Cymbalta withdrawal has been really rough this week. Sometimes I will feel better for a little while–I actually slept last night, which was a gift–but then a few hours later, I’ll be a mess again. Here’s a peek into my brain this afternoon:

Primitive Brain: Must harm self. Want to harm self now!

Wisest Part: No, no, we’re not doing that anymore…

Primitive Brain: Feel bad! Must self-harm.

Wisest Part: I see you are feeling awful. I’m so sorry.

Primitive Brain: Fuck sorry!

Wisest Part: Yeah, validation is really cutting it, is it? How can I help? What do you need?

Primitive Brain: [grunts]

Wisest Brain: Ah, right, of course. Pain relief. Some settling of the nervous system that is blowing fuses right and left. That’s what self-harm offers. It’s worked before. Maybe it’s not the worst option…

Primitive Brain: [grunts with a note of optimism]

Wisest Part: Wait, let’s try that other thing, with the ice to the back of the neck first.

Primitive Brain: [slaps forehead] So dumb!

Wisest Part: I know, honey. I know.

I did try the ice to the back of the neck, which has helped before. Today, however, it was a disappointment. I just rattled around and complained to a friend for a bit. Then I went over and played with the neighbor’s three-year-old son in his wading pool. Distraction can sometimes get me through a difficult hour; I know that from experience.

A few hours later, the worst had passed. But who knows what tomorrow will feel like?