Celexa Withdrawal Symptoms and Getting Through

Have you heard of Celexa? It's an SSRI, a drug often used for depression, anxiety, and panic disorder.

About a year ago, I had a series of scary panic attacks and I was prescribed Celexa. I took 10mg of Celexa for almost a year, and it worked. It took away the panic attacks, the anxiety, and the fear. It also took away my passion, my joy, and my enthusiasm. I became a calm, steady, detached shell of myself. I could have kept going like that and been fine, because well, life was pretty easy. I didn't get angry anymore, didn't get frustrated, and did what needed to be done without complaint.

But I decided I wanted my passion back and I wanted to start caring again. I also felt like I was disappearing. I was ready to find out what would happen if I started feeling real, solid, heartfelt emotions again.

Almost two weeks ago, I went to see my doc for an annual. He said, "Stop taking Celexa whenever you want, it's only 10mg." So I did. Almost overnight my sex drive was back, I was enthusiastic, and ALIVE!

But, it was like I was on speed. And I have been experiencing profound dizziness, aches in my legs, annoyingly vivid dreams, and trouble sleeping. The past two days, I've also had tingling in my hands (which almost always comes with tingling in my brain), and I get sooooo incredibly frustrated/intense/overwhelmed, I'm induced to crying. No particular reason, just need to release from this intensity!

I did a little research, and found out that these are withdrawal symptoms. It doesn't make the symptoms go away to know this. It does, however, make me understand what's going on, and that they will eventually subside.

In a way, these symptoms are a chance for me to practice zen and mindfulness.

Crying helps temporarily. And it feels good. It's amazing to feel my body just NEED to cry without having some kind of specific reason or emotion to go with it. It's like jumping up and down or hitting a pillow. It's a way to release the tension that's constantly building up.

I had gained quite a bit of weight on Celexa, and I was sleeping all the time. I can already feel that weight starting to shed, and I'm sleeping normal hours again, except waking up several times a night from aches and vivid dreams.

One of the weirdest side effects I'm getting is that I feel like I'm having every emotion at the same time. Happy, sad, mad, calm, attentive, bored, enthusiastic, frustrated. It's like a flood gate was opened, and all of the things I wasn't feeling on Celexa are coming in at one time.

In a way, it's a time for me to learn, so when all of this withdrawal is over, I can remember that so much of emotion is physical and chemical. Since none of my emotions are being caused by anything but chemicals, I can't blame it on anything. I really hope I can remember this when I'm no longer beholden by the chemistry in my brain, and see my emotions not as my enemy (like I did before I took Celexa), but as a physical symptom.

Or maybe, this is all the withdrawal symptoms talking :)

One positive symptom, although painful at times because the feeling is so intense, is a renewed energy for writing. Almost an obsession. Writing has taken on a similar function as crying—it's a way for me to get some release. This year on Celexa stalled my desire to write to almost nothing. I would write things, but I didn't really care about them. There was no passion. My muse was taking a vacation.

Now, I again have motivation to write and exercise. Maybe it's the feeling that I'm on speed that's causing this, but man, I'm so glad to have my creativity back. Whether or not it's temporary, I'm going to focus on that part of the withdrawal as much as I can, rather than focusing on the spinning, insomnia, and freaky dreams. (And actually, my freaky dreams have lent to some very interesting story ideas!)

I'm trying to focus on what's good, and to keep reminding myself that these withdrawal symptoms will eventually go away. Sometimes, I feel like I'm at the end of my rope, and I just can't take it anymore. Crying, exercising, writing, and sharing my story with others will get me through.

I've had lots of thoughts during this year, and I continue to wonder about the long-term effects it will have on my zen practice. There is a lesson in here somewhere. Perhaps several. Can I have the egolessness enough to see them?

In case you'd like to know, these are the common side effects of Celexa withdrawal. I put a star next to the ones that people seem to complain about the most on the websites that I visited during my research.

• Anxiety *
• Dizziness *
• Fatigue *
• Headache *
• Insomnia *
• Tremors
• Visual hallucinations
• Diarrhea
• Nausea *
• Vomiting
• Restlessness *
• Blurred vision
• Muscle and joint pain *
• Jolting electric "zaps” *
• Tingling sensations *
• Fever
• Abdominal discomfort
• Flu symptoms and general malaise *
• Anorexia
• Agitation *
• Vertigo *
• Gait disturbances
• Sweating
• Irritability *
• Aggression
• Nightmares and/or vivid dreams *
• Confusion
• Memory and concentration difficulties
• Chills and hot flashes
• Crying spells *
• Suicidal thoughts
• Lethargy
• Weakness

These are the suggestions for getting through the withdrawal symptoms. Although it's highly recommended to taper off the medication slowly as a way to prevent withdrawal, it still seems that many people have some symptoms, even with the taper.

