When we are silent, we are still strong. Even when we feel like a cup not even half-empty, but tipped over, spilled across the floor, kicked, stepped on, cracked and forever broken, we’re still strong.
You have a track record of making it through every single day up to today. No matter what choices you made, what mistakes happened, what shit was thrown your way, you’re still here. That counts in a way that nothing else compares to.
After my last post, Antidepressant Withdrawal Hell, I reached my limit of tolerating my body’s symptoms. I’d lost feeling in my arms, words were getting mixed up in my head, and I felt like I was being hit by lightning constantly. I curled up on the couch and cried for days. I couldn’t go on.
Feeling like a failure, I decided to increase my Cymbalta back to the dosage I’d been at. Doing that made things worse, at first. It’s been two weeks since I went back to my previous Cymbalta dosage and I’m still in withdrawal. Full-body aches, 24/7, nausea, shaking, oh my God. The pharmacist said it’s extremely rare for anyone to be as sensitive to medication as I am.
It’s taken all my energy just to keep breathing. My symptoms are turning around, very very slowly. At this rate, in another two weeks, I’ll feel more or less normal again, withdrawal wise. That’s okay. However long it takes, I can do this. It may be slow, it may hurt like hell, but I will survive. I have a great track record. One day, one hour, one minute, one second at a time.
I have a lot to share with you about this but I’m not ready to yet. I have to get through these symptoms to be able to think well enough again to have any insight on what I’ve learned in the past month and a half.
If you feel spilled and broken and so mixed up you can’t even talk about what you’re going through, it doesn’t mean you’re not strong. It means it’s taking all your strength just to hold on, and holding on is the most important job we have. No matter what, you are winning this battle.