I had a dream last night that my back lower right molars were falling out and getting loose and rattling around in my mouth like marbles and I was trying to speak like that one scene in My Fair Lady. The rain stays mainly on the plain, and teeth stay mainly in my mouth.
Except when it doesn’t. I kept pushing them back into place. I have no idea what I was doing, but I knew I was too busy to deal with loose teeth, and needed to keep the appearance of sanity for others. So, I pushed them back into place with my tongue, and if I did things just right, I could still talk without them getting too loose again.
A friend sent along some dream interpretations, and they’re all pretty much variations on anxiety. Which is weird because my old anxiety dreams usually involved my clothes suddenly disappearing, or walls shrinking leaving me naked and exposed or trying to find a bathroom and pee (without wetting the bed) (yes, even in the non-lucid dreams I’m afraid I’ll wet the bed)
I must be anxious about stress grinding and its effect on my teeth. About procrastinating on going to the dentist for two months. About trying to appear sane for others’ sake even when inside I’m panicking and worrying.
‘Cause you see, while I feel mostly better, for the past couple of weeks I’ve felt crazy. And I was constantly worrying about WHY I felt crazy. Were there MORE things wrong with me? I obsessed about the disturbing persistent thoughts in my head, worried I might lose control over myself, and took some risks like when I was super depressed. By risk, I mean tempting fate on those damned crosswalks that drivers are SUPPOSED to stop at if there is a pedestrian in the walk and don’t–by walking right in front of an oncoming car in the crosswalk, daring them to hit me, staring them down.
And that scared the shit out of me. I felt anxious, restless, and agitated, but I also still felt depressed as fuck.
I wrestled with internal turmoil while fighting to be “normal” at work and with friends.
When I talked with my therapist about it, we both suspect it’s the withdrawal from Effexor.
See, I went up on it temporarily for seasonal affective, and was supposed to taper off into May. I started my nice leisurely taper plan–but every time I took the SAD dose after my normal dose, I felt hyper. Weird. Yucky. So after about a week I stuck with the normal lower dose, abandoning the taper plan. I had no headaches or withdrawal–but apparently this agitated depression WAS my withdrawal symptoms. We think, anyway.
And it would make sense as to why Zoloft stopped working one day. I was on Zoloft for a while, but then suddenly I was so agitated for about a week, as if something snapped in my brain, that I exhausted my body out which failed to exhaust the feeling that I need to keep moving. It was kinda like akathesia. And then after the akathesia stopped, I slipped into a nasty depression and my psychiatrist and I decided to give Lexapro a try. (And added Effexor because Lexapro wasn’t strong enough).
Looking back, I suspect that the Zoloft just quit working one day and that was my withdrawal symptom. And then the depression. It’s starting to make sense.
Still, it sucks that I feel like I need to keep my mental wellness/illness under wraps. I mean, if I had the flu, I’d call out and say it was the flu. But I can’t call out because I’m depressed. Or because I feel like I might accidentally-on-purpose hurt myself. And if I did, what would I say? I suck at lying. Why, as a society, must we hide our mental illnesses? Why can’t we learn to talk about it frankly, honestly, compassionately as a consideration issue, like asthma or diabetes?
Thank goodness I feel mostly better now, but my brain is still rehashing the anxieties. I blame Effexor for the dream about loose teeth.
Filed under: recovery