So here I am, day 22 into venlafaxine withdrawal and much to my surprise, I’m still alive!
To be honest, the first two weeks were a blur. I don’t recall much except vertigo, bone-crushing headaches, lots of bodily functions and a strong conviction I was going to die.
But a new will scribbled down, and life carries on regardless. One week into withdrawal and I was scheduled to move into a new flat. Well, Lover saved the day and moved all our belongings. And then he just moved me from the bed in the old flat to the bed in the new flat. Since he packed and unpacked everything, trying to find a can opener or my favourite pyjamas is like going on an easter egg hunt – only he knows where anything is.
Venlafaxine withdrawal is certainly a process of one step forward, two steps back. Vertigo gets replaced by car sickness. You know the kind – just look at a car and you get sick. A drive to the shops is arduous. Two hours later, you’re not even in the car anymore but your head is still stuck down the loo. Such a delight…
It’s a gift that keeps on giving. Flu symptoms! Aches, pains, hot then cold, sweaty, cantankerous and miserable. Then, bouts of itchiness had me utterly convinced the new flat was infested with… with…. I dunno, something terrible! But Lover is itch-free and talked me down from burning the bedding and fumigating the flat.
The withdrawal is truly back-breaking. A lower back pain that laughs in the face of muscle relaxants, pain killers, anti-inflammatories, hot baths, cold compress, back rub, heating pad. There is no relief but time and patience. And while nausea is gently unlocking its grip on my stomach, and I am craving all things salty, the toilet is still my best friend. I shit you not. Everytime I race to answer nature’s call, my twisted mind can’t help but shout …
“Run Forrest, runnnnnnnnnn!”