Effexor on the road

I rode out of town Monday after spending a couple of hours in Celeste’s first grade classroom with Luna. The kids went crazy for her. I don’t know if I heard one person say she was ugly or scary— like I hear from adults all of the time. Most of them even knew she was a cat.

Luna and I left, both exhausted, and headed towards Parker, AZ for the last couple of days of the —Van Build Fest. I decided to drive the duration the following morning, and found a place to stay an hour west of Phoenix. I was looking forward to having an afternoon of sunlight to cross a few things off of my to-do list. I pulled onto the 10 and headed west, literally turning the next chapter of my trip. The past few weeks had been easy going and life-giving. They gave me a chance to tie up lose ends and set a solid foundation for the following months. And they put me beside my friend day in and day out like I haven’t been since she lived down the hall from me in Kansas City. The emotions I was feeling felt amplified, and I cried driving down the highway. I parked near Saddleback Mountain, threw on a podcast and kept busy. When my to-do list was empty I sat awake, worries creeping in my periphery. I fell asleep early, thinking about my plans for the next few weeks.

I woke up before my alarm, feeling to my core as if I was halfway to a full panic attack. Dread filling my body, fear holding on to every thought. It was a feeling I had known all to well, a feeling I lived in just a year ago. I knew immediately, but checked my pill organizer to be sure. B-Complex, Magnesium, Iron, Spironolactone, birth control…

No effexor. I had filled my organizer before I got my Effexor refill and had forgotten to add it . It had been 2-3 days since I had taken one. To some, this probably seems like a minor emergency. Before I started taking Effexor, my knowledge of anti-depressants would have been similar. But after last year, I knew all too well what was happening to my body. If I miss a dose for one day, I usually just feel a little anxious, like clockwork, around 2pm. This has happened a handful of times, less now than when I first began taking the drug. As I looked at my pill organizer I became aware that my emotions were being amplified by the withdrawals of Effexor. But I was already in it, feeling very panicked. Both, I think, from the withdrawal and the thought of the withdrawal. Last October, I stopped taking 75mg Effexor and went through terrible withdrawals for months, which led me to start taking Effexor again around Christmas of 2018. Stopping Effexor even at 75mg, I now know, was an awful mistake. And there were several factors that led to the decision. Now, I know that it is imperative while taking Effexor, a serotonin-norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor or SNRI, to work closely with a psychologist to create a plan to ween off slowly. I also know that being in what I call an Effexor ‘pit’ is not something to fix, it’s something to patiently and safely endure. I was on my way to a festival I was looking forward to days before, but I woke up filled with heightened and irrational fear and loneliness. Reminding me so much of the days I spent so lost and hopeless. Afraid I was making the wrong or the ‘weak’ decision — I had come out on the road to push myself and face fears— I touched base with a safe person to help me see things clearly. And I found myself turning back around to Phoenix, spending the day at Celeste’s school surrounded by kids who put the fear far from my mind for the day. It was the right decision.

So I am sitting here in Phoenix, still working through the shame and disappointment in myself for being irresponsible. Giving myself grace because— shit happens. Promising myself to do better in the future. Planning morning routines to make it easier. And honestly, feeling nervous about sharing. Nervous to pull back the curtain and share these parts of me when so many people think that I am brave and fearless. Just some free-spirit out here in a van, living the dream. Frolicking. The truth is not so orderly. As a photographer and person who shares stories and imagery, I try to hold myself to a moral obligation to share my entire truth. Which sounds obvious and holier-than-thou, but hear me out. In college, I wrote a long research paper about photoshopped images and their effect on modern beauty standards. I ran a blog in high school and followed a scene that was heavily fabricated— very ‘instagram’. The bloggers that I followed shared recipes, DIY’s, and overall projected their lives as flawless. I remember spending so much time trying to photograph everything that I did so that I would have content, not truly enjoying the moments I was living but seeming to online. My response to this, for better or for worse: Don’t leave out the vulnerability, the uncomfortable truths, and often the building blocks that cause actual change.

I finally do think I am brave. But that is because I learned that bravery looks way more human than I thought. Even though I can be filled with fear— and I am sometimes, even when it’s not just Effexor— I can still be brave. Even when I have to change my plans and take a step back, I am still brave for recognizing that.

The photos in this post were taken briefly the night before I headed back to Phoenix, and the following day I spent helping at Celeste’s school. Awesome Kids.

Thank you for listening.