The weird anxiety-laden terror-filled pseudo-seizures I had in my limbs last night? Where I felt like I had to get up when I was lying down, but as soon as I started pacing, I felt like I just needed to go back to bed? Apparently that’s called Akathisia.
It’s a side-effect of some anti-depressants (mainly SSRIs, from what I understand) and anti-emetics (anti-puke meds).
There are a couple of other things it could be, but that would be such a small margin of possibility that I’m not even going to think about it (serotonin syndrome, among others…you want to talk about a waste of time…).
I’ve looked up a lot of things that it could be, because really? Akathisia? That’s like, something CRAZY people get, right? I mean, like dystonia? Or tardive dyskinesia? Side effects from really heavy-duty anti-psychotics?
Funny thing about tardive dyskinesia… I was looking it up after seeing a commercial where there’s some class-action suit toward the makers of Reglan…I could remember what it WAS (uncontrolled movements, usually of the face and hands), but I couldn’t remember what “tardive” meant (it means “continuing after the initial cause is removed”, approximately). It was one of those Wikipedia loops that led me to the page about akathisia. I was just reading to pass time before going to Cluck-n-Neigh to help out with the chickens (seriously – and y’all, I needed that), and I ended up staring open-mouthed at the wiki entry, going, “Wait, that CAN’T be right…”
I web-surfed, used my Google-fu, used my Bing-fu, visited my favorite “crazy people” websites (I’m a psych major…I have approximately 48 of those things bookmarked for easy access while writing papers), and damned if they didn’t all describe what was going on with me last night to a tee.
JB was like, “Yeah, when you were pacing, you were pretty much dead to the world.” My brain wanted so badly to just go to sleep, but my body was like, “NO NO NO NO NO NO.”
I’ve been feeling it for most of the day today, but because I’m supposed to be awake, my body’s not freaking out, yet. I’m not looking forward to tonight.
I feel like I do nothing but talk about how irritated I am with the medical community lately. I’m sorry, but that doesn’t look like it’s going to stop any time soon.
Nothing has changed as far as how I feel, physically, in the past year. I still feel like shit, I still have pain and numbness, and I could still be diagnosed with fibromyalgia if I were to go to a doctor and describe my symptoms. The fact of the matter is, however, that there are other things that are going on, and until I get those figured out, I am no longer satisfied with my fibromyalgia diagnosis. I will not sit here and take drugs designed to knock me out and just keep my mouth shut and be glad someone’s “listening” to me. I will not, when those drugs fail to work, assume that there’s just something wrong with ME, and that there’s nothing else I can do about it. I will no longer sit in my doctor’s office feeling ashamed because I’m being made to feel as though I’m wasting his time.
I wanted to kill myself last night because I was so miserable, and I didn’t think it was ever going to stop. I don’t know how I finally got to sleep, but I’m willing to bet that I took too much of something to get to that point. I spent hours crying and scaring the shit out of my husband because he had no idea how to make sense of what I was saying, and every time I had a limb seizure, I would apologize and start crying again. He wanted to take me to the emergency room. I didn’t want to go, because I knew someone would assume I was having a psychotic episode, even though I was completely lucid…just frustrated as fuck and really tired.
You know what? I’m positive that I’m going to lose readers over this whole past-few-months’ worth of crazy that I’ve kind of dived head-first into describing for you recently.
I’m positive that someone out there is going to make another comment about “crazy gun owners” and say something about background checks and how people “like [you]” ought to be banned from even being able to cut our own steak in restaurants.
You know what else? I don’t know that I could give less of a shit right now.
I have no desire to shoot my guns for sport, much less to even carry my pistol for self-defense. I’ve reverted back to my old passive way of living because I feel so poorly that it doesn’t matter what happens to me externally, because internally I’ll still feel like boiled ass with cabbage. It’s like being in the middle of PTSD again. Considering that, last time, I bought a gun when I’d been raped, it’s kind of ironic to me that in response to being taken for a ride by my doctor’s office, I feel the exact opposite reaction. Passive emotional trauma makes for a passive emotional response, I guess.