My bout of Seratonin Syndrome left me more than a little rattled. I had always known how dangerous my pain was but now the very things that were supposed to help me deal with that pain have shown themselves to be just as, if not more, dangerous. By this point I had dealt with so many disappointments from the dozens upon dozens of different medications I had tried. There was always the hope that they'd bring relief and virtually all of them had either been ineffective or came with intolerable side effects (like death). Dealing with that constant disappointment was hard enough but having my own medications make me so sick was disheartening to say the least.
It was the winter break of 2013 and my family planned a ski trip in Alberta. I didn't really want to go. Why turn down an awesome family skiing trip you may ask? Well mostly because I can no longer ski. For a person who can't ski, one of the best ski hills in the world is the last place they want to go. Maybe my parents were still worried about leaving me alone at that point and so I was somehow convinced to go. Skiing was my favourite sport and I was quite good at it if I do say so myself. I would love going on these ski trips and would always be the youngest in the 'adult' group going down the huge double black diamonds of Alberta. I would go skiing every Sunday in the winter with a skiing school called Snow Hawks. To go on a ski trip in Alberta and not go skiing was unfathomable for me. Even travelling there and back was torturous. Having to wake up early, wait in huge lines and walk around the airport is not my body's idea of a vacation. I'm not sure if it was this trip or a different one but at some point my family just pushed me around the airport in a wheelchair. Most of the actual trip consisted of me staying in our hotel room on the computer but there was one shining highlight. We went dog sledding! I love animals, especially dogs, and so it was a great experience and something I could do despite my legs. Was it worth the trip? Probably not, but I haven't a clue if I would've felt better or worse if I just stayed home alone.
Soon after I had what would even by my warped standards be considered an especially bad day. It was one of those days where I couldn't sleep from pain but forced myself to go to school. My efforts turned out to be pointless because I couldn't absorb any information which in itself is extremely demotivating. Back then these days weren't exactly uncommon, but for whatever reason it was this day that culminated in me surpassing my tipping point. I got home very pissed off at my situation and found I couldn't bringing myself to turn on my computer and distract myself from my problems like I normally would. I simply sat there brooding for awhile, which eventually turned into weeping. It'd been years and my pain hadn't gotten any better. I couldn't manage a decent sleep even once a week. The medications I tried to fix it almost killed me and meanwhile my doctor's and family are telling me my pain is caused by a mental disorder which seemed to erase any hope of what I knew was my actual physical problem being fixed. I didn't know what was physically wrong, only that something was. I could only insist my mood was a result of my pain rather than the other way around. I couldn't possibly count how many hours I spent googling my symptoms trying to find something, anything, that would support my case. Even with all these things on my mind my sadness didn't last long... because it quickly turned to anger for all the very same reasons I was sad. What was different this time is that I wasn't angry at myself, I was angry at everyone else. I did what my doctor's instructed and it got me nowhere. I put up with them convincing my family I was crazy in the hope they'd be my salvation. They failed, and almost accidentally killed me in their failure. I was furious, and began pacing around my room kicking things over and pounding on the floor. I burst open my door and went downstairs. In retrospect I think a subconscious part of me wanted to go where someone might find and help me. Even if this was so, the rest of me had entered a blind rage. Now realize that I don't use these words 'fury' and 'rage' lightly. If you consider these things a synonym of 'mad' and 'angry' you are mistaken in the same way I was before this day occured. I had never even come close to being in such a raging fury my entire life and if that day never happened I likely would never know what those simple words truly meant. I imagine most people never will, for I was literally frothing at the mouth and thrashing wildly. I can only imagine this is the kind of state parents who see someone trying to kidnap their kid would enter. With the noise I was making those who were home rushed over and started trying to calm me down. My dog was attracted by the commotion and started rushing up to me until a parent shooed her away so she wouldn't get too close to my fists pounding on the floor. I was dimly aware of this occurring and as my mind processed it my emotions once more started giving way to sadness. The fact that my parent felt the need to shoo away the dog who I loved so much was heartbreaking and deflated me.
When I next saw my psychiatrist and told him about what happened he rendered me speechless by saying it was a good thing. When he explained his reasoning though, it made sense. He said up until that moment I had been taking my shitty situation out on myself by being miserable. When my sadness turned to anger I was redirecting my aggression on those who might actually deserve it. He said my doctors, including, him, were supposed to help me and so it is perfectly normal to be frustrated and angry with them. He also said the scale of the event can be explained because my frustration burst out all at once after I had internalized it for so many years. I think he was right because nothing even comparable has happened since that day in 2012.
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