8 replies to this topic

[thismoment]

I ate my last Cymbalta bead near the end of July, 2012.

 

I was left with two persistent physical symptoms: a constant tension-type headache (in the scalp, around the circumference-- mostly toward the front), and noisy tinnitus in my right ear.

 

To be fair, it is difficult to assess if a perceived residual symptom is a direct result of the drug, or perhaps it is some combination of that history interacting with conditions in this new world.

 

But the headache began to subside after 4 years, and it is essentially gone now at 5-- just a little light massage to my neck and scalp leaves me blissfully gliding pain-free.

 

The tinnitus is still there, but in slightly modified form-- now there's two notes, but overall the volume is lower. Go figure. It's completely tolerable, and most of the time it goes forgotten.

 

I'd like to say hello to all of my brothers and sisters here on the forum-- you folks are fabulous!

 

 

[fishinghat]

Hey TM.  Soooo glad to hear from you. 5 years to really recover. Absolutely amazing.

 

I hope your life is doing well and as always I wish you the very best.

 

God Bless.

[brzghoff]

Good to hear from you thismoment! i certainly miss your words of wisdom and voice of reason. its very encouraging to learn of your continued improvement. 

[TryinginFL]

Hi TM!!!

 

It's wonderful to hear from you - We have missed you and your excellent wisdom!

 

I'm happy to hear that you are doing much better - that crap has left me with a few things too

 

I hope that your life is going well and hope that we will hear from you again soon!

[gail]

Oh my!

Thismoment, what a nice surprise to see you! A gigantic surprise!

Yes, your words of wisdom are greatly missed.

How I enjoyed reading you! I hope to see you again. I love you!

[thismoment]

It is so nice to talk to my old friends again! 

 

I have looked in on the forum many times, but the time to comment just never bloomed; I felt like I no longer had a perspective from which to contribute-- 

 

But I don't feel that way now: I'm slightly someone else.

 

It's wonderful how the unique and individual personalities emerge in every post-- even the short ones! 

 

You guys are troopers-- fishinghat, brzghoff, TFL, gail-- thanks!

 

Now I'm ready to get on with it.

 

 

In the first year or two following my withdrawal from Cymbalta, I fretted a lot about landing in unfamiliar territory-- I spiralled down the "my-brain-has-been-altered" wormhole, and found myself unhappy about not being returned to some pre-Cymbalta happy time. But then I slowly began to comprehend that that would be 'time travel', which is still impossible as far as I know.

 

These neurotoxins have a way of perceptively stopping time-- one kind of marches on the spot, treads water-- marks time looking over shoulders and into mirrors; glimpsing passing shadows and the hems of saintly robes swishing by-- and one roams around after midnight in a kind of tight neo-skin, as if inexorably mutating into Batman or Wonder Woman.

 

And I felt like there was a data leak in my brain-- things came in up front, but flowed straight out the back.

 

The newness (I tried 'novelty', but somehow that word didn't work) of being on the drug, followed by the abrupt left turn of withdrawal, combine to perceptively stop time-- and after a few years, that time felt 'lost' to me. There was, however, plenty of evidence that I indeed had been alive in the house, office, and workshop making a grand mess: there was a lot of written material, music, and a mountain of sawdust and wood shavings.

 

While I 'remember' it-- I feel as though I was only partly present-- a Twilight Zone presence, half-in/half-out.

 

The Lost Time Blues faded as I began to accept that the half-present brain-state of being on these drugs might well be how they work-- if they work; not so much 'how' (they still don't know that), but the effect they produce-- it's kind of like getting the dog to stop gnawing a bone by throwing a tennis ball. The drugs sequester your brain for a while, and some memories (including nasty ones) are attenuated-- or simply forgotten.

 

And it feels like lost time. But I'm okay with that.

[fishinghat]

"While I 'remember' it-- I feel as though I was only partly present-- a Twilight Zone presence, half-in/half-out."

 

Amen to that.

 

I see you still have your eloquent and succinct way of hitting the nail on the head.

 

Welcome back old friend. Your presence is always welcome.

[gail]

What a great way to start the morning!

I can't relate to most of your sayings, wasn't on it long enough. But it made me crazy and scared and suicidal twice.

You have a beautiful writing style, and I greatly appreciate your coming back to us.

Thank you Thismoment! Thanks

[thismoment]

Hi Gail!

 

It's so nice to see you again.

 

One of the post-Cymbalta perspectives to which I will often return is the issue of change: the world looks and feels different; I feel different-- not in a bad way, but different. It would be easy to run with the sense of altered sensorial filters and become anxious-- but don't-- you may even find that some things are better!

 

One thing I encountered while in early withdrawal was an overwhelming sense of inertia-- I couldn't get off the couch! I was aware that I had things to do to be a contributing part of a family, but I couldn't move. Oh the guilt was there, and that made it unbearable at times.

 

One day a dear friend took me by the arm, and she said, "I know you're struggling with finding motivation; would you like me to help you clean up that space you've been mentioning?" The bubble burst! I started moving, and got to work. 

 

It was a small but powerful event, but now I knew they knew-- and while they couldn't know all of the swirling details, the sense of inertia and the fallout from that state was obvious to them. This event was a profound move away from feeling like damaged goods, a victim in TabooLand.

 

I got moving-- on simple things at first, but doing what I said I was going to do.