I finally threw in the towel and started taking Zoloft. I started last week Friday. By Sunday, I had excruciating nerve pain in my face and a headache to beat them all. I thought, oh great, another root canal is in my future. But it wasn't my tooth. It was the Zoloft, which gave me bruxism, or if you will, a fierce case of grinding my teeth while sleeping. I walked around for days with my jaw clenched so tight that it was impossible to relax. I was miserable. So I stopped the Zoloft and within a day? No pain.
Up until now, I've just been seeing a therapist, but today I saw the
candyman psychiatrist. During my 15 minute appointment, we discussed how I was feeling, what the Zoloft did to me, and how he could help. He asked me if I wanted to lose weight, because if I did, he could help me with that. Now, I know I'm 15 pounds overweight, but I found the question indelicate and ludicrous. Fifteen pounds is not morbidly overweight--my regular doctor doesn't even mention it to me. Was he even reading my chart? He offered to put me on a mood stabilizer that would make me thin. Really? Hell, sign me up. I can lose weight while I knit. Then he said he was doing this because he was going to put me on a different antidepressant that would make me gain weight. Great. A pill for this, a pill for that. When getting ready to leave, he gave me his business card and told me to call him in one week. When I asked him why, he told me, "to thank me for changing your life, of course."
It was a bizarre visit.
I briefly read the side effect profiles of my two new drugs. I'm hoping for the fatigue and weight loss. I'll take them both at night and while I sleep the sleep of the drugged, I'll get svelte.
Maybe I should have held on to all those skinny clothes I donated last year.