No consistency with Cymbalta

Although the Cymbalta "seems" to be working at times, it certainly isn't a cure all for depression. At least for me anyway. I go up and down with mood swings like I have NEVER done before. WTF?

Tim and I had "THE" worst fight in the history of our relationship the other day. I did something during that fight that I have never done before. I completely lost my mind and wiped off everything on his nightstand with one quick swoop. Those items included, but limited to the following; a crystal lamp, full ashtray, full can of Red Bull, a basket filled with jewelry.

Afterwards, we talked about my mood swings. I am just praying he will hang in here with me through this bullshit. I am going back to the doctor to have a heart to heart with him this week. Normally, I go every other month. And truthfully, before my severe depression this time, and since then, I haven't really been that honest with him. I just keep saying everything is fine with me. And things aren't fine. Better? Yes. Good? Sometimes. More often not good.

I don't lie to my doctor because of fear or insecurity. Really. Do you wanna know why I lie to him? Because by the time I reach his office, I am actually exhausted from stress. His office is located about 20 miles from my home and 40 miles from my office. And it is NEVER a good drive to get there. I am hardly ever surprised by the traffic. I even leave earlier than it should take with traffic. But somehow, every fucking time I go in that direction I am literally hitting my brakes every second because it is always bumper to bumper type traffic. I have tried other routes, but to no avail.

So, when I finally DO get there, my brain is so mushy I can't even think straight. So I take the lazy way out. I tell him I'm fine.

I went to my cousin's birthday party today. She turned 6 years old. Her parents hired ponies for the party. My son was impressed.......

As I was sitting watching the pony rides, my cousin, who happens to be a LSW sat beside me and we began to chat about my depression. She is probably the only one in my family who has even the smallest inkling into my condition. But if you don't suffer from depression, you can never truly know the insanity of it. Anyway, she recommended that I go see the doctor and ask him to prescribe a new medication but she didn't remember the name of it. She only knew that it was mixture of Prozac with something else??? Oh, he'll love that description of medicine I am sure, lol. But you know what? I am game for anything at this point. Still only enjoying either 2 or 3 consecutive days of "normalcy" and its just not cutting the mustard for me. Because after those 2 or 3 days I feel as though I am right back where I started. Paralyzed to join the human race. I do absolutely NOTHING but sleep, cry, whine, fight, and create resentments against those who love me and have been so supportive with all this. God, I hate myself sometimes. And yes, I hate the disease, I know. But I hate myself more at times.

Thursday we went to Atlantic City for an overnight jaunt. I had a blast. Love those slot machines. But Tim doesn't put one thin coin in the machines. He just follows me around until I get comfy on a machine, he walks around and returns within 5 minutes. And then he stands over me until I feel as though he is just waiting for me to be done. So after dragging him around 3 casino's, I finally let him off the hook and we returned to our room at Caesar's. My Dad gets rooms comp'ed to him for all his time spent down there. So when we returned to our room, I lit about 20 candles all over the room and proceeded to the jacuzzi. When I came out, toweled myself off and came into the bedroom, I heard that oh so familiar sound. Snoring. GREEEEAAAT!!!!! So much for romance. I was so livid that I thought a blood vessel popped in my brain. It wasn't even midnight. I made as much noise as possible, and moved around the bed like I was on fire. Nothing. He never even moved. I finally threatened him that I was going back to the casino, and he picked his head up off the pillow, smiled, nodded and plopped his head back down. After 3 threatening pleas, I got dressed and headed back downstairs. I was out gambling from 2:00 am and returned to the room at 5:14 am. And ya know what? HE NEVER EVEN KNEW I LEFT!

We woke up at 1:00pm, got dressed in silence (oh he knew I was beyond mad at this point), got the car and headed home. He finally spoke about 15 minutes out of AC, asking me if I wanted to stop here or there. "Nope" was the only word I used all the way home. 2 and a half hours of the silent treatment. We got home about 5pm. Saturday I worked and my boss invited us over for dinner that night. I texted him that WE were going, and he should be home by 5 to get ready. He was home by 5, a miracle itself. We went to my boss's house. We had so much fun. So at midnight, I turned to Tim and said I wanted to go home. The drinking and drunk talk was beginning to get a little out of hand amongst the hosts and guests so I wanted to duck out before they got too crazy. We came home, and watched TV, cleaned, did laundry and went to bed. We went out Sunday morning. A quick trip down the shore to pick up my little guy. Since I was the one who wanted him home for this party, Ty's dad insisted that I come and get him. I reluctantly agreed. And my ex must have called me 10 times. Because I am famous for telling him I would do something, and then go back to bed. I don't blame him for being skeptical as to whether I would show up or not. He knows about this last bout of depression, and has been trying so hard to be supportive.

As we were driving home, we stopped at a garden center, bought flowers for Mom's grave, a small cafe set for my patio, and a few other odds and ends.

