So, just over a week into citalopram; the nausea has subsided, the strange yawning-stretching-crawling pulses are becoming more infrequent. My teeth still chatter, slightly. The turbulence of takeoff.
Sleep. Sleep is one of my two big sticking points with SSRI medications. I’m naturally a lark, one of those insufferable early-to-bed, early-to-rise people, up by 8am at the latest on weekends, unable to lie in. Except while on meds.
Antidepressants increase bed gravity like you wouldn’t believe. And this is the first time I’ve taken them when I’ve not had to get up first thing (to get into work), which has allowed me, for the past few days, to lie, just lie, and bob on drifts of sleep. Which means this is the first time I’ve realised – this is a terrible thing for me to do!
If I can’t get started first thing, turns out I can barely get started at all. I climb out of sleep and bed hazy and befuddled, clunk aimlessly downstairs and muddle about for a few hours, until I can no longer put off going into the lab and into the gym; shove myself, sulking, out the house. Wonder what the point of it all is.
This morning I forced myself up; I need to get to Dean Street for a checkup anyway, I’ve got shopping to do and then (obviously) lab and gym on top of that. And it’s not as if I’ve nothing to do – a mountain of study which I’ve been ignoring, my room is a tip (a few weeks worth of depression will do that). And Jesus, I feel better for getting up. Must remember this. Must try harder. It’d be absurd if a side effect of the antidepressants I’m taking made me more depressed…