Steroid Psychosis Is, Like, A Thing That Happens

Hiya, folks. I'm feeling the awkward, because I haven't blogged in such an incredibly long time. However, I'm feeling a little more myself lately, and I have something important I want to share with you.

Any of you gorgeous people ever heard of something called steroid psychosis? Just in case you haven't, and you get the occasional shot in the hiney when you're sick or have an allergic reaction, I want you to be aware of it.

My last post, for those of you smart enough not to read that depressing mess, was spent whining incessantly about my evil allergic reaction to poison ivy. Well, when I couldn't get in to see my family doctor, I went to a trusted walk-in clinic. I ended up going there twice, four days apart, and receiving two different steroid shots, as well as an oral prescription of prednisone.

When my allergic reaction continued, I was referred to a dermatologist. At that appointment I was informed that I wasn't given enough steroids to begin with, which is why my allergic reaction to the poison ivy came back with a vengeance. There I was given two HUGE shots of steroids, and told the dose would taper off over two weeks, and should definitely take care of my poison ivy rash. And it did just that.

I was super thankful that my rash started to fade, but something else remained. During the month that I was suffering that itchy rash, and receiving all those steroids, I'd become increasingly depressed, anxious, paranoid, and obsessive compulsive. Anything that happened outside of the ordinary was too much for me, and I decided that living was too difficult. I had no suicidal ideation, but I just didn't have the will to live. I cried all the time, and I just wasn't ME anymore. I feared that I'd never feel "normal" again, and was incredibly hopeless.

Well, through a lot of prayer, the support of family and friends, and a visit to my family doctor, I'm slowly getting back to me. My doctor listened patiently to my long story about the poison ivy, and how I'd become overly emotional, paranoid, panic ridden and more obsessive compulsive than I'd ever been in my entire life. She lovingly told me that I sounded like a bipolar patient, but that it was all because of the steroids. She said I was in hyper-drive, and, even though the steroids had been out of my system for weeks, I could continue to feel that way. She prescribed me some medication I was/am very wary of, but I trust her, and I seem to be getting better.

I'm not completely back to normal, but I'm getting there, and I've done some research I'd like to share. There's a lot of information out there on the interwebs, and some of it not so dependable, but this site was very enlightening for me. I believe this information to be reasonable, and helpful. Even a visit to my doctor didn't give me a name to what I was experiencing, and I think that it helps to label it.

What I've learned is that the corticosteroids I'd been paying to have pumped into me in order to suppress my immune system and decrease my allergic reaction, were also increasing the dopamine levels in my brain, which lead to mood swings, depression, increased ocd, paranoia and a panic attack that landed me in the ER thoroughly convinced I was having a heart attack. O.o I also learned that increased dopamine levels reduce the level of serotonin in your brain, which totally increases depression.

So please be careful when being prescribed any medication. Make sure to pay close attention to how you're reacting, both physically and mentally. Tell your significant other/family/friends what side effects to look for when you start taking anything. Corticosteroids can be a good thing, and I know a couple people with lupus that need them to get by day to day, but I will forever be afraid of them now.

Yeah, I had a lot of steroids pumped into me over a short period of time, but trusted medical professionals were the ones doing it, fully aware of how much I'd already had. No, I've never had such a reaction to one shot in the hiney. But I can tell you that I've had plenty of steroid shots in my life, and no one ever took the time to tell me what it could possibly do to me. Even if the chances are slim, I want to know what to watch out for, and I want you to as well. I certainly never want any of my loved ones to be in that 3% of the many steroid psychosis sufferers that commit suicide.

Unless my immune system is completely compromised, and I pray it never will be, I'll just take my chances with whatever crud or allergic reaction I'm dealing with. Nothing I've ever needed a steroid shot for even remotely compares to the trauma I, my wonderful husband, family and friends have been dealing with since April.

"The Time Has Come," The Walrus Said,

The Walrus and the Carpenter finagling the Oysters, as illustrated by John Tenniel.*

"To talk of many things." Not shoes, ships or sealing wax, but things I've avoided long enough.

