My Dark Night of the Soul (Or Why I Disappeared)
/
CW: Anxiety, OCD, Suicide, Anti-depressants
Sometimes the universe has very capricious timing, to put things mildly. When I debuted my new website and blog on May 1st after months and months of preparation with web designer Lindsey Marton O’Brien, I had every intention to immediately dive into a massive list I had prepared of post ideas, creative projects, and website exclusives. This was the moment! After so much hard work it was time to share my work in one central space with the world. And then, literally the same day the website went live (on Beltane), I plunged into a crisis that would last almost all of May, and bring me the closest to my darkness that I’ve ever been in my life.
All of humanity is going through an unprecedented experience currently, with the pandemic and other crises of 2020. There has been no right or wrong way to emotionally respond to this utterly bizarre situation, and many of us are and have been struggling. A recent survey indicated that almost half of the Americans surveyed (45%) agreed that the pandemic has harmed their mental health. Even though on some level it may be comforting to know that there are so many of us going through this experience, we are ultimately alone in our own minds, alone in the dark of the night when the brain goblins start to whisper.
Ever since I started to self-isolate, I’ve been struggling with a series of physical ailments that my doctor believes are brought on by the extremes of my anxiety. First it was a soreness in the muscles of my jaw, and then a few weeks later, it was a series of tingles and painful nerve feelings in my neck, shoulders, and left arm and hand. By the time I went to see my doctor at the end of April about the nerve pain, I had also not had a chance to see my therapist since the end of March because of a frustrating insurance error. And I was a mess. The doctor saw this, and suggested that unprecedented times may call for for never-before-tried measures: he suggested I try going on anti-depressants.
Now, at this point I have to interject to assure all of you that I believe in the efficacy and wonderful transformative power of anti-depressants for those who find the right one for them. They are incredible tools to help treat the chemical imbalances that no one should be ashamed to experience. And I support them fully. Please know this as I continue to tell my story.
The doctor prescribed me Zoloft, and I took my first pill on the evening before Beltane, April 30th. Immediately, within hours, I could tell there was something wrong. I felt jittery, panicked, on edge, unable to focus. That night, I didn’t sleep all night long, just laid in bed hour after hour, willing my brain to turn off. The next morning I took a second pill, thinking perhaps if I took the pill earlier in the day, the effects would be better by nighttime. I then called the doctor, who told me that my reaction was not normal, sounded like a serotonin overdose, and that I should discontinue the medicine immediately. I was a mess all weekend long, but by Sunday night, I was starting to feel a bit better. Then Monday night, I had another hell night of insomnia, but this time the sleeplessness was accompanied by what is medically known as “hypnic jerks.” You know the experience you get when you’re falling asleep, and your brain somehow thinks you’re falling off a building or a similar situation, and your body spasms as you wake back up? That is a hypnic jerk. Now, imagine having about 50-100 of those all night long as you try to turn off your brain and drift off to sleep. It was hell.
Hypnic jerks are a medical mystery. They are supposedly benign, no matter how bad they get, but there’s also no clear “fix” for them. I contacted my doctor, and he suggested we try a different anti-depressant, Wellbutrin. I decided to wait until that weekend to try the new pills, since my husband Tom would be home with me in case my reaction was terrible. In the mean time, my night spasms and insomnia continued, but improved a little bit.
On the weekend, I took my Wellbutrin. There was no immediate violently terrible reaction, but I did feel a strange sense of adrenaline, hyper-desire to be *doing* something at any given moment. It was a little difficult to access my thoughtful and creative side, and I just wanted to clean, garden, trim the grass, and do other physical activities. This feeling faded after a few days. But the insomnia remained. And kept getting worse.
A week later, I moved from my bed I share with my husband into the guest bedroom and my creative creation space, which we call my “Dreaming Room.” Sadly, the name was ironic during this time as night after night, I woke up a half dozen to dozen times in a night and couldn’t get back to sleep. The doctor tried Valium. He tried Ambien. He tried Benadryl. Finally I got a tolerable night sleep on a mix of Ambien, Benadryl, and 10mg of Melatonin. But I was a wreck. How did I get to this point of needing so much medicine to sleep?
