If you’ve ever fallen down a well filled with electric eels in the dead of night while stoned and alone, you probably have a pretty good idea what it’s like to come off anxiety meds. If there were etchings on the well walls telling you how bad it was going to get and how terrible your life down the well would be, then you’ve experienced what it’s like to google coming off meds while in the midst of it.

I’ve tripped down that well three times so far. And slowly, slowly, slowly I was able to claw my way out of there, although Dr Google was telling me to surrender and submit to my new normal. It’s why my nails are so shit and my hands are forever dry and manky.

Starting anti-anxiety meds blows. That’s being generous. Some people don’t struggle, which is awesome. I get tired, emotional, nauseated, nervous – and the yawning, it never stops. Then life settles and things are good. Most of the time, it’s really worth it. The meds can make life better – that’s the point, right? Then in some cases, and for some people, you reach a point when the meds have served their purpose and it’s time to move on, or wean off.

The first time I came off anxiety medication, I had only been on it for a week. I quite literally endured the horror start and leapt straight onto the exit slide. Thankfully, that slide was short and fast. Easy. Done. I could move on and find alternative coping mechanisms, like two-for-one tap beers and weed. I was young. But I stand by this theory.

Round two, ding ding. Far less enjoyable. I started taking the meds to help me endure a relationship forged in the fires of hell. Have you ever dated a handsome sociopath? They become ugly after a while but not until your mind is bent and twisted and, if you’re prone to it, your anxiety has pretzeled you into a sickly mess. Gaslighting. It’s a wild ride. Once the sociopath had moved on to greener pastures and I had found a way to be happy again, it was time to ditch the meds.

Being a person of poor judgement, I chose a time when I had a broken foot and was stuck in a moon boot to come off my medication. What’s more fun than being woken by a throbbing foot all night long? Not going to sleep in the first place because your brain is a hot mess. In my mind though, I figured I was housebound anyway so I might as well go through the rivers of shit simultaneously. Kinda makes sense and I’d probably do the same thing if I had my time again.

Any doctor will tell you the importance of weaning yourself off your medication slowly. Whatever I thought was slow was too fast. I’m a busy woman; I wanted to speed things up. That’s when the electric eels began spawning in my brain. I knew that people had reported having bizarre electrical brain jolts, but I didn’t get it until I, well, got it. Little zaps, out of nowhere. Zap, zap, zap. I started to wonder if I was making it all up. I learnt that there is little point explaining it to people who haven’t endured it, which includes you. Sorry. It’s like retelling a dream – no one gets it, and there is little of interest to the casual observer. Sure, sure, eels, yeah cool.

Eventually the eels moved on and my foot healed up and I could re-enter the world as a normal anxious woman free from moon boot and tormenting sea creatures. Things didn’t return to normal for a while – my emotions were off-kilter and my foot still tender – but things heal and life provides good distraction while they do.

In retrospect, that was nothing. At least, not compared to detox number three. Third time lucky for sure. If by lucky you mean kicked in the head and left to rot. Dramatic? Sure, it sounds that way now but not during it. I really thought I would never feel OK again. I weaned off the medication very slowly this time and for the first few weeks, I felt great. I knew it was the right decision for that point in my life and I was doing it the ‘right’ way.

It wasn’t until the medication had totally left my system and I was no longer taking tiny biscuit crumbs of tablets every second day that the heavy blanket descended. And not one of those good heavy blankets you see on Instagram. This was a blanket of fog. I was tired, more tired than I have ever been in my life. My body felt like lead, and everything made me cry. I had time off work for Christmas so there was no pressure to act fine, which was important. I wore a Father Christmas hat while becoming one with the couch. My partner tolerated spending the holidays with a sobbing, ghostly Santa. 

Like all things good and bad, it passed. My mood stabilised and my exhaustion went back to standard full-time worker level exhaustion, you know that feeling like the world is constantly too much and you just want to sleep? That’s normal, right?

It took time but things balanced out. I emerged from the well with my brain intact and my moods normalised (which, let’s be honest, were never that pleasant pre-meds anyway).

If I could do anything differently, it would be to trust in the process, to not believe that my experience would be like the horror stories on Reddit, to meditate more and keep going for those daily walks. All the stuff you know, but refuse to believe will help when you are busily trying to winch your way out of a dark well. And don’t google it. It’s the best medical advice of all.

This rant comes straight from the pages of frankie feel-good volume 2. Pop over to the frankie shop or visit one of our lovely stockists to pick up a copy.