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Re: Keep hanging on! I'm praying for you, too. lynn971

Posted by Spector on January 5, 2006, at 2:31:39

In reply to Re: Keep hanging on! I'm praying for you, too., posted by lynn971 on January 4, 2006, at 19:26:06


I somehow had never heard of akathisia. I had to look it up. My God. What I read was almost (almost) too horrible to believe. I understand it can vary in intensity, but anything approaching the worse end of the spectrum sounds nearly unbearable. I am a little surprised that I had never heard of it, especially because one of the horrible drug reactions I experienced in one of many attempts at drug treatment was from Geodon, an antipsychotic also used a mood stabilizer, could have involved akathisia. I described it as extraordinary aggitation, so severe I had to run around the downstairs of my mother's house in circles biting at my arms and crying/yelling out. It was unreal. I don't know if that was a version akathisia or not, but I had to come off the medication which was doing absolutely no good anyway.

Was the akathisia connected to the Prozac, or were you already off it by then? Also, can I ask if this terrible terrible period is part of what I read you wrote about a little while back where you were helped by changing/increasing the hormones you were taking?

Yes, I think you understand why it is unthinkable to fathom three years of this. I'm telling you, Lynn (Rachel? Now I'm not sure what to call you . . . ), it is as though IT IS TRYING TO KILL ME. I really mean that. In the obvious way that it seems to be trying, by sheer force of its power and duration, to make me take my life. But also in another way: living with this amount of terror, this amount of exhaustion for so so long is indescribably physically and mentally debilitating. My body is being violently attacked almost constantly. I mean that quite literally. I wake into terror over and over in the mornings so severe that my chest and stomache burn and ache and feel punched and stabbed over and over and over. I often scream out in panic and gag or even vomit (sorry) from pure terror. But I stay in the bed as long as I can possibly bear it hoping hoping for one more second of sleep so that I don't have to be conscious of being in the inescapable nightmare that is being alive right now. But when there is no more possibility of sleep, I run to my mother who holds me and holds me on the couch while I cry and moan and writhe in continued pain and terror so bad that I now cannot help but often beg for death right in front of her, something I had tried not to do in front of her but can no longer manage. I beg too for mercy over and over. And all through a level of exhaustion that I have never known before. The terror, hopelessness, physical pain and exhaustion together are so so severe that each day I cannot bear the knowledge that I will have to drag myself crawling through another day.

It is not getting easier. No. The tiny and far far between bits of time I would have where it would back off just a bit, are almost non-existent now. This is what I mean by the feeling that it is trying to kill me in the way that a terrible degenerative disease would. I KNOW that depression is different than a degenerative disease, and as debilitated as I am, as physically weakened as I am, as much as my organs FEEL like they cannot possibly withstand much more, it is probably not going to kill me in that way.

But I have fought so so long. So so hard. I cannot do it much longer. I cannot. If I told you about every thing I have tried and the painful experiences I have had to endure with almost every treatment attempt .. .. well, it would be pages and you would understand why I am asking begging praying not to be forced to have to search anymore.

Right this moment I am petrified of going to bed knowing that save an overnight miracle (which I would accept) I am in a few too short hours going to wake into the very very worst of it again. Again. The worst torture I have ever known.

Faith as small as a mustard seed. Do I have a mustard seed of faith? I think I must. I must. I do not believe I could still be here if I did not have even a mustard seed's worth of faith.

Your words are very reassuring. And inspiring. You say you KNOW that God will bring me through. You must really know. I try my hardest to know. But, in the grip of panic and terror and hopelessness, the best I can do is try to remember that others know. Others know for sure. I tell myself that every morning when I wake into immediate no transition pounding terror. I try to tell myself anything I can to find one second of suspension from the dread. I try to call on God. And my father who died when I was seven, and all my relatives who have passed on who MUST be with me now when I need them so badly, and all the people who love me and are praying for me every day and are with me every day and waiting and waiting for me to come back, and even the person (you) who does not know me but cares enough to pray for me as long as it takes.

But .. . . but, often it is not enough. I cannot make it enough. I remain trembling in a panic so severe that I can feel my whole body shake with each heartbeat, that often it hurts just to breath, that my mind races frantically in circles trying to get me out of this torture.

And yet, and yet, well, I have survived for over three years like this. What does that mean? It must mean I do want to live very very badly. It must mean that I have a mustard seed of faith. No? And although the people taking care of me cannot take the pain away, they are helping me survive every hour, every day.

I try my best to remember that God has not forsaken me, that He is still guiding me even when I feel so lost and horrifically vulnerable, that He still loves me and that He knows what He's doing. I try. I try. I try. And I do believe these things. But, as I have said, for the most part I cannot feel them now. As hard as I try. And I end up screaming at Him, why why why? Why can it not end now? How can it not be enough yet? How? How? How? I don't know much about this, but I tell myself that I am not the first person to scream at God, to cry to Him begging for mercy. Any time that I can pray (I mean in the more meditative sense) I do. But in the worst of it the best I can do is beg. And that is a lot of the time.

Oh dear. This is very long again. If you would like to write to me privately, my e-mail address is: But, of course, I understand if you would rather not.

Thank you, Rachel. It will be good when I can tell you that this prayer has been answered. Understatement.






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