My posts are getting more rare, but if anyone is still interested in what I put out into the world), I’ll be over at Medium from now on. You can find me by searching for Emmaline Soken-Huberty. I just posted my first thing, “Two Birds.” It’s a quick 2-minute read.
Hope to see some of you there!
*content warning: general descriptions of trauma and anxiety*
I read this book in two days. I couldn’t put it down. What’s so engaging about it is that the author is intimately linked to her subject. Born and raised into purity culture, she suffered the same shame and traumas that the women she interviews did. She even grew up with some of them and experienced the exact same messaging. I don’t know if I’ve read a book of this kind before where the author is so much a part of it.
I’m thinking about this book at a strange time in my life. After losing my dog Yoshi, one of the great loves of my life, it was like the ground beneath me shifted. Things I had buried for years and that have been knocking on the door for months refused to be ignored a second longer. I’ve finally had to acknowledge that I do not feel safe in my own body. I’ve had to acknowledge that my very first memory – a strange, shrouded memory of some kind of physical trauma – is still haunting me. It guides my sexuality, my anxiety, and how I feel in my own skin.
The extent to which this has affected my experience with purity culture isn’t clear. The big thing I’ve been thinking about is my first serious relationship back in high school. I was physically anxious constantly. I analyzed every little physical thing, feeling both intrigued and terrified. Because of purity culture, I believed that the warning signals going off were from God. If my boyfriend touched my leg or I stroked his hand, trigging a flight response in me, I thought it was God telling me what we were doing was wrong. Now, I know that isn’t the case. Because purity culture saw repressed sexuality as a virtue, it allowed me to ignore signs that something else was wrong for a very long time.
This book also made me feel very relieved. I’m not the only one who feels confusion and anger. Even with deconstruction and transformed beliefs, the women in “Pure” still struggle with the messages engrained at an impressionable age. In my head, I believe that “purity” is a false construct, but in my body and heart, there’s a battle going on. With me, there’s an added layer – that early physical trauma – that complicates things.
Basically, purity culture isn’t the end-all-be-all for my array of issues, but it played a strong supporting role. At certain times in my life, it played a starring role. I recommend “Pure” for anyone who needs to feel that they aren’t alone in dealing with the fallout from purity culture, and for anyone who wants to understand what purity culture does to people.
Purity culture isn’t a relic of the past. It’s alive and well in many communities, and I anticipate a strong backlash from the mainstream church in response to people telling their stories. That’s usually what ends up happening when the church gets called out. Thankfully, there are churches and spiritual communities that are different and willing to listen. They will also need to be vocal. It’s time for a change.
My time on Effexor is drawing to a close, slowly, but surely. This week, I tried to stop completely. I was on half a pill all last week and experienced very few symptoms. Monday was a bit rough, but I was optimistic. Then Tuesday came. I woke up feeling like a can of soda pop that’s been violently shaken. The pressure in my head was so bad I felt like I might go blind. It got a little better after I had breakfast, but it was very hard to focus still. Luckily, I had a good excuse to not write very much: my computer’s keyboard broke. I used Chris’ computer for a while, but I hate it because it feels like the keys weight a million pounds and I’m always accidentally opening tabs, so I just worked on one project for a little while.
A nap will help, I thought. The pressure got worse when I lay down. It was like it all flooded into my brain when I went horizontal, so that was a no. I took a shower in the dark and felt a little better, but I knew that wouldn’t last very long. Showers are just temporary relief. Since lying down wasn’t an option, I decided to just read. I ended up reading like 300 pages of Tana French’s “In the Woods,” finishing it, and writing notes for my own mystery novel. The good news: I definitely have enough plot points. I’ve always been worried that my novel’s story was too simple, but “In the Woods” oddly mirrored mine in that it had plot threads going on in the main character’s past and present. I also figured out how to structure the law enforcement/police department, so it feels more real. That will mean going through my pages and changing every incidence of “Sheriff” to “Chief” and the deputy is now a detective.
It’s a really weird feeling to be starving, but then when you eat, you throw up. That happened twice yesterday; weirdly, the only thing I did eat that I kept down was Ben & Jerry’s Half-Baked Ice Cream. I spent the evening reading and propped up at a weird angle, and eventually my head felt so close to exploding that I took a quarter of the Effexor. I almost immediately felt better, though falling asleep was still rough and I started getting sharp chest pain.
Didn’t set an alarm for this morning and ended up full-on sleeping till 11:30 am. I took a quarter pill again, because I did not want to be completely debilitated. It’s been much better today. The usual neck and shoulder stiffness, some head pressure, but no throwing up and I’ve been able to catch up on my writing projects and clean. For dinner, it’ll be zucchini bread pancakes, bacon, and eggs, and I should probably stretch really well, since the last 30+ hours have consisted of moving as little as possible.
