Image courtesy of Stockvault.
I’ve decided that I’m not going to continue taking my Wellbutrin. I am certain it’s making my anxiety worse rather than better, despite improving some of my depression symptoms. It’s been a fairly weird journey in my head for the past several weeks. The side effects of the drug are too much to put up with. I don’t know if I’m going to find a replacement for it that I can try.
This is the frustrating thing about using these medications. They take time to work properly, and they don’t work uniformly. Wellbutrin works for some people. It doesn’t for me. It’s hard looking at the time invested and wonder if it’s worth it.
Ultimately, it is. There isn’t a quick fix for my problems. Mental health medication doesn’t work the same way that other medications work. Understanding this is important for anyone having to go through it.
Over the next while, I’m going to detox as the drug leaves my system. My hope is that it happens quickly.
I also need to be patient with my therapy.
Yesterday I went in for a therapy appointment. The previous therapist of mine was leaving, so I thought I was going in to meet my new one. The new therapist wasn’t set up for seeing clients yet, so I had to reschedule for a new appointment in a couple of weeks.
It would have been nice if I could have seen a therapist. One of the functions is to help me decide if a medicine is working out. Because of my problems with Wellbutrin, I would have liked the extra reassurance of exchanging ideas with a licensed professional. Still, the appointment is in a couple of weeks, so I’m not going too long without seeing someone.
On the plus side, I did turn it into a positive experience.
I was killing time in a bookstore before going in to the clinic. One of the members of my writing group had recommended a book to me, so I thought I’d pop in and see if it was there. As I was checking out, I was told that the store was doing a donation program of books to a children’s hospital. I wasn’t sure if I had the extra money to buy one. There was a cheaper book available, but it wasn’t as good as Dr. Seuss. I’d left with the weak promise that I’d be back in later to make a donation.
Since I didn’t have to pay for a therapy visit, it turns out I did have the cash to get another Dr. Seuss into a kid’s hands. I’ve actually seen the end result of such donations to kid’s hospitals and even prisons, and I can say that books do mean a lot to the recipients. They don’t always get good books.
This time, they got one of the best writers in the English language.
I know I can’t win them all, but I went back home feeling like I’d grabbed a small victory from the jaws of defeat.
Amusing Nonsense 