Do you ever get the feeling that the entire world handles life better than you, and it would just seem incredibly abnormal to admit that you're having issues? I know we all have stress, and I'm not the only one to be affected by it, but still. When it's happening, it kind of seems like the rest of the world can't possibly be that well medicated, and that I must be one of the few faulty models that desperately needs to be recalled.

When I was eleven I started having episodes where my heart would feel like it was going to beat out of my chest. Sometimes it would happen when I was running around playing, other times it would happen when I was lying down. It didn't really seem to matter what I was doing, my heart would just spaz the heck out. On several occasions I told my mother, and once I even went to a gym teacher. Both trusted adults felt my heart, and responded by having me go lie down. Sound advice, no? So that's how I dealt with it...for the next 16 years.

In my teens it seemed to happen less, but still regularly. It became more frequent after I started college, and having learned about panic attacks, I self-diagnosed. I assumed my racing/pounding heart was just a stress related thingamawhatsit, and I got used to it. I'd scramble to find a secluded place to lie down until it passed, and try stealthily to go unnoticed.

Deep down, I think I felt responsible for my stressful past. Why else would I feel embarrassed for being emotionally, verbally and sexually abused, or witnessing my mom withstand verbal and physical abuse? There are a lot of terrible things that I always tried to hide, and I can see no other logical explanation. I was ashamed. I'm not anymore.

I have no reason to cover up the things that plagued my childhood, the fact that I was sexually abused for a span of about five years, the mean things my mom's boyfriend would yell at her, or the lies he'd whisper under his breath to me about my dad, how it terrified me when we'd try to leave and he'd chase us in his truck, how scared I was when he'd hit my mom, yank her around and throw things at her, how I'd hide under my bed with my dog, crying and praying for him to drop dead. I can talk about how every Easter, I'm reminded of waking up to him in my closet, slicing up my Easter dress, (I still don't know why he did that.), or how old rotary phones remind me of him crawling under the house to cut the phone lines before coming in to start an argument.

Everyday there's something to remind me, and there isn't a single reason on God's great green Earth for me to feel ashamed. None of it was my fault. I didn't choose any of that for myself, and it's a huge factor in the equation that is ME. I'm balancing out quite nicely, thank you very much, and am incredibly thankful.

As an intelligent adult, I realize what a wonder it is that I'm functional at all, and I'm blessed that things weren't worse than they were, that I learned from others' mistakes and that I have a happy marriage and healthy relationships. Still, no matter how much I vent, no matter how tightly I wrench that positive twist into it, I have nightmares, an occasional racing heart, constant reminders of a less than pleasant past and huge people-pleasing issues. I don't know if I'll ever get those monsters stomped out, but I know telling people where they hide makes them less likely to rear their ugly heads.

Alllllllll that being said, I took my fluttery, spastic heart to the doctor's office with me a few weeks ago. I shared what it was doing, and how long it'd been doing it and the next thing I knew I was getting a very frigid, very gooey echocardiogram and wearing a heart monitor. Turns out, there's nothing structurally wrong with the old ticker, no blockages or anything like that. I have an arrhythmia that allows my heart to be, well, bipolar. It goes from beating 70 beats per minute to beating 130 times a minute when I'm sleeping. It jumps up even higher when I get stressed during waking hours.

Needless to say, that's not good for me, so I'm on a medication to keep that rate steady. It seems to be working, and I'm feeling pretty good! I do hate taking meds, though. This is the only one I'm on, but I still hope to battle this arrhythmia with super human good health, so I can stop taking it.

Aaaaand speaking of good healthy things to do, venting is a must. I suppose I don't really need to tell a bunch of bloggers that, but maybe I do. It's been a while since I've talked about my past here on the old blog, or anywhere. It takes a lot of energy, and I often times feel like a big downer, but it turns out that it's something I need to let out now and again. Maybe you should, too.

I don't know what "many things" you might be hiding away, but I can pretty much promise you that it's a good idea to let it out. Don't let it fester and rot. Tell someone. Talk to God, tell a friend, or call your mom. Me? I plaster my depressing slop all over the interwebs. Well, not all over, just here. Point being, it's nothing to be ashamed of and you don't have to hide it.

*image credit