• Drink lots of water
• Exercise (swimming, running, walking, biking, etc.)
• Yoga/Pilates
• Meditation
• Talking to a counselor/therapist or friend a LOT during this time
• Eat regularly and healthy
• Avoid alcohol
• Dramamine (mixed results)

These are some things that worked for me, but nobody else had mentioned them in my research

• Crying and enjoying it
• Ibuprophen for the headaches and muscle aches
• Tylenol Simply Sleep (ask your doctor first!!)
• Mindfulness and "watching" all the symptoms like a movie
• Finding the good that is coming with the withdrawal
• Writing, writing, writing
• Playing games (video, board, card, etc.)
• Doing things I love
• And when the anxiety/restlessness/intensity rears its head - remember it's not ME, it's the chemistry in my brain that's doing this.

If you are reading this and are currently going through Celexa withdrawal, you are not alone.

Namaste

Buddhism and Psychology

Buddhism is often considered to be a philosophy more than a religion. But perhaps, it's also closer to a psychological theory than even a philosophy. Much of the Buddhist writings talk about what suffering is, what creates suffering, and how the human mind makes suffering worse. Mindfulness and meditation are ways of softening and training the mind to accept and understand.

Sounds a lot like therapy to me.

When I came across The Wise Heart: A Guide to the Universal Teachings of Buddhist Psychology by Jack Komfield, I was immediately intrigued. I downloaded a sample chapter to my Kindle, and was hooked immediately.

22 out of 26 people who reviewed it gave it a five star rating, so I bought it right then and there, downloaded it to my Kindle, and I have been reading it, ahem, religiously.

I like how Komfield interweaves Western psychology and Eastern Buddhism into each other. He compares and contrasts, and suggests alternative ways to approach psychology in a gentle, non-attached way, to awaken our Buddha nature.

Reframing our ideas of psychology and therapy as a way to "fix" things, it can be a practice, and a way to open up to life, and wake up to life. "You are perfect the way you are. And...there is still room for improvement!" is a quote that Komfield uses to explain the general approach to Buddhist psychology.

I'm very picky when it comes to writing style and "voice", and I like Komfield's quite a bit. It's easy to read, unassuming, and non-academic.

There are some parts at the end of the book, however, that get a little preachy for me. But by then, I was so in love with the rest of it, I was able to skim over those parts and let go that they bothered me.

I thought I'd share my experience with you. If you are interested in Buddhism and psychology, this is a great book to get the best of both worlds.

A Zen Joke

Comedy central had this joke today:

A man was sprawled across three entire seats in a theater. When the usher came by and noticed this, he whispered to the man, "Sorry sir, but you're only allowed one seat."

The man groaned but didn't budge. The usher became impatient.

"Sir," the usher said, "if you don't get up from there, I'm going to have to call the manager."

Again, the man just groaned, which infuriated the usher who turned and marched briskly back up the aisle in search of his manager. In a few moments, both the usher and the manager returned and stood over the man. Together the two of them tried repeatedly to move him, but with no success. Finally, they summoned the police. The cop surveyed the situation briefly.

"All right, buddy. What's your name?"

"Sam," the man moaned.

"Where ya from, Sam?" the cop asked.

"The balcony."

This is funny, but it's also a moment of zen. Things aren't always what they seem, and we have a choice to approach each situation with loving-kindness, rather than anger or frustration. But then, if the usher had been in a zen frame of mind, this joke wouldn't be funny.

How To Hug a Porcupine - Loving Kindness

I've talked about passive-aggressive people before. Sending them loving-kindness has helped a lot in my recovery in dealing with people who hurt others in indirect ways in order to make themselves feel better and control their world. By sending them loving-kindness, I take myself out of their grip, wish them peace, and then move forward. Well, usually.

But sometimes, it feels like I'm hugging a porcupine.

The problem with hugging a porcupine, is that giving love to him hurts. My initial reaction is to run away or fight. When being threatened by quills, it's hard to be loving.

