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The Paxil Taper Caper

Since the beginning of July 2007 I have been diligently tapering off Paxil… ever so s-l-o-w-l-y. These past few weeks have been the roughest. The first few months of tapering were doable, tolerable and generally well received by my mind, body and soul.

Let me elaborate on the following from this post please:

2 – Tapering off Paxil without proper medical care due to inequalities in the Canadian Medicare system

Three weeks ago the diarrhea, nausea, headaches, brain zaps, lack of muscle coordination and a general malaise settled in.

I know these symptoms will pass as everything else in life does.

Not being able to move your eyes from side to side or look at something that catches your attention while walking without be ZAPPED behind your eyes up into your brain traveling down your neck then spine into your shoulder blades down through your arms only to exit your fingers tips and experience the fading remnant echoes all over again is annoying. Your body becomes a canyon trapping not noise but electricity. No one can see the zaps. Only the person experiencing them can feel them. Your insides tremble with vibration but not of the physical kind. This quiver is energy based. I knew they could happen during this taper. I hadn’t expected them to become a minute by minute play by and only when you are still do they seem to build up, no, store energy until you decide to use your eyes again or walk. DUH! How the hell is one to function? One needs one’s eyes for seeing and one needs to walk, in the least move from one task to another during their awake time.

I tapered off of Valium a year ago and had the support of a family doctor, a psychiatrist, a councilor, an acupuncturist and a support group full of other people who were tapering off Benzodiazapines. This time around; my family doctor whom I’ve seen once. I didn’t have a family doctor when I arrived back in Saint John from Vancouver. I only have a family doctor due to the persistence of my mother who regularly harassed (asked) hers to take me back on as a patient as I had been his patient as a teenager. I see this doctor again this Thursday.

I called the Saint John Chapter of the Canadian Mental Health Association, left my number with them three months ago and as of today have not heard back from them. Great. I’m on my own. New Brunswick will not pay for your psychiatric meds as British Columbia does under their infamous Plan G. If there was one reason I would move back to Vancouver it is this: Superior Health Care for those with Mental Health Concerns. If anything living in Vancouver and receiving the treatment I got strengthened me for when I moved back here. Five of seven friends of mine do not have a family doctor here. Honest. Five out of seven is unacceptable in Canada. Saint John has a hotline you can call to place your name a waiting list for a family doctor. My friend Lisa has been on this list since it’s inception two years ago along with my grandmother. Grammie now goes to Mom’s doctor.

Other than Mental Health Care every other kind of Health care provided here in New Brunswick is at par with British Columbia. We have a long way to go before even beginning to resemble to sophisticated treatment people receive in BC for addiction and Mental Health issues.

This Friday will mark the last day I ingest Paxil. What a long road it has been from the prescribed 60mg’s to the current 2.5mg’s I swallow. I avoided websites of any kind on this subject during the taper to keep it simple. I live in a stable environment, work in a stable environment and have been filtering the craziness down on paper into my art.

There are things in life we cannot control. There are things in life we can take ownership for. I take ownership for my health. It is important to me to feel good. And most days I feel pretty damn good. And as I ended the last post I’ll end this one the same way.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaahhaahhaha!

Oh and a word to the wise; the slower you taper the better off you’ll be.

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Yes – we all have a bum

We sit on our derrieres
We shit from our derrieres

We, rather than go into a lengthy poo ballad, that only I could find funny because there are things out there people that only, each one, to herself will laugh out loud to. With the way my mind works it focuses from one to another thing as though it were outstretched spaghetti almost reaching the wall it supposedly was to land on as described once in an infomercial to me. These infomercials are just damned informative. It can fold this way. You can wash it this way and then dispose of it. Poof! It all disappears with the click of a button. A switch is more, an apt word, than button. We button clothing. We switch on and off or on again only to get sucked into a strobed illumination of one brothers creation in the family living room.

On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On.

My brother always had a way of bugging me. I call it bugging because that may have been the word I most said next to Stephen or Mom or Dad. Then our dualling would begin. We would go underground not involving the parents in our war for supremacy over the house, inclusive but not exclusive to; the control of the TV remote control after supper, ice cream, fort building of all kinds including snow forts or pillow forts and lastly, control over the swings on the swing set nestled in the backyard.

Good times we had playing for hours in the snow piling it high only to dig it’s center out to create a snow fort. There was so much snow. So much.

Eric hurt his back at work yesterday. He’s home from work for a few days in the least. “A gable landed on me” he said. Took him to the doctor yesterday afternoon and his back is bruised with some muscle strain, slightly pink-purple with shades of blue appearing momentarily and this reads as though I’ve written a weather forecast about my boyfriend.

Moods are high with seldom whimpers while gusts of laughter roar up as he enjoys a showering of TV programming.

It’s my birthday tomorrow. I’ll be 33.

Kick kick kick! soooo back to bums. I have been linked to from a place called Smart Ass Farm. A PaperBullet on flickr has added me to her contacts. She contributes on Mondays to FecalFace. Once I thought a flip meant fart in the comments, however discovered that a flip is a finger, the central one, and had nothing to do with farting after all.

Weeee fart from our derrieres.
We even report about our derrieres.. goings ons
. 😉

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