I've been on trazodone (desyrel/molipaxin) for almost a year now. I take a low dose, 50 mg, and I also take 100 mg lamotrigine.Initially it worked fantastic. However, after about six months, my depression started to come back, up to the point where I feel really bad most of the time. At least I still manage to go to work, and do my work properly.
But it feels like all the negative things in my life are weighing me down, to the point where it is consuming me, as if it is a constant presence in my chest. We are going through a difficult time in my country, droughts and heat waves, political clashes and riots, bad exchange rates, we're about to have food shortages etc., and I have a lot lf stress in my personal life as well, but it shouldn't affect one so much, right? To the point of thinking only about it? I'm also feeling really anxious at work, but at least it's not on anxiety attack level yet. At night I take xanax/xanor to cope.
So what I want to know is - is it my meds that are not working properly anymore, or is it just a rough patch? Will it pass? And what can I do to make it pass? I'm too tired to exercise, but I really want to...
Changing meds is really a big thing for me. So I don't want to do it unnecessarily. Maybe an increase in the trazodone eill help? Any advice from someone who has been in a similar position?
Well.... I found this site by searching "self harm kits", I just wanted to know what other people did, if it was common for people to carry around supplies with them or whatever.
So now I'm here, reading about other people and their struggles. Relating and not relating, though still understanding.
I think that maybe if I have an actual place to talk, a real place that I can have feedback on, then maybe I'll be able to resist hurting myself.
Okay so actual info part:
My name is Shane. I'm listed as agender on here but a more accurate term would be agender/transmasculine. I use He/Him pronouns but they/them is also okay.
I'm 19, I'll be turning 20 in December. I've been dealing with self harm problems and MI for almost 8 years now. I'm also trans so that doesn't exactly help me in any way...
Anyways, from the beginning now. In 6th grade I became friends with someone who is my best friend. At the time, he was self harming and I guess that's where I had gotten the idea to do it to myself but I don't blame him or anything, it's not his fault that I started to do the same thing. Though not as intense as him, he was actually cutting and giving himself eraser burns, I was doing no-bleed scratches with a bent paperclip. At the time, I didn't really understand why it helped, but it did.
Sometime in junior high I tried to tell my mother that I was depressed and had been for a few years. I had scoured websites, taken quizzes, doubted I was mentally ill, retook quizzes, looked up symptoms. Everything was the same. I was depressed and I didn't want to feel this way. So I tried to tell my mom, she didn't think the same thing. She didn't think I had any reason to be depressed. Which of course made me feel worse because I knew there was no emotional/situational reason for me to be depressed, I just was and I couldn't stop it.
So I continued to self harm. There were a few times when my mom had confronted me about the scratches on my arm and even a time when I had a huge bleeding scratch down my arm. (all in 8th grade). It wasn't until 11th grade that my mom actually took me in to see a doctor. I had to check off a list to see if I was actually depressed and I was prescribed medication (Fluoxetine and Xanax), it helped but not for long. Eventually it stopped working, so I stopped taking it (I know, I know).
I again tried to tell my mom that the meds weren't working anymore. She just thought I wasn't taking them, of course I wasn't but they weren't working long before that.
This last February (2015), I didn't quite try to kill myself. I was in college by then (second semester). I was in a campus library, downstairs, in an area I knew people didn't walk around a lot. I found myself a spot and had decided to take the bottle. I didn't. I was scared it wouldn't work, so anxiety took over and stopped me. I went home that night and cried in my mom's arms. I told her that I was scared and that I needed to be admitted. She was very hesitant to take me in. So I was in a mental hospital for about 2 weeks.I am now taking duloxetine and klonopin and trazodone.
I attempted to kill myself by overdosing on trazodone a few months afterwards. My girlfriend forced me to throw them up.
I still self harm. I don't think my meds are working anymore. So anyways. That's my story. Thanks for reading.
12 yrs - 17 yrs: sx- Depression, GAD
17 yrs - 19 yrs: Depression, Anxiety, sx-BPD
19 yrs - now: Depression, Panic Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder
Also, on and off anorexia that hasn't be professionally diagnosed.... idk, I go through periods of not eating at all to completely binging myself out on food.
Hi all !!
So I've been tapering off Quetiapine for a good while now, as my only bout of severe depression has been in remission since 2011, and am now on 87.5mg.
Four weeks ago, I believe I suffered a concussion/mild brain trauma from boxing, my cognitive functions have suffered significantly and I've had bad anxiety/depressive thoughts too - my pdoc is viweing this is a flare up of my past depression which needs resovling ASAP. So I was offered Paroxetine, then Venlafaxine, I really wanted Wellbutrin because it has the least reported sexual dysfunction issues and may help with mental sharpness. Pdoc wasn't sure, so in the end I've been prescribed Trazodone 150mg at night - along with the existing Quetiapine dose!