The plan is to stick to a quarter pill for a week. Who knew that 18 mg could make such a big difference? I’m happy to push off the withdrawal for another couple days, at least, because I have a fun weekend coming up with baking on Saturday at a friend’s, and then MST3K-ing on Sunday with another friend. I’d rather not be on the verge of head implosion.
If I wrote this yesterday like I planned, it would have been a more cheerful blog. Today, however, has been unexpectedly rough. I think my first mistake was eating a breakfast with too much sugar and caffeine. I had leftover nectarine crumble and a chai latte with my new blend. I was careful to not add too much sugar, but within ten minutes or so, my head felt like it might explode. At the same time, I was struggling with an article’s images and trying to get pics in a high enough resolution, and that made me really angry for some reason. So I was frustrated, in a lot of pain, and walking the clock, because I was supposed to have a doctor appointment.
That didn’t happen. Chris ended up having to cancel it while I lay in bed, clutching my head, praying for death. It hurt to think, but thoughts still pounded through. These last few days I’ve been getting increasingly angry with the Brett Kavanaugh situation as more allegations emerge along with revelations about how Republicans knew and have been trying to rush the nomination process anyway. A lot of Christians (like Franklin Graham) have been trying to shrug off what Kavanaugh did or just say outright that the women are lying. It’s been making me feel physically ill.
These extreme emotions are new to me and I don’t really know what to do with them. Writing them down in my journal helped, but it doesn’t feel like enough.
Aaaand now I’m feeling nauseated, so let’s end there.
Tomorrow, I will have just ended two weeks on a lower dose of Effexor, and my patience is thinning. Looking at the positives is important – I only have to take Tylenol about once a day and I haven’t been throwing up in the mornings anymore. This weekend, I was at a social event for 4 1/2 hours and didn’t pass out or feel the need to bite anyone’s head off. Progress!
This week is also significantly cooler, I can actually feel some lacy edges of autumn in the breeze, and that really improves my mood. I’m still sleeping a lot and don’t have much of an appetite. Whenever I feel the tiniest bit of motivation for work, I try to churn out as much as possible, because after an hour, I want nothing to do with writing or thinking of any kind. Today, I have done some very half-hearted research for a new cookbook introduction and then fell asleep on the couch for two hours.
As for daily chores like cleaning and cooking, don’t even. I’ve made exactly two dishes these past two weeks – nectarine shortcakes and a salsa, which I’ve turned into nachos for my breakfast and dinner the past two days. I’m also very into this new peach tea I got from Plum Deluxe, an Oregon-based loose tea company. They have a vanilla latte black tea I want to get once it gets colder.
The withdrawal could be much worse. From reading online, some people experience horrendous symptoms after going down 75 milligrams. I am a little frustrated with my doctor for not talking about the withdrawal. If I hadn’t known about it and done my own research, I would have had no idea what to expect and been a lot more emotional. That seems to be the experience of a lot of people wanting to taper down.
My goals this week are to eat more vegetables, continue eating very little sugar, and get more exercise.
I just finished my first week on 150 grams of Effexor instead of 225 grams. How did it go? It was a mixed bag.
Day 1
To ease myself in, I took half a pill in the afternoon and the other half at night. Withdrawal symptoms included lightheadedness and irritability. I couldn’t sleep that night and experienced surges of anxiety about nothing. I felt really twitchy and when I did get to sleep, I kept walking up.
Day 2
Despite a rough night, I woke up feeling pretty good. Ate leftover pasta for breakfast, took my pill, and wrote. I started to feel more tired than usual, so I took a nap. I usually try to nap about two hours after waking up. If I can’t fall asleep, I just don’t take a nap that day. Today, I fell asleep pretty much right away. Had some fatigue the rest of the day and found it difficult to focus on anything.
Day 3
SO MUCH FATIGUE. Felt like a zombie all day, took forever to write just a few hundred words. I’m supposed to exercise to combat the withdrawal, so I managed to clomp about a mile with the dog. That night I had a lot of muscle and joint pain, especially in my head and neck.
Day 4
Nausea strikes! I threw up in the morning and lay on the couch. I drank a lot of water. Couldn’t figure out what to eat. Didn’t feel like eating at all the rest of the day, but I made myself.
Day 5
Saturday! Beach day! Yoshi was super obnoxious on the drive and I felt my patience wearing thinner than usual. Started getting headache and experiencing nausea. Couldn’t really focus, so I just sat on the beach and didn’t think about anything. Took a short nap and walked with Yoshi for a little bit.
Day 6
That’s today. I threw up again and I can feel a headache coming on just above my right eye, like a spreading sunspot. Thinking about going back to bed after I finish this blog. I wrote two work things already, so it wasn’t an unproductive morning. Going to see a movie this afternoon.
