Recently I was ‘between medications’ and so less ‘fully medicated’ but in the more dramatic ‘messing around with my medication’ stage. 

I took a magazine article in to my doctor about propranolol.  Yeah.  I found it in my favorite news (term used loosely) publication called “The Week”.  I read it helps people forget their memories of anxiety and actually calms them down.  My eyes got big as I read…”This..” I said to myself with conviction, “This is the answer for ME!!” 

In his office, I acknowledged to my physician that I recognized only one of us had a degree in medicine, BUT… and I proceeded with my sales pitch.   He went for it so easily that I started to backpedal a little.  What if this happens?  Or that?  No, he said, we can try it.  And that’s what I love about antidepressants -the tried and true ‘trial and error’ approach that we depressed guinea pigs are forced to endure while the  scientific community figures out what works, why it works, what are the side effects, and how about if we mix it with vodka.  While the guinea pigs are drooling and spasming in the corner but at the same time getting our kids off to school with a frozen smile and keeping the laundry in its constant revolutions.
 
On day one, the ever-present tightness in my chest had disappeared.  My big smile.  ‘I really have discovered my salvation’ I be thinkin’.  Day two I realized I was no longer clenching my jaw (TMJ) at night.  Wow, that felt really nice.  No jaw aches, nor headaches from it. 

But, (didn’t you know it would come?) but, by the third day the mild nausea I was feeling turned into ‘what the fudge? am I going to barf or have a panic attack?!’  Both have really bad outcomes.  I physically felt like I had been progressively poisoning my body and my body was finally reacting with a strong -REJECT- message. 

I rejected.  Went back on the old meds. 

Failed. 

Sad, stony eyes. 
 
But not vomiting nor panicking.