I read a headline recently declaring that Gwyneth Paltrow is back eating carbs and cheese. “They said there would be signs,” I whispered to myself, taking Gwynie’s return to the devils of dairy as a sure omen of the impending apocalypse. Couple that with the usual stuff like plagues and floods and, I don’t know, maybe the end times are near.
Many years ago, I saw a creative fiction prompt which invited writers to consider the hell of wearing braces on your teeth indefinitely in a post-apocalyptic world. Truly, any kind of dental issues are nightmarish to think about in such a scenario. Remember Tom Hanks taking out his own teeth when he was stranded on the desert island in Castaway? Shudder.
A friend and I talk regularly about the horrifying prospect of being stuck in the apocalypse with no access to a medication we both take – an antidepressant called venlafaxine. Venlafaxine (also known by the brand name Effexor) is widely regarded as the most difficult of all the antidepressants to come off. It’s not an addictive drug, but the withdrawal symptoms are intense and can last a long time.
My friend and I are so committed to avoiding the withdrawal symptoms that we have matching tattoos on our forearms that read “TAKE YOUR MEDS”. However, even a permanent reminder within my eyeline is still not enough to ensure I take my venlafaxine dose every day. Last week I missed it by about seven hours, but didn’t realise my error, so when the symptoms started to kick in, I was sure the end was nigh.
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I had eaten lunch that day in a city centre taqueria, then went to an appointment, and it was on the way home that I started to feel iffy – nauseous and intensely tired, with a buzzing in my head. I wondered whether it was something I ate. Were those delicious chicken tacos now turning on me? Once home, I dragged myself over the threshold and went straight to my bed to lie down, googling “early flu symptoms” and berating myself for not making a will. Who would inherit my Nissan Juke and my seven-year-old laptop when whatever this illness was inevitably took me?
It was on a stagger to the bathroom that it hit me, along with a wave of “brain zaps” – a symptom commonly associated with withdrawing or titrating up on antidepressants. Brain zaps feel to me like my brain is lagging. In venlafaxine withdrawal, it’s a deeply unpleasant “swishing” feeling in your head. With the zaps came the realisation – my medication. I hadn’t taken my medication. I hurried to my little pill dispenser and sure enough, there was Thursday’s morning dose waiting for me. I necked the pills, lay down again, and within half an hour felt like I could go on.
I was first prescribed an antidepressant by a GP in 2011 during a very difficult spell. She recommended Prozac and I vividly remember her quipping, “It’s the one Princess Diana was on”. To this day, I’m not sure whether I was supposed to feel glamorous or ominous. The latter was my default state at the time, so the only way was up, really. I took it for a couple of years and then stopped, with the weaning-off period going pretty smoothly.
I restarted on Prozac in about 2016, with an increase in dosage in 2019 which I remember came with a couple of days of feeling wired and nauseous. In 2021 my psychiatrist switched me to venlafaxine, in response to declining mental health. The warning went something along the lines of “this drug could do wonders, but it can be very unpleasant to try to come off”. Well, nothing’s as unpleasant as doom and misery, so I whipped that prescription right out of her hands.
I do sometimes wonder if I’ll be on it for the rest of my life. Neither Prozac nor venlafaxine produced any marked day or time when I felt “better”, but I have to assume they’ve done something. I’m envious of people who know definitively whether these drugs are or aren’t helping them. I have an idealistic vision of coming off the venlafaxine to see how I fare, but maybe it’s better to adopt an “if it ain’t broke…“ stance. Hopefully an apocalypse won’t force me into going cold turkey. If so, I’ll be the one hacking at zombies with an Ikea bread knife so I can get into the nearest Boots.
The Samaritans can be contacted on freephone: 116 123 or email: jo@samaritans.ie
