After less than a week on venlafaxine, my body decided that the coolest idea ever was to have a repeat performance of the hyperprolactinaemia. Swollen, heavy breasts dripping milk periodically is not anyone’s idea of fun, and so I’m off the venlafaxine.
Of course, this means another rather expensive visit to the psychiatrist, but I guess that’s just all part of the game. Maybe I’ll get lucky on the next experiment. It’s kind of frustrating, because other than the galactorrhea, I was tolerating the venlafaxine better than most of the meds I’ve tried so far. I’m not winning here.
It’s six months since the crippling depression hit, and today’s my one-year anniversary with my wonderful partner. He;s stuck with me through this hellish time, when a lot of others would have cut out and run. I don’t know what I would do without him. And my mum. She’s awesome too.
Without a good support network, mental health issues can be devastating, especially to people with young children. I’m lucky to have the people I have in my life.