vituperation

Several weeks ago, I went insane.

Regular readers will remember this. I wrote about it, but I’m too damn lazy to go find the entries and link to them. Over the few months prior, my mood grew blacker and blacker, and I began having rage episodes almost daily. When they happened, my mind was a scary place full of intense pressure, red veils of fury, and whispering voices telling me there was an easy way to make the pressure go away.

The rage was evident to my wife. Robyn says I was “a little pissy” during that time, which is telling because she also says I tend to deadpan comments like “I’m really angry right now” on the rare occasions we have arguments. Going from “deadpan” to “a little pissy” might give you an idea of the monumental pressure and anger I felt.

Then again, “a little pissy” certainly doesn’t do those feelings justice.

I became concerned enough to go see Dr. Judy and find out what she recommended. As it turns out, she recommended pills. Little pills, marching through my body and wreaking havoc on my sex life (sorry, spud) while they altered the chemicals in my brain enough that I stopped being angry all the time.

First came Paxil, which turned me into a brain-dead sack of stupid (ie, a Republican) until I called Dr. Judy in desperation and begged for something else. Lexapro followed the Paxil, and while I didn’t feel retarded on it, I had the same sexual issues (sorry, spud) while I took it. After the Lexapro, she tried Cymbalta, which gave me the same problem.

Finally, I pitched the Cymbalta into the trash and decided I’d figure out a way to live with the anger. That lasted all of two or three days, until the chemicals in my brain started being completely out of whack from the sudden stop in happy pills. I went from mostly happy to a state of constant insane rage. Seriously, I felt like I was going to have a stroke all the time, with my pulse pounding in my temples and my vision tinged with crimson.

So I called Dr. Judy again and asked for something else, preferably not something that tweaked around with seratonin levels in my brain.

I got Wellbutrin. Taking it was better than all the SSRIs, because it works differently in your body so there aren’t sex issues. On the Wellbutrin, I still had a tendency to get angry, but it was easily pushed back down. Not gone like with the SSRIs, but definitely manageable.

Full disclosure: this could be related to the fact that I was taking half the prescribed dose. I think my feelings on taking pills are well documented.

Unfortunately, the Wellbutrin appeared to have another side effect. I use the word “appeared” because while it seems related, it’s entirely possible that it wasn’t (correlation vs. causation, and all that). In the three weeks I was on Wellbutrin, I had four cold sores, bang bang bang bang. I’m not a cold sore getter. I have one, maybe two, a year. Four in three weeks is unheard of for me.

The reason I suspect the Wellbutrin is two-fold. First, I sometimes get cold sores when I get a new medication (though it could actually be the “getting sick” that led to the medication that did it, too). Second, as my mother grows older, she gets more and more sensitive to certain foods and most medications, and gets cold sores with almost every single medicine she takes.

Yay, genetics!

In any case, a couple of weeks ago I decided that only half-curing the anger wasn’t worth the pain-in-the-ass level of a constant stream of fever blisters. So, as with the Paxil, the Lexapro, and the Cymbalta, I pitched the Wellbutrin into the trash.

This is where the story takes an interesting turn, but I have to give you some more backstory.

About a month ago, a certain situation around our house finally reached a happy resolution. You’ll know more about this soon if you read Robyn’s site. This resolution eased a lot of external tensions (not marital tensions, but outside-the-home ones) and ended what had caused much stress for over a year.

Don’t bother asking or guessing in the comments, it’s not germane to the story.

A little over three weeks ago, I discovered the most fantastic thing ever: I could lift weights again, three times a week, with no pain at all. None. Nada. Further, I found that I could use the elliptical trainer three times a week without making my knee hurt.

The long and short of it? My workout life was back to normal. Back to pre-accident days. Three days of weights—not quite the poundage I used to do, but a good damn start—and three days of cardio. No more stress, no more frustration from the shoulder injury, no aching knee.

And two weeks out from throwing away the Wellbutrin, I can confidently say I’m walking on sunshine. The anger is gone, completely and totally. I haven’t had a single incident or even come close. I find that things that brought down the red veil no longer faze me at all.

Even drivers on cell phones can’t do it, though they still make me grumble under my breath.

It’s like the old Fred came back as soon as life normalized. Robyn’s always told me I’m like Rainman in that I get bent out of shape when my routines are disrupted. Apparently that’s not too far from the truth, and totally wreaking havoc on my life for almost a year was enough to make me crazy.

It’s good to be back.

Interestingly enough, remember last Sunday when I realized my shin splint was healed and I could hike again? That was the last time I had anything at all to do with jigsaw puzzles, too. It’s weird, really. I mean, the instant I could hike I completely and totally lost interest in putting together puzzles.

Make of that what you will.

(I still love the dookie puzzles though, and work a couple of those every night)

If you’re a fan of Israel Kamakawiwo’ole’s haunting rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” (scroll down a little, there’s a RealPlayer link to the whole song if you don’t know what I’m talking about), this is a fascinating story. Sad, too.

Speaking of sad things, I find it amusing that despite the fact that I’m the big Smallville fan in the house, Robyn is the one who cried during last night’s episode.

Warm January means it’s time to go out and play