Was that God who spoke to me?

 Medication, especially new medication for depression that I’m being introduced to, has terrified me ever since I started taking antidepressants over thirty years ago. The induction process and the ongoing side effects can be hell, but without the pills, my mental health issues would be unbearable, so much so that if I didn’t have medication I surely would have taken my own life to end the suffering. On several occasions depression has paralysed my life quite literally, to the extent that I have crawled across my living room floor and hidden behind armchairs in the dark, fearful of being discovered in the grip of a full-blown depression. So, even though I have to endure unpleasant side effects with antidepressants, if the pills alleviate the depression, then I will, of course, take them because they keep me alive.

My first experience with antidepressants was horrific. I started taking them at a time when my mental health had imploded, bringing my life to a standstill. I had sunk under the weight of prolonged anxiety, insomnia, and depression. Many months had passed since I had enjoyed a good night’s sleep and just one glance at my face was testament to that. My eyes had sunk into the dark circles that surrounded them and there was notable tension in my jaw. My hands were constantly ringing each other, trying to squeeze out the pins and needles sensation caused by the adrenaline that had flooded my body.

This couldn’t go on. I could no longer pretend that it wasn’t happening, so I made an appointment to see my doctor. He prescribed me one of the latest generation of antidepressants, Seroxat, with the generic name of fluoxetine. Fluoxetine belongs to the group of medication called SSRIs, Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors. They are a relatively new drug that works by ensuring the brain always has sufficient serotonin floating around to keep the mood from sinking, going into freefall, as mine had done.

The evening that I tried fluoxetine for the first time turned out to be memorable for all the wrong reasons. I swallowed the pill around 6.30 and waited to see what would happen. Nothing happened for about 3 hours and that was when I began to feel slightly nauseous. I took that as a sign, a positive sign, that my body was accommodating the chemicals that had been introduced to it. After a while I noticed that, rather bizarrely, beads of sweat were oozing from my palms and the soles of my feet. I got into bed in the hope that I would get very much needed sleep, but no. My heart had begun to pound and the levels of anxiety were higher than ever.

In addition to the nausea, I was experiencing sweating, rapid heartbeat, aka tachycardia, and anxiety, I was beginning to panic that it would be impossible to get any sleep at all that night. Maybe I was having an allergic reaction to the fluoxetine and, if so, what might happen next? A heart attack? A stroke? By then it was almost 5.00 am, and I’d abandoned all hope of getting to sleep when I felt that areas of my face were beginning to move of their own accord. I lay in bed in the early dawn touching my chin and other parts of my face because I felt fluttery sensations migrating from one area to the next. It was time to find out if this were my imagination or not, so I crawled over to the mirror. What I saw confirmed my suspicions. My chin and several areas around my mouth were fluttering of their own accord. I’ll never forget that sight. It scared me into thinking that the next stage of my induction into fluoxetine would be death.

On the phone, the emergency doctor advised me not to take any more of the pills and to return to my GP’s surgery that day. My GP raised his eyebrows when I explained my experience with fluoxetine and suggested that another kind of antidepressant might “suit” me better. What he didn’t tell me was my symptoms were associated with “serotonin syndrome”, a potentially fatal condition. That was the beginning of a long and arduous journey with medication for depression, anxiety and insomnia. Unfortunately, it was precisely the kind of beginning that made me very timorous around new medication. After fluoxetine, I tried four others until duloxetine, an SNRI, (serotonin-norepinephrine reuptake inhibitors) and, understandably, I held back from testing it, waiting for the day when I would have enough courage to swallow one.

The packet of duloxetine lay on the shelf in my bedroom for a few weeks, whilst I continued to struggle with depression. Then one Saturday morning in spring, I walked into my bedroom with the intention of doing some cleaning. I surveyed the room and in that moment I saw the packet of duloxetine. At the same time as it caught my attention, I heard a voice say very clearly You can take that medication if you wish, but it will only delay the start of a journey I have planned for you. This was wholly unexpected. I was astonished. Where had the voice come from? Why did it say that to me? What journey? Who had planned this so-called journey? Why?

Almost immediately my indignation rose and I found myself resentful that “somebody,” this “I” had planned a journey for me without consulting me. The decision on whether or not to try duloxetine was mine and mine alone, and it was difficult enough without some “outside authority” intruding.

In the end, it became clear that duloxetine was not for me, but what was interesting was the range of questions that arose in my mind regarding the “voice” that had spoken to me. I heard a voice talking to me, did this mean I was I becoming psychopathic? Schizophrenic? Absolutely not. It was the only time in my life I’d heard a voice like this. It was coming from another source or another being, and it was wise, confident and benevolent in its tone. What gender was it? I can’t say because it seemed to be neutral. I got the very strong sense that whatever decisions I took regarding medication, and other matters, I was going to end up on this journey. Or maybe I was already on it and wasn’t aware of it.

PS. That was eleven years ago and, looking back over those years, it is clear to me that I have been on a journey. Not just since I heard that voice, but for aeons before that happened. I just didn’t know it. If I had listened more carefully to that inner wisdom, perhaps I would not have strayed so often from the path that my life’s journey was taking me on.