What It Actually Felt Like
A real-world account of withdrawal — especially the anger, the loss of control, and what happens afterwards.This is not medical advice.
This is just what happened to me.
I’m writing it because when I was going through it, I couldn’t find anything that really described this part of the experience — especially the behavioural side.
If you’re here because something doesn’t feel right, you’re not alone.
A bit about me
I’m in my mid-sixties, living in Cambodia.
I’ve dealt with ups and downs most of my life — periods of depression, mood swings, and the occasional outburst. That’s why I ended up taking venlafaxine in the first place.
I’m not someone who has always been perfectly calm and in control.
But I was someone who could usually pull it back.
Even when I overreacted, I knew it, and I could settle myself down fairly quickly.
That’s important, because what happened after stopping the medication felt very different.
Why I stopped
The medication didn’t really solve the underlying issue for me.
I still had:
- mood swings
- periods of feeling low
- occasional outbursts
So I made the decision to come off it.
I tapered properly.
This wasn’t a sudden stop.
What happened after stopping
At first, things seemed fine.
Then a pattern started to appear:
- a few days of feeling OK
- then a sudden spike
- then a crash afterwards
And the spikes were the problem.
The anger
This is the part I wasn’t prepared for.
The anger didn’t build slowly.
It arrived fast.
Something small would happen — something that normally wouldn’t matter much — and the reaction would go from zero to extreme very quickly.
An example:
A dog lead not being on its hook.
A minor thing. Nothing important.
But in that moment it felt like a major problem.
Not just irritation — something much bigger than it should have been.
Even as it was happening, part of me could see it was out of proportion.
But that didn’t stop it.
Loss of control
This is the hardest part to explain.
It didn’t feel like I was choosing the reaction.
It felt like it was already happening, and I was trying to catch up with it.
I could try to hold back — and sometimes I did.
For example, if I threw something, I might aim it away from anything important.
So there was some control.
But not enough.
Saying things I didn’t mean
This was probably the worst part.
During these moments, I would say things that I don’t believe, and don’t mean.
Things aimed at the person closest to me.
Not because they were true.
But because in that moment, it was like something was trying to provoke a reaction.
Afterwards, I knew those things were wrong.
But that doesn’t undo them.
The comedown
After the anger came something else.
A drop.
- low mood
- guilt
- exhaustion
And sometimes something deeper:
A feeling of “what’s the point of any of this”
Logically, I knew that wasn’t me.
But it still felt real at the time.
The effect on others
This isn’t just about me.
Someone else has to experience those outbursts.
Even if I don’t mean what I say:
- they hear it
- they feel it
And over time, that builds up.
That’s one of the hardest parts of this.
This wasn’t my normal pattern
Before taking the medication, I could get irritated.
I could overreact.
But:
- I didn’t lose control like this
- I didn’t feel this rapid escalation
- I didn’t crash in the same way afterwards
This felt different.
Something that surprised me
One thing that stood out was the contrast between what the medication is meant to help with, and what I experienced after stopping it.
Some of the reactions — particularly the sudden mood shifts and loss of control — were very similar to the kinds of problems the medication is supposed to reduce.
That was unexpected.
What this felt like
The closest way I can describe it is this:
It didn’t feel like “me having a bad reaction”.
It felt like:
something happening faster than I could manage it.
Why I’m writing this
Not for sympathy.
Not to tell anyone what to do.
Just because if you’re experiencing something like this, it helps to know:
- you’re not imagining it
- you’re not the only one
- and it can feel very real, even if you know it isn’t “you”
Final thought
If I could have just controlled it, I would have.
That’s the part people don’t always understand.
This wasn’t a lack of willpower.
It felt more like trying to control something that was already in motion.
This is a personal experience, not medical advice.