OVERALL THOUGHTS: Withdrawal wasn’t too bad this week. I don’t like the fatigue part, because that makes working out SO DIFFICULT. Even just walking feels like my limbs are full of sandbags. Nausea is my least favorite symptom. I haven’t had any weird emotional symptoms yet besides some anxiety, racing thoughts, etc, at night. No weeping spells, which is good. This next week I’m sticking to my current 150g; I don’t want to taper down more until the withdrawal symptoms are completely gone.
What I’ll do differently: I’ve noticed that I’m really sensitive to sugar right now. As in, I’ll have one sugary thing and immediately start getting a headache. Will be avoiding sugar this week. Also making it a goal to get more exercise. Luckily it looks like it will be a cooler week.
So, I’m finally going to do it. I’m going to talk to my doctor about tapering down my medication. I’ve been on one antidepressant or another for 11 years. For the last five or so, I’ve been on 225 grams of Effexor. It’s time to taper them down.
Why? For one, I’m just tired of having to take a pill three times a day. 225 grams is also a really high dose, and I don’t need it. I’m not in a stressful environment, I have a strong support system, and I’m an expert at self-care. Also, while Effexor doesn’t have obvious side effects like headaches or brain zaps, I do believe it has a numbing effect on my emotions and sexual drive. I’m trying to connect to my emotions more since I’ve been seeing my spiritual director, and I just feel like the medication is blocking some channels.
I’ve been reading Lost Connections by Johann Hari and it’s blowing my mind. I had no idea how relatively ineffective antidepressants are when it comes to treating depression and anxiety. I’m not saying they’re worthless, they’re just not as effective as Big Pharma would have us believe, and there are other treatments that could be as effective or more effective that aren’t getting researched. It was also really troubling to learn that pharmaceutical companies aren’t required to release all the information they have on their pills, so they only release the most positive. The studies are also known to frequently be biased and funded by the company itself. I feel like I shouldn’t be so surprised. Money drives everything and pharmaceutical companies stand to make billions by hawking their drugs.
It’s time for me to taper down or stop the medication completely. I’m much less worried than I was before, because now I’m not sure how much the drug by itself is responsible for my better mental health. I think back to the worst depression relapses and they all happened in really chaotic times : being in, then ending an emotionally-draining relationship/feeling isolated at a high school where I didn’t fit in/being at a college where I didn’t fit in with very few friends/engaging in a really destructive spiritual environment/switching to a radically-different college/unearthing childhood trauma. Of course I reacted the way I did and a pill wasn’t going to fix everything, even as my doctor raised the dose. Now, I don’t anticipate having the kind of relapses I did before because my environment is so different. My worst fear was going off medication and just completely shattering. That’s not going to happen, because that’s just not how my mind works. The withdrawal won’t be fun, those symptoms usually resemble depression relapses, but once those are over, I don’t see myself emotionally-teleporting back to my 19-year old self.
I’m not saying that I wish I had never started taking antidepressants or that they’re always bad in every case. However, I’m starting to grasp more fully just how little we actually know about depression and anxiety. We’ve been fed this line about how it’s a brain imbalance and if we get the balance of chemicals right, we’ll be fine, but if that was the case, so many people wouldn’t still be depressed. Focusing so much on the biological aspect of depression and anxiety ignores the effect of our environment, social lives, family, work, etc. It’s been weird to read Lost Connections and experience so many “duh” moments simultaneously with “whaaat” moments.
I see my doctor next week. I have no idea what she’s going to say (this is also my first time seeing her, so she might not be as gung-ho about tapering down as I am), but I’m going to stand my ground. I know me better than anyone, I know that it’s time. I’m basically just asking her to write a new prescription if necessary and what kind of reduction schedule I need to follow to prevent withdrawal as much as possible. It will be really nice to not have to set so many alarms and always carry pill supplies around everywhere.
I have a collector’s personality. In my younger years, I collected Sunday comics, Newsweeks, and keys. These days, I collect enamel stick pins. I also like collecting experiences, and my favorite one is chai teas, specifically chai tea lattes. That means I want to go to every place that serves chai, and analyze them. Here’s my list so far:
Dutch Bros – Terrible. It’s sugar and water. In the summer, though, after a long walk, an iced sugar water is pretty refreshing on the way home.
Starbucks – Also pretty bad. Very one-note.
Ike Box – One of my favorites. I had their spicy chai iced (which apparently was a sort of unusual order) and it was truly spicy. Lots of black pepper.
Java Crew – My favorite so far. It’s not too sweet, not too spicy. I can actually taste different flavors.