When we got home, Tim informed me that he wouldn't be accompanying me to my cousin's party. Surprise, surprise.

After the party, I went to Walmart and then came home.

So I was out Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. I made 4 days of actual living like a normal person! I am trying NOT to focus on the downslide I usually experience a positive bout of normal living. But since I am up, blogging at 3:42am, chances are not good that I will make that 5th day of normal living. I am trying so hard to get my mind off of that fear, I'm making myself a little crazy.

So, goodnight and keep your fingers crossed that I actually can get out of bed for the 5th day in a row and be productive!

Hugs,
Suboxone Mom

Long Story.......

So long that I may get bored actually writing it, but here goes nuttin…….

I ran out of meds, (Cymbalta) half way thru February with my Rx not able to be refilled until March 1st. Oh, I’m lying…. I could have it refilled, BUT I would have to pay out of pocket for it. My insurance co-pay is $90, so I wasn’t even going to bother asking how much it would be without my Rx plan.

See, the thing is, there is no way that I could have run out of meds mid-stream. I remember when I picked up the script at the end of January the bottle seemed to be a little empty. But hey, I was used to looking into pill bottles and ALWAYS feeling as though they were never full enough. So I let it go. Until about the 9th of February when I realized that I only had enough meds for about 5-6 more days. 2 capsules @ 30mg each.

So I go to my pharmacy. (BTW, this pharmacist knows I was on Suboxone for opiate abuse) and explained to him that there is no way I could have taken double doses for the past 9 days. He looked at me rather skeptically. THAT alone pissed me off. I went on to explain that the last time he filled the Rx, he gave me the actual bottle of Cymbalta. Since they are packaged @ 30 pills per bottle and he had to double that amount, he actually wrote in BIG BLACK LETTERS: QTY: 60.

So this past time he also gave me the actual bottle from the Cymbalta company. Only this time he didn’t write qty: 60.

He looks at me again, with some annoyance in his eyes! Then he tells me that there is no way HE made a mistake. Now mind you, he is a teeny-weeny pharmacy located in EastBumfuck, NJ. No chain drug store around for miles. He or his assistant HAND count the pills. I have never actually seen him do any counting. It’s always this young girl who barely speaks English, let alone can READ English!

Now, keep in mind that I am trying to remain calm. I approached him with a very friendly attitude, smiling and being very humble. With the smile beginning to fade, I go on to explain that I understand that he may feel that he never makes mistakes, but everyone makes mistakes once in a while…..right? He says, “Well, I don’t”!!!!!!!!!

Now, what could this man possibly think my motive would be to lie to him? I tell him that there is NO WAY I took double doses of meds each and every day by mistake. I explain to him that I couldn’t possibly have the urge to abuse anti-depressants! I mean, can he possibly think that I would actually have it my mind to double up my dose, just to see it would work twice as fast? Or would it make me twice as UN-Depressed? Really now?

So, he actually has the nerve to suggest that perhaps the other capsules are “rolling around in my purse”. Yeah…..uh….NO!

So as I am walking out the door, I turn back and told him that I felt it would be best if he checked his inventory against his dispensing records and keep me posted.

No, never heard from him. So I stopped the Cymbalta on February 15th and went thru 2 weeks without meds. Nothing horrible happened, although I was throwing up a lot from nausea. It never occurred to me that it could be withdrawal. I still don’t know if it was or not. But I do know that I was only on the meds for a month, so how bad could it have been to stop them cold turkey.

I had my meds filled again on March 1st. Although I felt no “mental” repercussions from stopping the meds at the time, I can tell the difference now that they are back in my system. I am up again. Out of bed. Not always happy about trying to be a productive citizen of society, but I find that I can actually push myself. Whereas before, when depression was at its worse, “pushing myself” was NOT an option.

Bottlecappie was right when she noted that sometimes we don’t want to do “it”, but we must push ourselves. I honestly believe that the meds give me at least the strength to want to push myself. I’m not saying it always works, but if it works only 50% of the time, for now….I’ll take it. Getting work/chores/tasks/commitments done 50% of the time is certainly better than NEVER being able to get them done, right?

When I really began to blog, in December, I noticed that writing helps me to vent, and to go over my day, see what I did wrong or right and learn from it.

But if I look back at February, it seems my writings dwindled just as my meds were wearing off? As I said, I didn’t notice any emotional difference then, but as I look back at those last 2 weeks I was definitely not feeling as I was the month prior to this situation.

Or is it all in my subconscience…. Scary thought.

I know how I am. More is always better when it came to my addictions. And the abuse always took something that started out so well and made it end so badly. Alcohol, drugs, marriages, potato chips, chocolate, etc.

Why can’t I be addicted to something good for me? Exercise? Salad? Sunshine?

Anyway, the bottom line is this: I was not worried about being off the Cymbalta for those 2 weeks. Nor was afraid of depression or addiction. I was worried about the $90 fucking dollars I spent on half a months worth of an RX!!!!
Hugs,SubMom