Whiskey and Wellbutrin

My wife leaves for Vancouver (again) in a few days, and it’s been tough because she just returned from Canada on Friday. We were supposed to go to brunch this morning, but she’s seemingly exhausted and sleeping on the couch at the moment. She does that a lot because the dogs wake us up at 5:30 am no matter what we did last night or how warm the bed feels or how much longer we could have potentially slept in…but, such is life. Now, my internal clock wakes me up really early every single day of the week, whether I’m home with the dogs or not. LB’s clock is currently broken at the moment. But, the real irony here is that I was the drunk one last night.


This was a different night altogether, but it paints the picture

As many of you know, LB does not drink, and as a result, I rarely drink. But, when I do drink, I go hard, which consequently ends with me crying over the state of the middle east or abused dogs or just because I love you, man. Last night was not such a night, thank you Jesus, but I did get drunk. Here’s why that matters: I had four drinks. Yes, two of them were bourbons on the rocks, and even after I realized those two were enough, I continued to drink two more glasses of wine. But, I’ve split an entire bottle of Jameson with a dude on many occasions, and I can assure you that four drinks is not enough to cause me to stumble down the driveway and fall into my car. I slept with no pants and motorcycle boots on last night, ya’ll. I’m not proud of this. I’m just brutally honest. Point is, I woke up this morning and went to take my Wellbutrin, and that’s when it dawned on me. Wellbutrin DRAMATICALLY decreases your tolerance for alcohol. (See how I did that there, made dramatic even more DRAMATIC!)


Love these ladies!

There’s a real point to this story, if I could just figure out how to get to it. Ok so let’s see, my doctor has been prescribing me Wellbutrin for anxiety for a very long time. I don’t do well with SSRI’s, so they thought Wellbutrin was worth a shot. I was so tired of these dumb non-narcotic medications that I just took it every once in a while…like once a month, maybe. I’ve been going strong like that for many years now. And, then it dawned it me a few weeks ago; maybe if I take the medication I’m prescribed, I will feel better! It was a tough connection to make, but I’m sure glad God gave me a big brain. I started taking it every single morning, along with the medication I do like to take, and viola! It’s been three weeks to be exact, and it wasn’t until very recently that I began to notice a change in my emotional aptitude. Don’t get me wrong, I will forever be plagued with dogged anxiety, but it’s so much better now.


Might I add, our hostess is an amazing cook

While that’s all good and fine, it hadn’t occurred to me that I shouldn’t drink on Wellbutrin, or if I am going to drink that I should probably avoid bourbon altogether, until after I was hammered at a dinner party. Because all grown ups have dinner with awesome friends and leave hammered. I had a wonderful time! But, I annoyed myself, so I can only imagine how every one else must have felt. I’m pretty sure I ended the night by asking for a big kiss and a photo shoot. But, I’m still waiting for LB to wake up and confirm the details. They’re a little shaky.


That’s a legit kiss!

The funny thing about all of this is that I seem to have an aversion to medication that’s actually good for me. As a recovering OPIATE ADDICT, the irony of that statement has only ever dawned on my one other time. It’s been a while since I went to rehab so I can’t remember what they were trying to give me, but it was an entire medicine cabinet of herbal remedies that all came neatly packed in gigantic horse pills. I would have to stand in line with the other junkies and wait for my turn to get my medication—kind of like they do in Orange is the New Black (or, for those of you who aren’t familiar with that show, prison). Every single day the nurse would give me one of those little white cups you see on TV filled with big pharma pills. And then, she would hand me a tray of cups filled to the top with herbal supplements. The rehab was really into holistic treatment and herbal medications, so when I say they gave me a lot of them, this time I am not exaggerating. There were enough to fill a small sandwich bag half way, and they smelled disgusting. And, every day I refused to take them, defiant little bitch that I am. But then one day this really hot nurse said, “Kristina, let me ask you a question. Why won’t you take these pills?” I shot her a look of annoyed amusement and then replied, “Because I don’t even know what’s in those things, and they’re big and gross. I will throw up if I take them.” She stared at me for a moment with that same look of disbelief most people give me when I’m using my giant brain, and then she said, “So let me get this straight. Before you came here you were buying—and taking—up to forty pills a day from random strangers, chewing them up, and swallowing them with no water, and yet YOU ARE WORRIED ABOUT WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE IN THESE HERBAL SUPPLEMENTS? (I had to use all caps there because she was really driving that point home.) “Um, yea!” I don’t remember if that’s really what I said, but that’s either because the sleeping pills were kicking in or I blocked it from my memory out of sheer embarrassment.

The moral of the story is, I am not smarter than my doctor; I cannot have multiple drinks while taking Wellbutrin (God, you’re really testing my patience here), and there’s really no need to self-medicate when I have a perfectly good nurse practitioner to do it for me. Just a bit of hard-earned wisdom, folks. You are welcome.

P.S. If you haven’t heard the news yet, smugglers are the new vikings. I think I’ve found my Halloween costume!


Thanks for a great dinner, ladies! Sorry about the bourbon/wellbutrin! 


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