Unfortunately for me, Wellbutrin ended up being a sneaky demon. Even though my reaction to it was not as immediately terrible as the Zoloft, the side effects crept in slowly, on quiet-padded fingers. Because my insomnia had gone on for so long, it was extremely difficult to tell what of my reactions was due to my anxiety, what was from my insomnia, and what was from the medication. I developed a full body tremor that would only go away when I was (rarely) sleeping at night. My heart would randomly pound and thud, and I was never hungry. The insomnia only got worse, even on the cocktail of pills I was taking. And most frighteningly, there was one night that I listened to a recording of my mom singing my favorite childhood lullaby that she had sent to me to help me fall asleep, and when I turned it off, I heard her whisper-singing the song again in my ear. Let me be clear: it was not in my head. I heard it physically whispered into my ear. I felt like I was going mad.
I started to see my therapist for televisits again, and I finally was able to articulate well enough to him (after a few nights of tolerably good sleep) that I wanted to get off the medication because I could always go back on it if I needed to, but I had to be able to narrow down what was causing all of these terrible reactions I was having. He agreed, and I called the doctor to tell, not ask, him that I was going off the medicine.
To make an already long story shorter, the tremors stopped. My appetite returned. I stopped hearing songs in my ears. And sleep blissfully returned to me. A little over a week ago, I was able to move my pillows and plushes back into my own bedroom, and sleep there at night using just the Melatonin. A couple of nights later, I slept without earplugs or pills all night long for the first time in almost a month. And I have ever since.
It is hard to express just how far into darkness I plunged during this time. Although I would never say I was suicidal, it truly felt at times like my mind and my body were separate entities that both wanted me to be. I was terrified. I couldn’t go more than a few days without talking to my therapist again. And there was one time I ended up having to call the local crisis hotline because I felt so petrified of my own mind. I felt terrible repeatedly venting the same fears and out-of-control emotions to a small handful of trusted friends, but I just felt so very alone. (My husband was incredibly supportive, but his workplace never closed, and he was at work half of every day, which left me alone with my struggles and my brain goblins)
A couple of weeks into May, my mom reminded me that my beloved grandma, with whom I share many physical characteristics and medical experiences, was once put on a series of anti-depressants, and she responded terribly to every single one, until she finally said no more. I suspect maybe I may just be one of those people who can’t do well on chemical mind altering substances. Or maybe if I went to a psychiatrist and he fine-tuned what medicines I needed based on my unique situation and brain, I could find the right mix for me. But honestly? I am far too terrified at this point to try again anytime soon. I am, however, extremely thankful for such a wonderful therapist. There was one day I was at my absolute lowest, and I started our telehealth session absolutely sobbing, unable to think clearly at all whatsoever, and by the end of the hour long session, I felt like I had a plan, had a reason to hope.
After an initial week or so of absolute giddy euphoria as the side-effects went away and my sleep returned, I admit I am returning to a more realistic balance of some worried-struggle days and some better days. But…I am going back to the woods again. I am taking photos of the mushrooms and moss creatures I meet there. I am writing in my journal, making lists of the “work tasks” I want to accomplish from home while I am still off work and self-isolating. I am creating. I am slowly moving forward. Sometimes I am faking it, but sometimes it’s real joy I feel.
So why am I telling you all of this? Because sometimes I feel like even though we are all going through this incredibly terrible experience, some people still feel guilty to admit that they are struggling. They think they have to keep it all a secret, keep it locked down inside. Perhaps someone out there needs to reach out for help, whether it be trying the anti-depressants they need, (and I do still believe can help many) talking to a friend or a therapist, or even contacting their own local crisis hotline. And I’m also sharing this because I truly feel that having gone through this experience will influence who I am and how I approach the wonder and magic of life I share here from now on as well. Rest assured, not all of my blog posts here will be as raw and personal as this one, I will have plenty of brightness and fairy wonder to show you. But just as there are two sides to faerie, Seelie and Unseelie, and plenty in between as well, life isn’t always bright or dark, but a mix of days of brightness and wonder, and dark and despair. And plenty of days with a healthy mix of both. It’s part of what living in this magical world is all about. And I am so, so thankful for it.
.
