Elan Morgan is a writer and web designer who works from Elan.Works, a designer and editor at GenderAvenger, and a speaker who has spoken across North America. They believe in and work to grow both personal and professional quality, genuine community, and meaningful content online.

Getting Better All The Time

It was pointed out to me that my writing on this website has suffered recently. I actually already knew that, but I was hoping that nobody else had noticed that 98% of my latest entries have been parts of my Grace in Small Things series, photo essays about craft projects, alerts to other places on the internet where I might have written something, or link collections. None of those things includes much in the way of groupings of sentences about one subject. There is a good reason for this, and if you have ever had to ween yourself off psychiatric medication, you will understand why I have been less communicative: I and Celexa parted ways a couple of weeks ago.

Just now, when I checked back to find the entry I wrote about my decision to kick Celexa, I was shocked to see that it has only been two weeks since I started down this road. It feels more like two months. Plus one forever. And two freaking eternities.

The side effects of this foray into a drug-free verion of my brand of crazy have been many. Headaches are my alarm clock; I alternately want to eat everything in the cupboards or abstain from anything that might touch my lips; noxious intestinal disruptions are, well, noxious; I have an aversion to regular bathing, because I find all that water moving against my skin to be overstimulating; weird, fluid, electrical surges puddle in parts of my body whenever I move quickly or hear a sharp, sudden noise; my gums vibrate; my emotions swing between extremes; I have dreams so vivid that I wake up believing that Ellen DeGeneres and Portia de Rossi are vacationing with me on a lush estate near Mumbai, India (Ellen loves my back rubs).

So, basically, I feel like I've been coming down from heavy, bean-fueled LSD trip with a side of rabies for over fourteen days. Needless to say, it has been a little difficult to concentrate on things like the construction of entire paragraphs much less remember to drink water or take vitamin C in order to stave off the cursed scurvy that I'm sure is imminent due to my recently erratic appetite.

It hasn't all been negative, though. Before I quit my medication, I was having nightmares every night. I don't know about you, but nightly excursions into deeply personal tales of fear, pain, loss, and failure take a toll on a person. The spontaneous urges to off myself were no fun, either, and, thankfully, those have disappeared for the most part now that I am medication free. One moment, I would be enjoying a nice walk through the crisp winter air, and the next moment, I would be contemplating lying down behind the tires of a nearby semi truck that was just about to back out of a parking lot. I deem that kind of thinking unnecessary.

So, hooray for me for coming thus far through this trial by fire. Two weeks along, the physical side effects are easing up a bit. I am still an emotional teenager — I have four moods: really mad, really happy, really sad, and really giggling — but at least every movement and sound isn't accompanied by trippy waves of electricity puddling in my face and fingers. It was difficult to explain to others why I kept staring at my hands like a tweaking high school kid.

It took me two-and-a-half hours to write this entry, so my ability to concentrate could still use some improvement, but I'm sure that's coming down the post-medication pike. If not, I'm going to have to stick with lists and short poems, like this haiku:

Seventeen beats
seems such a happy relief
to a scattered mind.

Here's to hoping that this lack of focus is short-lived.

Grace In Small Things: Part 58 of 365

Grace In Small Things: Part 57 of 365