Cymbalta: a terrible party for your brain. Also, cat litter.

A few months back, a doctor placed me on Cymbalta as part of a course intended to help alleviate some of the nerve and back pain, because I am not living my best life with this ish.

This is the previously mentioned doctor of the rather pretty Russian accent who told me I had fibromyalgia. I very likely do not have fibromyalgia, but do have severe spinal issues.

So of course the Cymbalta worked wonderfully and a great impact on my mental well-being. Right?

Well fuck no, it didn’t work for anything barring me flatulating so so so so much that I had to run all over the place at work in order to not just have a giant stink Cloud around me. (That is the least favourable Cloud to have surrounding you when bartending, BTW.) It also interacts SO BADLY with alcohol. So. Bad.

Ive spent 2 months tapering off of Cymbalta, first going from 60 down to 30, then staying on 30 and coming off. The withdrawal. From this medication is absolutely nightmarish:

here’s a fact-checked article about some of the side effects, many of which I am experiencing.

Just, For the Love of fuck, if your doctor suggests Cymbalta for whatever reason, Especially if she suggests flippantly, then insists that it will definitely work off-label for some unrelated shit, run like fuck You Beautiful bitch because this is garbage.

Speaking of garbage:

My little tabby, Hermes, just walked up my back as I write this from a somewhat tortured version of child’s pose. I now have blue bits kitty litter gently sprinkled on my back. Litter boxes are garbage. There has to be a more effective way of not constantly having your house covered and a thin layer of crystals that may have cat piss on them. Someone desperately needs to invent a better litter box.

I’ve not been very good at writing anything at all lately. My brain isn’t working at top speed, and I honestly have a lot of stuff to do. That last line is a frequently used excuse for not writing. If you want to write, you’re going to write. I just have to get better at making myself, and somehow finding a way to do it whilst Cymbalta withdrawal throws a terrible terrible party in my brain.

Tonight I’m headed over to dinner at a friend’s house with my husband, and in the morning on Saturday, I’m driving to San Luis Obispo to hike and experience an actual Beach.

” Well, doesn’t the San Francisco Bay Area have beaches?”Is something I imagine you asking…

Why yes, yes we do if you enjoy cold, somewhat rock-bedazzled beaches that are mostly for bonfires and walking dogs. San Francisco bay area beaches are pretty similar 2 East Coast beaches: Rocky, full of dogs(bonus) and really great for sitting, staring and pouting. Not so great for being half-naked and playing volleyball, which is the kind of beach that I like to interact with.

So. San Luis Obispo, because I want to be around warm nature, and also because I want to be alone and write a tonne of words that I’ll probably delete.

All right. I have to pack. I love you, and remember:

Dissent is patriotic, organization is key to proper Revolution, and for fucksake, don’t climb the Statue of Liberty, that does literally nothing.

Peace.

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