Crash.

Confession: I haven't left my house in three days.

This whole journey is one big roller coaster, and it's a bit deceiving. Just when you think you're about to exit the car and leave the twists and turns behind, you hit a drop that you didn't even know was there. And you are, again, breathless.

The worst part was that I knew it was coming. I had been feeling a little tired off and on for the past few weeks, and then I was exhausted last weekend, as in, slept nine hours and then took a 3-hour nap and still walked around the house in pjs. This weekend was no better -- this weekend was worse.

Sleeping with my best fur friend (BFF)

I've just been fed up with the meds lately, and I knew I wasn't sleeping well. That's the problem with something like Lunesta -- you "sleep" but your body doesn't get the deep, restorative sleep it needs and, over time, the sleep debt collectors are banging on your door, waiting for a payment.

I'm someone who is pretty particular with her sleep -- I love a dark, quiet room and a soft, foamy mattress. I buy earplugs in bulk. I never travel without my sleep mask.

But when I feel like this? I can sleep anywhere, anytime, and anyhow. I was looking at books in my library, pondering over which to read next. I woke up with the carpet pattern smashed into my soft cheek skin. It looked like I had an awful skin disease.

When I crash on the couch, I always have my fur friend who joins me (it doesn't hurt that it's getting colder and she wants to be anywhere that there is extra heat). I spent a wonderful three hours drooling on my couch pillow. Note to self -- get a new couch pillow before people come over again.

So as of Friday, I had pretty much had it. Normally I am very logical and measured in my approach to my health. Except when I'm fed up. Except when I'm not. "That's it!" I told Sergio. "No more sleeping pills. I'm mother f-ing done with it. Come what may, I have to stop."

But no caffeine after 5pm anymore.

And the next day I decided I was done with the Effexor too. I was on really low doses of both -- how bad could it be?

It's bad. It's really bad. What in the world was I thinking, stopping those two meds together?

I know what I was thinking -- I was trusting myself to be strong. I had informed myself about the withdrawal symptoms and because I was on such a low dose, I figured, "How bad can it be?"

Bad. Really bad. Foggy, I-can't-focus-for-five-minutes bad. Like I just flew halfway around the world with no sleep and had to figure out how to get to my hotel. Evidently it's a thing -- antidepressant discontinuation syndrome. I think they know more about this than they know about how the meds actually work. 

I'm as hot and cold as that Katy Perry song. I also had some of the famous "brain zaps" that I read about. It feels like someone is, as the name suggests, using some sort of ray to zap your brain. It's not painful so much as really odd and uncomfortable. Like a brain charley-horse. 

It's super-frustrating. I realize that I have spent years not listening to that inner voice, my voice that says This is too much and Please slow down and I am doing my best, can't you see that? And now I do everything I can to listen to that voice and to make sure that she comes first, that I am thinking first about what is right for me and my health instead of worrying about what others think or care about. But the frustration just got to me today. 

"What are you trying to tell me?" I asked myself, aloud. Now, maybe you don't talk to yourself -- or if you do, it's an internal monologue. I talk to myself all of the time -- urging myself to run the last hill, admonishing myself for missing a triplet at the end of a difficult Chopin passage. Therapy teaches you to become more comfortable talking to yourself, out loud -- and in my case, I have been working on saying positive things.

Every little thing counts.

"I'm listening, I'm listening. What are you trying to tell me? I am going to do whatever it takes." And then I started to cry. I was so overwhelmed by the moment -- I felt awful and instead of urging myself to try harder I was, for once, giving myself a break. It's moments like that, those "fall down seven times, get up eight" moments that make me ready to take it on again. I know that it will be tough and that I am not going to wake up tomorrow and feel great again.

But there is always something to be thankful for. Despite all of the craziness, not a trace of anxiety. And no negative reactions (yet) to the Fetzima.  And then there are the simpler things -- a bouquet of flowers that appeared tonight, a cat obsessed with her newest box (courtesy of Amazon), and lovely books that can hold my attention for at least ten minutes. Maybe fifteen when I'm feeling great.

xo,

Sarah

P.S. I had every intention to finish my latest book blog post -- this one has a focus on travel through the pages of books. But that didn't happen. 

And S has almost finished editing our photos from our trip to Hawaii last month. It was a fun trip and I need to record my memories before I forget them. 

Happier posts are ahead. Happier days too.

Short hike on the Big Island. More soon!