Perhaps, being poked a little is a short-term price we can pay for long term benefit. Think of how much a porcupine can hurt me I'd get if I fought it. And how much pain I'd feel if I try to push the porcupine away as it moves around me. This produces far more pain and suffering than if I welcome the porcupine, love it, and let it be as prickly as it wants to be. By loving it, it only hurts me a little, and then I'm able to forgive and move on.

By hugging a porcupine, I define how much hurt I receive. I'm showing it I'm not afraid. And when I'm done hugging it, I have less fear of it attacking me. There is no desire to fight it. No desire to run away from the quills.

I'll never be able to get rid of the quills on a passive aggressive personality. And I will never be able to keep them out of my life entirely. But perhaps by deciding on a different approach, and a different perspective, I can make my life easier, and even possibly reduce the porcupine's suffering by not letting their ways take control of me too.

I can't change them. Perhaps one day, I will no longer be angered by them, or feel manipulated, my Buddha nature will shine, and I'll only feel loving kindness towards them and wish them less suffering.

Zen Practice and Medication

The practice of Zazen and Zen Buddhism shouldn't "take a break" while we're sick, or having a rough time, or even when we're having a great time. Its very nature exists all the time. Yet, I've been grappling with it for the past couple of months due to some medication that I've been prescribed.

The medication has changed me. And it makes me wonder what the whole point of zazen and meditation is when we can simply take a pill, and well, we're different. What is this "me" that has changed? And if I'm so easily chemically manipulated, what's the point of making effort be awake?

Another side effect of the medication is that it sometimes makes it very hard to concentrate, and sometimes I get dizzy and disoriented. It almost feels like being drunk or high.

One of the tenets of zen buddhism is to avoid substances like alcohol and drugs, which alter our perceptions. Yet, I have to take these drugs, prescribed by a doctor, which do that very thing. How can I think clearly and be present when I've been altered?

I've been grappling with this, like a zen koan. There is no answer. The question itself has been my meditation practice for the past month. When I'm driving or walking or simply sitting, I breathe, and go around and around without end on this question - does taking personality altering medication effect my zen practice?

My zafu pillow is lonely. My yoga mat is starting to gather dust. My bed pillow is getting a permanent dent in the middle. Pre and post sleep are my meditation times, when my body is too tired to move, yet my mind is spinning and floating in a semi-awake haze. I breathe, and relax, and let the medication do its work.

There is something to be learned from this, but I don't know what. I continue to breathe and bring myself as much as I can to the present moment. And when it's all over, perhaps, I'll be able to see the path I have tread, and understand then where I my experiences were leading me.

How Many Days Do You Have Left to Live?

If you found out that you only had a week to live, how would you live it? What if you found out that you had 100 days?

This question brings up the zen question of death and life. How can we live our life so we aren't afraid of death? Isn't part of being afraid of death is that we feel like we don't have enough time here, to do whatever it is that we feel we need to be doing? If we lived a full, and present, life, would death be so scary?

Maria contemplates the raw truth of how many days she can realistically expect to live. Having a solid number gives her perspective on how impermanent life is. And instead of brooding on it, she uses that information to inspire her to live a more present life.

It makes me wonder, why we are so resistant to allowing ourselves to live life in the moment? Why is it so compelling to spend so much time in the past, future.. simply escaping?

Patience and Practice

Where does patience come from? Does it come from a practice and what we choose to do? Does it come from a perspective on how important we consider everyday events? Does it come from the managing the ego and attachment, not always needing things to be the way we expect? Does it come from defeat and realizing that our energy is wasted when we get impatient?

People tell me that they don't have patience. What does that mean? Are you patient?

I'm patient when I'm on the freeway, unless I am late for something. I'm patient with my kids, unless I am trying to focus on something. I'm patient with my friends, unless they push my buttons. I'm patient with my cat, except at 4am when she is meowing in my ear.

ZenHabits has a post on how to become patient. He lists many tools for fending off frustration. Does the practice of counting, breathing, and other stress-relievers actually increase our patience? Or do they distract us? After time, do we start to become naturally more patient because we see how we don't have to be impatient for things to happen?

When we sit in Zazen, we are practicing patience, in many forms. Zen, in general, is a practice in patience. Yet, patience has this mysterious quality that you can't put your finger on, or fix. Perhaps, part of being patient is accepting that, sometimes, we're not.