Storm Warning
Waiting for a routine descent into madness
As I sit here sipping on a glass of white wine, I am well aware that I will be severely ill by this time tomorrow — but not because of the wine.
Today marked the third visit with my new psychiatrist, who has been hell-bent (with my consent, of course) on finding a combination of antipsychotics that click with me. Almost in a slot machine-like way, as if we’re all just waiting for the big pay-out because we know that we’re close to losing the house. Tomorrow, I will continue to wean myself off of Everyone’s Favorite Antidepressant™ (venlafaxine), and after riding the dosage roller coaster for years, it’s not like I don’t know what to expect.
I used to take days off from work to cope with the nausea that stems from the vertigo. I know well enough that I’m not safe to drive during this period and usually have to make alternate transportation plans. In between trying not to vomit, I do my best to stay quiet. To try and count the number of people who’ve dipped out of my life during these medication changes—during these intense periods of vulnerability in which I have little control—would be a fruitless effort.
A new variable that has appeared in recent years, however, has come in the form of unexpected support.
The one person I choose to confide in about the situation when I seemingly disappear from social media.
The other person I risk being vulnerable with while crying and trying to keep it together during the workday.
The irony of all of those early moments you spend alone, weathering this now-familiar storm, is that you do eventually receive compensation. Gratitude, however, can only be maximized by staying humble.