I woke up at 4am feeling like I was drowning / suffocating inside my own body and my mind was actually racing for a while before I zonked out back to sleep. I eventually came to around 8am feeling really groggy and struggled dizzily to the bathroom mirror - my eyes were a mess, I looked as if I had been on a huge night out on the town. I've not been able to think properly all day, there was no way I would have been able to function in work and in light of the fact that I believe I am already suffering cognitive impairment from the concussion, over sedation is the absolute last thing I need.
At one point I had a really bad migraine type headache, which I never get, so I managed to speak to Pdoc, who eventually suggested cutting the pills in half, then review the over-sedation issue Friday. My gut feel is Quetiapine combined with Trazodone is heavy duty.
If its still an issue, it looks Venlafaxine at 75mg/d, though he conceded to looking into the possibility of Wellbutrin too (largely subject to establishing any contra-indications with Quetiapine). All I know is I cant take any more Trazodone tonight and will start 75mg tomorrow evening to see how I get on - if I return to a state of non-complis mentis on Thursday, they are going in the bin. This basically leaves the pdocs preferred choice of Venlafaxine, or possibly the Wellbutrin;
Does anyone have any experience with Trazodone and Quetiapine combined? How about any opinions on Venlafaxine and sexual dysfunction? What experience do people have with Wellbutrin in terms of its anti-depressant / anxiety efficacy or mental lucidity and whether it impacted sleep?
Though I came up surrounded by close family members who struggled with various mental illnesses, I wouldn't say I had an especially traumatic or even a really remarkable childhood, apart from the sporadic, sometimes episodic fireworks Crazy can bring. On the whole I had a pretty typical middle class upbringing, for which I am grateful.
My older sister served as my introduction to the mysteries and miseries of mental illness. She suffered from Bipolar Disorder, and it was clear my parents despaired at her condition. There was much acting out, at least one suicide attempt that I am aware of, multiple stays at inpatient facilities, and an ever-changing cocktail of medications throughout her teens. She tapered off meds when she planned to start a family, and has done amazingly well without them.
My younger sister struggles with panic disorder and more physical ailments than anyone her young age ought to be saddled with.
My mother was a survivor of child abuse, and subsequent to the passing of her father when I was about 12, she suffered a series of psychotic breaks that led to the first of several inpatient hospitalizations, and a lifetime of profound treatment resistant MDD that continues to this day. Not only did she not perpetuate the cycle of abuse she suffered but I never even knew what she'd been through until I was much older.
My father never (to my knowledge) sought treatment for any mental illness, and tended towards stoicism and emotional opaqueness. I suspect however that he suffered (or even suffers still) from depression -- at the very least. HIs siblings suffered from myriad mental maladies. His upbringing was somewhat of a mystery to me, as what remained of his immediate family were separated by geography. I believe he too was a survivor of child abuse, based on what I've gleaned from anecdotes.
My older brother was a bit of a black sheep, and when youthful indiscretions of the self-medicating type became too much for my well-meaning folks to handle he was given an ultimatum and joined the armed services. He was stationed in South Korea, and I gather his self-medicating ways came along for the ride. Upon returning stateside he had a hard time reintegrating, finding stable work, and had to rely on the support of his family more than I think he would have liked. He was a very emotional person, and felt things very deeply. I imagine if I would have asked him for one word to describe himself he might have chosen "failure". That's certainly not how I would have described him, but he was the type of person for whom every setback might have seemed like the universe pointing a spindly celestial finger at the tip of his nose and proclaiming FUCK. YOU.
By the time my brother killed himself with the sputtering exhaust of the sparkly brown hatchback my mother had given him, I was living my own kind of Crazy.
Today, I find myself at a strange cross roads. I am happily married. Successful, especially considering I never finished college. I have more than my fair share of material possessions. I have family and friends whom I love, and who love me. As much as I curse those who use the phrase, I'm Blessed.
And yet, I can't recall a time I felt more lost.
You see, growing up as an insatiably curious child in a household surrounded by Crazy, and where both parents worked in the medical field. So I didn't just *live* with Crazy, I, in a sense, *studied* it. Psychology. Anatomy. Psychiatry. Biology. Pharmacology. And most especially *Psychopharmacology*.
I was never under the illusion that reading medical texts would make me a doctor any more than reading cookbooks would make me a chef. But I found, and still find the subject phenomenally interesting.
In the late 80's and early 90's before webforums, TV drug adverts, wikipedia, etc., it seemed physicians expected laypeople to know almost nothing about medicine, so much so, that if you knew even a little, and went in with talking points memorized, you were going to leave with whatever it was you came for (within reason).
Maybe it's always been that way. But I certainly felt clever, and in retrospect maybe a part of the burgeoning vanguard that changed how pharmaceuticals are consumed. Modern medicine is so unabashedly, brazenly consumer driven, I doubt any clinician bats an eye when patients come in and know exactly what their diagnosis is, the name brand and dosage of the drug they want, and oh by the way I've already printed off my own coupon that makes my copay 3 dollars until the drug goes off patent in 2030.
But back to my personal tale of medico-consumerism. 22 years ago, at about 14 years of age, I self-diagnosed myself with depression.
PART II To Follow Later