days disappear, forever

asleep by 02hrs00, as planned. out of bed, 15hrs30 as dreaded.

It’s been nearly eight full weeks since I took my last Cymbalta and it seems Lilly’s vengeance for denying their coffers the revenue is to manifest a replay of every pain, ache and depressed moment accumulated over a lifetime; with amplification.

If there was ever a benefit to taking Cymbalta, regardless of the grandeur of its promise, it could never be commensurate to the price. If the cost was mere blood, I’d gratefully pay the piper and move on, considerably wiser. As it is, the price continues to be extracted in currencies of time and a quantum quality of life. There are somewhat tangible issues around efficiencies and the lack of achievement though these can be discounted when compared to the horrendous costs associated with the interpersonal effects of this experience and how it has taken us away from the people and places in our lives.

Sure, it’s important to let the people we love, know that we love them when we leave them, of course. Fate and circumstance can and do conspire and we’d want to be certain they know how we feel about them. The idea that we have been moved to a different dimension of existence, while attempting to heal some other malady, is difficult to reconcile and impossible to explain.

Pain, discomfort, alienation. How is it that elected governments are able to enable a corporation like Lilly, one that has already demonstrated a willingness to trade corporate integrity and human safety in exchange for profitability, to continue and expand this travesty? Is it simply that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely i.e. money talks, everything else walks?

For anyone looking for more empathy on the web, among the many forums of support for Cymbalta victims, there is one that is particularly well constructed http://www.cymbaltawithdrawal.com/

Clumsiness, Confusion and Migrating Pain

Occasionally I’m overcome by a feeling that only seems expressible by crying. I guess it’s that way because I seem to lack any ability to control it. I’ve read about people, who are suffering Cymbalta withdrawal, getting into crying jags that last for hours. Mine tends to fade after five minutes or so, I think. There is a thickness of thought present that has accompanied me on the “discontinuation” that extends to a sense of time as well as to physical activities, like walking, standing and writing.

A Cymbalta Moment

At one point during week two, I attempted to articulate a few thoughts about what I was experiencing and found it difficult to both formulate the thought and control a pencil to write what I could. The result, as seen on the image of the torn page on the left reads “…and unable to steer my fucking life”. That’s a pretty accurate depiction of what the sheer, pervasive heaviness of the feeling of withdrawal is. The note goes on with a large WTF, which tore through the page and I then noted some of the physical experiences, which were new at the time: “Feeling of circulation issues in my feet, today R foot – 3 smallest toes. Then, back to an emotional level: “Seething anger – destruction. I want to get out of here”

Now, at day 43 (or so; it’s too much work to figure it out precisely), the physical pain is present though it is appearing less often. It migrates from location to location though the left shoulder and triceps area are regular spots. The clumsiness continues with too many awkward moments.

I’ve been taking three grams of fish oil-based Omega 3 and I meditate twice a day. The meditation is notably helpful.

There is one persistent pain that occurs at the back of my neck, just at the top of the spinal column where it disappears from view to merge with the brain stem. This is a stabbing pain that is more than annoying. I recently watched a video blog featuring a young mother who, being awake at 04:00 and trying to work before her child awoke, describes the experience as a feeling of having scissors repeatedly plunged into the base of the skull. I know that it sounds dramatic; it is what it is.

The issue most difficult for me now lies in the uncertainty about how long the symptoms will continue. I’ve been working on writing a book and a screenplay and would really appreciate getting back to whatever capacity is available. Some people say that the brain zaps / bowling ball head might be permanent. Once thing is for sure, we can never give up.

Erin Brockovitch, the advocate made famous by her work and the movie about forcing Pacific Gas & Electric to be held accountable for allowing poisonous deposits to enter the ground water, has opened a file on Cymbalta withdrawal. I’ve sent a note to her to ask about Canadian affiliation.

Since entering into a corporate integrity agreement with the Office of Inspector General of the US Department of Health and Human Services, Lilly still lack incentive to do the right thing and they continue to peddle this stuff and even expand its use. Ten billion dollars along with demanding shareholders represent the crossroads of moral righteousness and, having passed through there relatively unscathed, the inmates are now running the asylum.

Fear and greed drive the financial markets. Lilly and their Cymbalta product are sodden with these characteristics; no doubt that a sell-off of Lilly shares, along with the consequential vanishing capitalization will get their attention.

say, you’re not from around here are you?

I thought that the harsher parts had passed. I managed to get through the heavy lifting of last night’s “discontinuation syndrome” and was able to get out of bed by three o’clock this afternoon. One particular too-vivid dream overpowered sleep and yanked me awake, shaken and fearful at some point of the early morning.

I was reasonably sure that the rattling sense I felt, that an intruder had entered my bedroom, was just another post-Cymbalta effect. The uncertainty is disturbing. This kind of episode is often accompanied by a mild visual hallucination and this was true last night. It seemed that there was a adult-sized figure near or at the bedroom’s floor lamp, which sits near the balcony door. I’m weary of this stuff and, in spite, turned my back to the “intruder” and attempted to go back to sleep. Not easy when the nervous system is in jolt mode though the exhaustion helps. When I woke up in the light of day, I saw that the floor lamp was not the intruding culprit after all because I’d moved it to another location two days earlier. Wonder if the visitor will return tonight.

The bangs that occur inside my skull continue. And continue. Picture a bowling ball sitting on a lead platform. An indentation has been rounded out for the ball to fit into to prevent it from rolling. Take the platform for a ride in the car. Every initiating movement causes the ball to edge out of its indentation, only to firmly roll back into it when the momentum stabilizes. Now, that’s what it feels like when I move, move my head, get out of bed, a chair or, blink my eyes.

There are audible hallucinations; snippets of spoken phrases that mean nothing. Tinnitus comes and goes and is sometimes quite loud. Sounds like listening to the ocean in a sea shell, with the volume on an attached Marshall amplifier cranked up to eleven.