I'am taking Duloxetine 120mg for Depression and Pure O (OCD) since Feb. 2017. Unfortunately, I still have intrusive thoughts and some symptoms of depression (low mood, no energy etc.), although I can handle my everyday life somehow. However, the whole situation is not satisfying for me and my family. I'm constantly tired, lethargic, grumpy, hungry and unhappy. So what's next? I've already tried to augment with Seroquel (300mg; horrible, horrible experience) and Abilify (2,5mg-5mg, quit working after two months).
What's about switching the baseline med? Can I go back to SSRIs like Citalopram, Fluvoxamine or Paroxetine?* Or is it pointless, since the doctors kept telling me that Duloxetine and Venlafaxine were far more potent than the SSRIs...
*Lexapro did considerably well in the past, but it unfortunately pooped out after two years. Sertraline did nothing for me (I'm an ultra rapid metabolizer).
I'm almost 30 and I'm severely depressed. I take medication, but that's not always enough. I began hurting myself in June of this year. I don't have many scars, but the ones I have are noticeable. This summer was one of the most stressful of my life. I'm embarrassed, being as old as I am, that I couldn't control my emotions. I don't think particularly highly of myself. I still live with my mom because I'm a walking shit-show.
I told my mom I self harm. I cut, scratch and burn myself. I've had two therapists and both know that I do these things to myself. My current therapist thought it would be good to tell my mom...or eventually tell her. I also think about suicide a lot (at least once a day). Mom knows this and so does my therapist.
I felt good about myself today, so I told Mom. I felt brave and I it seemed like a good idea at the time. I was disappointed with her reaction. She said it was a cliche thing to do...that she didn't think I was so mainstream. She said she thought my brand of "crazy" was more unique. To be honest, I don't think she believes I have a mental illness. She thinks I'm just a creative type. I am...but I'm also unwell. I don't like to whine and I don't want to have to explain myself. She's depressed too, so I don't know how she doesn't understand. She wants there to be a reason behind my moods. Sometimes there isn't. Sometimes I'm just overwhelmed.
I've stopped hurting myself. It's been three weeks since my last incident. I feel pretty in control of my urges, which is why I confessed. I knew Mom would think I was stupid for self-harming. She's known other people who did it so I've already heard what she really thinks about people who do it...that it's a way to get attention, it's a sign of weakness, it's unoriginal, it's stupid...
Mom said she was disappointed in me, then she said she was scared because she'd missed the signals. She didn't miss them...I'm just very good at hiding things. She kind of made the conversation about her. I found myself apologizing to her and telling her it wasn't her fault. She said our relationship was based on trust and now she isn't sure she should give me my privacy. She made it sound like I took advantage of her trust. She said this was a betrayal. She thinks this means I'm much closer to suicide. I'm not...I just needed to feel something and I needed an emotional release.
She said she'd respected my privacy and refrained from "delving" into my psyche. Then she said if she had delved, she'd have found this out sooner. I think she regrets trusting me. She has a tendency to leave me alone when I need help and invade when I need to be alone. Most of the time I just want someone to sit quietly with me. That helps more than anything. I've got a therapist...now I need a friend.
Mom said my scars would never go away and asked if I'd considered what it would be like to explain these things to a significant other.
I don't date. I haven't had a romantic relationship in almost a decade. I haven't found anyone I like. I'm picky and high maintenance. I fully admit that. I also don't give a damn what people think about my scars. I know what I did to my body. I don't need to be shamed for it. I'm proud I could handle the pain. The scars remind me that I hit some very low points and survived. They remind me I'm real.
Mom said we shouldn't tell my brother. He'd panic. I don't want to tell my brother either. I'm used to hiding the worst of my problems from him. Mom is usually in favor of telling him everything. I think she doesn't want him to worry and she doesn't want him to blame her. She kind of made the situation about her and how she'd failed. I don't mean to sound selfish, but it wasn't the conversation I hoped to have. I tried to explain that I needed a little more support.
I spoke quietly. I was embarrassed. She told me to stop talking so softly. She didn't want me to act or pretend. I admit I'm mellow dramatic, but I wasn't being dramatic this time. I just felt small. I don't know how to explain it. I'm depersonalized so it was easy to "zone out" after that.
In the end she said she was proud of me for telling her. She took back a few of the harsher comments. She went to bed early and said she needed to think. She shut down a bit. I asked if we were ok, if our relationship was ok and she said yes. I have no idea if she meant that.
I regret telling her. I promised I'd be honest from here on out, but that's just another lie. I'm done hurting myself. If I hadn't told her, she'd never know and I'd never have to hear the things she said. I love her very much and I don't mean to be ungrateful, but she's not as supportive as she thinks she is. She puts up with a lot from me and I'm tired of making her feel bad. I've got to stop telling her things. I keep thinking I should be honest, but it always backfires and I end up feeling worse. I can't keep my mouth shut. I always think it's better for our relationship to be honest, but it isn't.
My scars were mine. Now they're not. I hate that so much. I'm so embarrassed. I need a support system and I hate that I need anything.
I wish I had someone in my life I could be honest with. I can't tell my brother these things without breaking his heart. I can't tell my mom without her blaming herself. Telling my therapist is nice, but it's not quite enough. It's not terribly personal. I feel so alone and so stupid and somehow still feel completely blank and empty. I shouldn't have told her. I should have kept my big mouth shut. It was a secret and it was mine. I gave it away for nothing. I don't even know what I wanted or expected. I'm an idiot.
I'm ultimately happier alone. I don't know why I long for someone to understand. I'm not terribly gregarious and I don't like talking to other people. I certainly don't want to burden anyone with my problems. Logically, I know I should be able to handle this on my own without someone holding my hand like I'm a child. I'm not helpless. I'm not needy. I don't know what's wrong with me.
Sorry for rambling. Thanks for reading.
I was diagnosed bipolar about 7 years ago around the same time as my first suicide attempt. Long story short - I rejected the diagnosis and eventually went off all meds because I thought my issues stemmed from the stress of nursing school. School over - no meds needed.
About 3 years later, started seeing a new psychiatrist and taking antidepressants. I actually felt like I had my life back...
Then, at some point recently, my son died. I had an affair. My husband and I had another child. And then affair was discovered by my husband. The intense guilt and depression led me to try to kill myself, and I recently endured my first psychiatric hospitalization.
Wellbutrin and buspar were once my miracle cocktail. I'm still on those, plus lamictal, plus latuda. Latuda is not helping me. It may have cleared my suicidal thinking, but over all... I feel lost, stuck, hopeless, and let down. I've reached out to my psychiatrist for help so many times, and I'm screwed over by the incompetent office staff each time.
Can someone just tell me it gets better? Do I even deserve better after what I've done? I'm paranoid and delusional. My intrusive thoughts seem worse each day. I want to believe it gets better. Ive dropped down to working part time and I'm seriously considering quitting.
It used to be that I only felt competent at being a mother. But now I don't even feel I can do that right.
I'm a mess.
Is there any hope? If a med didn't work for you, did you find a med that did help? I want to feel like myself again... I feel so let down that latuda isn't helping me.
Thanks for listening...