zoloft. It's been a looooooong process.

I started stopping in June, and I just finished stopping last week. I was only on 50 mg daily (which is the starter dose. It worked for me, so I never upped it; the max is 200 mg daily).

My weaning wasn't scientific, but it was gradual. I began every three days or so taking a half pill, or 25 mg. After a few weeks, I upped it to 25 mg every other day. Eventually I was at 50 mg every third day. After a while on that, I went to 25 daily.

Then the process started all over, with me halving the 25's (I asked the pharmacy to give me sixty 25 mg tablets, rather than thirty 50 mg). Once I was on 12.5mg per day, I gradually introduced days that I didn't take anything at all. That's the part that took the longest.

So here I am, five months later. I haven't had a single milligram in about ten days, and so far pretty good.  I'm more emotional than I've been in years...I was never one to cry, and right now I can choke up at the drop of a hat.  Frankly, I am thinking this is a good thing.  More on that another time.

Right now I want to focus on the bizarrest of bizarre withdrawal symptoms.  If you've been on an SSRI, you likely know what I'm talking about.

Yup.  Brain Zaps.

Before I went on Zoloft, nearly three and a half years ago, I read about this phenomenon and thought, "That sounds awful!"  Ironically, the anecdotal accounts I'd ready about it pretty uniformly said something akin to, "They sound awful, but they aren't.  In fact, they are oddly pleasant."

They are tough to describe.  Essentially, for me, a Brain Zap feels like an electrical current briefly runs through my head, starting at the back of my skull.  Not unlike a friction shock, but totally NOT like a friction shock in that it doesn't hurt at all.  Just the fun part of the jolt.  And yes, if you've had a Brain Zap you'd know there IS a fun part.

Brain Zaps were always my cue that I was behind on my Zoloft.  If I missed a day, and went too long the next day, sure enough...zzzzzzzzzzztttttt.  Oh, right, gotta take my Zoly.

The strangest thing about this (and yes, the strangest part is  yet to come), is the physical action that would proceed the BZ.  It seems BZ's require, again, at least for me, a quick eye movement. Not a simple annoyed eye roll (if that were the case, I'd pretty much have them constantly when running low on Zoly).  

No, it requires a faster motion than that.  

A quick over the shoulder glance.

Eyes darting to the other side of the room because I think one of my kids is trying to sneak some cookies.

A sudden look upwards after opening our hall closet because something is about to fall on my head from our overstuffed hall closet that I keep nagging my husband to sort through because I am not tall enough to reach the upper shelf otherwise I'd do it myself.

(oh, sorry for that tangent.)

Anyway, that's the Brain Zaps.  

Here's what I didn't expect.  I am still getting them.

They are, however, far less intense than anything I'd experienced while actually on Zoloft.  There is just this faint little zzzztt.  Kinda like Zoloft is saying Hi!  Remember me?  We used to hang out?  Ummm...thought I'd check in.  

I do remember, Zoloft.  You were good to me.  Thanks for all you did.  You helped me at a time when I really needed help.  I'll always remember you fondly.  

Now, Zoly, go work your magic on the next person.  And don't let those Brain Zaps freak them out.

Rainbows & blogging templates

I think I need to shake things up around here. Get back in the groove of writing on a semi-regular basis.

I don't know what my deal is. I've got some sort of blogging writer's block. I have about five or six gazillion posts in my queue...none of them completed. I start writing, stop, stare at the screen, say, "Eh," and walk away.

What's up with me?

I haven't told you much about my most awesome new house. Or the fundraising auction that I am organizing for my daughter's preschool. Or that I've lost weight since quitting Zoloft (yea me!). Or that our finances are really starting to look up (despite the fact that my husband's in the banking/mortgage industry. But he's one of the good guys!). Or. Or. Or.

Maybe it's just that I started using this bloggy here as a vent for all the negative stuff going on that I forgot how to write about wonderful things...like rainbows and soft, fluffy kittens and life going well.

It probably also has something to do with the fact that I still don't have my own laptop. Or camera.

Oh! Good! Something to complain about!

Except that I am probably getting a camera this weekend. Not for sure, but probably.

AND, it's looking pretty good that I'll be getting a new computer by the end of the year.

Great! NOW what am I going to complain about? It's not fair! I don't have anything to complain about, dammit!