Tea Chai Te – I had the seasonal Gingerbread one, and that was really good. I was with Chris and a new friend at the time, so I didn’t pay super close attention to it. I have to go back and try again to get a more focused opinion.
Human Bean – The hot chai is pretty much just sugar and milk. The chai smoothie, however, is delicious, because I’m expecting lots of sugar.
Grab ‘n Go – One of those teeny drive-thrus in Aberdeen, Washington. They had a spiced chai and a vanilla chai. I got the spiced one, but it wasn’t very spicy. It had a bit too much milk in it, I think, which diluted the flavors.
Having this “collection” of chai encourages me to go out and try new places. It also forces me to be in the moment and really focus on what I’m drinking. I can get anxious about really random things or overwhelmed when I’m out in the world, but having an “assignment” really helps me zero in a few key things – the flavors of the drink, its coldness or heat, what I feel when I’m drinking it. It has a centering effect.
I also buy chai powders to make my own tea at home. I have tried Oregon Chai (meh) and Pacific Chai. I like the Spiced Pacific Chai better than the other two flavors. It recommends 2 tablespoons, but I think that’s way too much. I do about 1 1/5 with water. Just got the David Rio Tiger Spice Chai, aaaaaand it’s amazing. Just made it with water and hazelnut milk. Hot. SO GOOD.
So, I left my small group. Yes, the one I started. It wasn’t because of the people – I love the people, and I’m not just saying that. I plan on staying friends with them, and doing fun stuff like hikes and night markets. When it came to the discussion part, though, there was a big disconnect.
They all go to church. One is even a pastor, for God’s sake. I don’t have a problem with that, it’s probably good to be close to people who are secure in their faith and place in the Christian community, but I’m the only one who isn’t. Like, not even close. I went to a Christmas Eve service, and I had to leave and sit in the lobby. Everything about it just made me want to run. The setup of the stage reminded me of my old church, and that brought on waves of sadness at how that community imploded and betrayed me. When the pastor started talking and using phrases like, “Forgiveness isn’t something you can buy on Amazon Prime,” I wanted to roll my eyes all the way back in my head. I got really hot, and walked around outside. It was raining, and the chill felt refreshing. I am not ready to go back to church. I have absolutely no desire to be ready.
I’m not optimistic about finding people who share my experiences. A lot of people who have had traumatic spiritual experiences just end up cutting all of it out their lives. I’m weirdly in-between, where I’ve cut out church and the conservative bent of Evangelicalism, but I do want friends who love Jesus. I’m desperate for people who will hear about I used to read the Bible because I believed if I didn’t, demons would overpower me, and really understand, because they’ve walked that walk. People who have had serious doubts about God’s goodness because at times it seems that mental illness has stolen every dream. Maybe I’m asking for too much.
For our first small group session, we did an active listening exercise where we described a moment where we felt most alive. Mine was about a morning in Jamaica, the summer of 2011, where I and a few friends got up early to swim. The sun wasn’t scorching yet, and the water was just cool enough to be refreshing. I floated on my back, eyes closed. The last few years had been extremely rough. My soul felt like a raw piece of meat that had been beat with a mallet. It felt like my body and mind were set against me, determined to kill me.
Some people feel most alive when their adrenaline levels are high, but I’m the opposite. For me, high adrenaline levels mean I’m afraid, that I’m in danger. There’s a theory about anxiety that it was biologically important back in the days when life was really dangerous, when we lived without much shelter and death by wild animal was common. That anxiety kept us alive and told us to run when we encountered danger. Now, however, most of us don’t need that much anxiety. I certainly don’t – I’m not in a bad area, I’m pretty much white-passing, and I’m not being hunted by animals. That adrenaline/anxiety sparked up at every little thing, and told my body that sitting in class was a life-or-death situation. I didn’t feel “alive” in those moments, because I wanted the feeling to stop. I wanted to shut it off. I wanted to be dead, because at least then I could have peace and quiet.
Floating in the ocean, my ears beneath the waves so the only sound was my own breathing, felt like being alive. I felt whole, my mind and body not fighting. It was sort of weird, too, because I also felt disembodied at the same time. That felt like freedom, like I had found a way to escape the chaos of the physical, and just be. Recapturing that is not easy. The closest I get is when I can’t sleep at night, and I lie down in Baxter’s room. It’s the coolest room. The sleeping bag is slippery, and feels a little like water. The only sound is faint rustling. After a half hour or so, I feel calm again, pieced back together, and I can go back to bed and fall asleep.
What this taught me is that my soul is connected to the ocean. Whenever we go to the coast, I know that I could live by it forever. When I’ve visited deserts, like New Mexico, I feel off-kilter, like something is missing. The ocean has its rhythms, like a pair of lungs, and follows the moon. It’s steady, but also not predictable. It’s totally, completely alive.
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