just me wrote:I've been lucky that Celexa was the first med I tried and seems to work very well for me.
After being on it 18 months or so I quit cold turkey with no side effects. (Rx ran out, lapsed ins)
I started back up less than a year later because I knew it would help me. Not too many side effects starting back up, unlike the first time I went on it.
A few months ago I had a couple days without it and it was pretty miserable. I hate those zappy nerve feelings.
I am able to have the full range of emotion on Celexa, but it relieves the anxiety and depression.
I know that most people with anxiety and depression don't want to take medication. I think that's part of the symptoms. But, for many of us, life is so much better with the meds. It's such an individual thing.
I also appreciate the analogy of a diabetic needing insulin. It also helps to teach people that mental illness can be controlled by strength or effort or prayer just as well as diabetes can.
First of all, physiological reactions to medications are highly individual. So even though we're talking about the same drug, we as different people experience it differently. In addition, our dosage could be different. (I'm at 40mg a day, which is pretty high). I know you know all this, just want to get it out there.
And for the most part, my experience of Celexa is like yours. Today I am, without question, a higher functioning, happier person than I was last week when I stopped taking it.
For some people, that is end of discussion, right? Why does anyone want to climb outside of the happiness box? I guess the simplest way for me to say it is that it feels like not all of me is inside that box. Now you can say that it is part of my disease, and it very well be. But I don't think that's the entire answer.
It begins with the realization that Celexa has fundamentally altered my brain chemistry, at least to the extent that when I stopped taking Celexa, the way I experienced the world was radically different than the way I experienced the world prior to taking Celexa. And the literature says that taking Celexa over time reduces your brain's capacity to produce Seratonin. So when stopped taking Celexa, my brain did not revert to a pre-Celexa MeDotOrg. With lowered levels of serotonin, it felt like the superego cap on my consciousness has been ripped off, exposing this raging raw id underneath. In some ways I felt like a 5 year old in the middle of a temper tantrum: totally incapable of having any sort of adult (read superego) control.
Now I know the rawness of what I felt is largely due to tapering off too quickly, but nevertheless there was something I experienced in that time that felt like a part of myself that had been locked away for a long time. Many times depression is anger turned inward, and even in the midst of all of the barely controlled rage I was feeling, there was a kernel of legitimate feeling that Celexa had denied me. To put it bluntly, it felt like I got my balls back.
I described the feeling as having a sunburned consciousness, and I think that's an apt metaphor. Celexa is like a sun hat. It keeps you from getting sunburned, but underneath your skin is becoming paler and paler. If you ever lose your sunhat, your body has forgotten how to produce melatonin, and you're going to get a bad sunburn. Celexa keeps our consciousness in the shade.
And I think that health care professionals, under pressure to consider depression in the least labor-intensive way, have a tendency to put a chemical band-aid on the short term problem, and do not adequately advise the patient of the long-term effects.