Oh! Excellent! That's what I can write about...how much my life sucks because everything is going so flipping well.

Wait.

I dunno. Maybe I should play with the template. That's always fun.

It's my blog and I'll be vain if I want to.

Way back in 1998 I was laying in bed, my newborn son in his bassinet within arm's reach. I put my hand lightly on his chest, feeling its reassuring rise and fall.

As if overwhelmed with love for my little boy, my heart starting beating faster and faster in the still of the night. It sounded like a train in my ears, or a marching band. It thumped against my chest wall and started to steal my ability to breath normally.

While my husband slept oblivious next to me, I struggled for a deep breath, tried to reassure myself that this was probably a normal experience to have in the days right after giving birth. I was probably dehydrated. Over-tired. Adjusting to the crazy hormonal shifts.

This feeling, however, would surface whenever it damned well pleased for quite some time. Three and a half years, to be exact.

There were some dark times in those years, but for the most part the anxiety was manageable. I knew the feeling would go away in a day or two; I just had to suffer through those hours. Eventually as the months progressed the "episodes" grew further and further apart, until one day I realized that it had been weeks since the last one.

They were gone.

When I was pregnant with my daughter, I promised my husband that if I had another post-partum experience like that, I'd give up the stoicism and take some medication. I didn't want to live like that again, and I didn't want to put my family through it.

Happily, the second time around it wasn't as bad. Or, on second thought, maybe not happily. I lived with a low-grade anxiety that I kept pretty well hidden most of the time, but it would come out full-force when I was faced with an even mildly stressful situation.

When my daughter was just over a year old, I was faced with what turned out to be a big fat NOTHING, but at the time was a wee bit of a health scare for me. I crumpled. I stopped returning phone calls, hid in my home for weeks waiting for tests and biopsy results. I told no-one about it, just put everything on hold as much as I could.

When that was all over, I marched into my doctor's office and said, "It's time. Gimme some Zoloft." He did, and it worked miraculously. The anxiety that had taken over was gone.

*Poof*

At the time, I was training for a half marathon. I had less than a month to go, and was really ramping up my running.

Yet...as I watched my friends with whom I was training dropping pounds like crazy because of our running schedule, I started gaining weight.

I remember the day of the race, which went from Napa to Sonoma, feeling my belly jiggle a bit as I ran. I'd never had that before. Not ever. I had gained five pounds since starting Zoloft.

Whatever, it's worth it not to feel like that. I thought to myself. Five pounds is a small price to pay to feel normal.

I had no idea what was in store for me.

The small stomach jiggle grew and grew. I tucked away my size 4's and bought 6's. I can deal with a size 6 if it means I'm not dealing with anxiety.

The flab on my tummy started expanding northward. My rib cage became covered by a small layer of fat, then a thicker one.

Out with the 6's, in with the 8's.

This is getting tough, but still...worth it.

My hips started widening. My wedding rings got tight. Even bracelets didn't fit the same. AND MY SHOES.

Bought some size 10's.

In case you're wondering, I was still working out consistently. I enjoy exercise and don't feel right if I skip more than a day. In fact, until Zoloft I was one of those annoying people who occasionally had to diet to GAIN weight (okay, not so much after kids, but I didn't have one bit of problem losing weight EVER. Until Zoly).

I started pretty much living in yoga pants.

And I bought a size 12.

My weight reached the place where it was when I gave birth to each of my kids. I looked in the mirror and the bone structure that once allowed me to model (not a lot, mind you, but a bit) was gone.

Who is that fat woman in the mirror? Oh, right, me.

Me?

Me.

In three years I've gained thirty pounds. That's an increase of about twenty-five percent. Good times!

I'm going to wean myself off of Zoloft. It actually kind of started at BlogHer because I forgot to take my daily dose twice. I figured I'd run with it...

I'm going to document it for you here. The good, the bad, the whatever.

And maybe, just maybe, if I make it to BlogHer next year I won't hide from the cameras. Or look frantic in the photos that are taken because I dread seeing how fat my face has become.

Because this is me (days before starting Zoloft):


Not this (at BlogHer...thanks VDog for letting me steal the photo!)


Maybe I shouldn't be so vain. But, whatever, I am.

(I wonder when I started parting my hair on the opposite side? THAT has nothing to do with Zoloft, I'm pretty sure.)