The ‘Supernatural’ Experience I Had When I Suddenly Stopped My Antidepressant

This July, I made the positive decision to come off my antidepressant permanently. I had spoken about wanting to come off it in counseling several times in the last few months, but this time I was sure I wanted to stop taking them. My therapist advised me to see my doctor before coming off them as there could be side effects, so I arranged to see my GP the week after.

Four days later, I ran out of medication — something I knew was going to happen — and naively but consciously thought wasn’t a big deal. I’d run out of meds a couple of times before and started taking them again a couple of days later then — not much harm done, and strangely the risk was exciting. “It’ll be alright, I’m seeing the doctor next week,” I said to myself. I had heard about lightheadedness and nausea being common side effects after stopping (much like the side effects of when you start in the first place), but as I had not seen a doctor yet, I was not prepared for what was going to happen to my body five days into the separation.

On the fifth day of Christmas, some loved ones get five golden rings. Well, on the fifth day of no antidepressant, my brain gave to me: a severe reaction to stopping my medication abruptly.

One lunchtime at work, a couple of hours before my doctors’ appointment, I started feeling hot and anxious. I had been feeling dizzy and lightheaded over the last couple of days, so I’d guessed it was all linked. Thinking it was a panic attack, I removed myself from the office to get some fresh air away from my colleagues — to avoid the embarrassment I’ve experienced before. I found a brick wall to sit down on, cupping my hands and breathing deeply and regularly into them, and putting my head between my legs. After ten minutes or so, I was doing a bit better; I was calmer, so I headed back to the office to have some water and to continue work for a little longer.

By this point, I was sure these symptoms were to do with coming off the medication; I just wasn’t sure exactly what it was, how bad it would get and when it would end.

I proceeded slowly and unsteadily up the flight of stairs to the office and right before I got to the door, I froze. I physically and mentally couldn’t go any further. And this is when the withdrawal symptoms really kicked in: vigorous shaking, dizziness, sharp “brain zaps” and my breathing was getting heavier again. I managed to sit on a stair and, shakily, message my colleague to come out and sit with me — something I wouldn’t have done a few months before. I would rather have struggled in silence than show vulnerability and cause a problem for someone else. Then came the worst of it: sudden, uncontrollable crying and laughing spells — depression and mania, dovetailing one another, repeatedly. I was struggling to get my words out and couldn’t do anything about what was going on in my body. I was a clown at a circus. I had no control. I could sense what was going on in my body, but I couldn’t do a thing about it.

Needless to say, I wasn’t going to be able to make it back home, across the tube map, for my appointment. Half an hour or so later, my friends got me to the nearest emergency department. The nurses did tests, and I was calming down more and more throughout the visit, with the help of the doctors and my friends. My mind was becoming clearer and I could talk about what was happening. By this point, there’s no point in trying to cover up your diminished physical and psychological abilities — it’s out there for everyone else to see. You just have to own it and get through it. But the comfort is that others are also going through this; others share your vulnerabilities, and your friends are in it with you too.

When asked if I wanted to go back on my medication, I said no as I was sure I wanted to stop, so they prescribed me half the usual dose and told me to make an emergency doctors’ appointment in the morning. I did exactly that and went to the doctors’ first thing to discuss what happened and a way forward. And with this appointment came the most information (and likely the most vital information) I’d heard from a doctor about this medication I’d been on for years. He explained that it wasn’t “withdrawal.” I was having severe symptoms of antidepressant discontinuation syndrome, which can happen around the fifth day of suddenly coming off medication, particularly if you’ve been on them for over eight weeks. He also advised I tell my support system and the people I work with, to make them aware of how I may feel during the process and that I may need them — also to educate them on my experience, as not many people know about it unless they go through it.

The doctor and I made a plan for coming off my medication gradually. For many days after, I couldn’t help but feel silly and ashamed I hadn’t organized this appointment more urgently — I had impatiently and prematurely neglected my pills and put other things, like work, before my own health. But the main thing was that my helpful and encouraging doctor and I had made a plan, and I was going to stick to it.

This experience has really opened my eyes to how powerful antidepressants are: while on medication, you forget the enormous chemical power of the tiny pill you take each day. I thought it would be an easy thing to just stop taking it for good one day, and I was so wrong. I recommend not coming off medication on your own, particularly if you’ve been on them for over two years, like me.

Now, following that strange, almost supernatural experience, I’m coming off my medication the right way: with guidance from health professionals and support from friends and family. Not facing it alone.