Food annoys me.
Foods I am currently avoiding in a combined effort to: 1) Lose weight and 2) return my bowels to some kind of normalcy:
wheat/gluten
eggs
all meats and poultry except fish
deep fried foods
refined sugar (although I haven't been very vigilant about that one)
and I'm trying to go easy on the milk products
Which leaves, in the school's cafeteria:
raw vegetables without dressing
cottage cheese
unsweetened tea
sandwich cheese
I had a nice enough salad on Tuesday but I did break down and put some ranch on it. I'm pretty sure ranch has egg in it. In any case I have trouble justifying the $6 cost of a caf lunch if it's for salad and cottage cheese. I did remember to bring some snacks today, but it's nothing substantial, and I'm wanting substantial at the moment. It would help to pack better options. I need tuperware or some equivalent. Sandwich bags. I hate to buy disposable plastic. Maybe my health store has an alternative.
I have my wheat-free, egg-free cookie yet to eat, it's chocolate so it'll probably be good. There are, surprisingly enough, some good ones out there. It might work to at least bring my own dressing, so I can use the caf's salad bar. Nothing wrong with salad. Although again, paying $6 seems steep. I do wish they'd make vegetarian soup, since it's starting to get colder. There are so many vegetarians in Shasta but I guess not so much among the college students, so they don't think to make that option.
What I really hate, and what usually kills my resolve, is thinking about food all of the time. It's so much easier just to only have good options and then pick from within them. I'm trying to get there at home. I had a soy yoghurt for breakfast. Regular yoghurt isn't on my no-no list but I actually like the soy kind so what the hell. What I need is gluten-free bread so I can bring a sandwich to school.
In other news...
It's self-destructive to read about the publishing industry, or the trends in the field of writing today, but somehow I am a moth to that flame. Give me a little spark, a little flicker of renewed enthusiam for writing, and I'm picking up the writing mags and reading the articles one by one. My confidence and energy for writing is so fragile, though, and now I'm turned off of memoirs because I read that they're so trendy that literary fiction is getting pushed aside in favor of them, and I also can't stand the number of ads for "low-residency" MFA programs out there. Churning out writers. Mostly very pretentious writers, most of whom will never get published unless they publish themselves, which brings me to the vanity press's ads that almost rival the MFA ads.
Which in turn brings me to my usual crisis over writing, and whether there's any point to even trying, and not knowing what to write, what genre, should I aim for a general audience or go for the literary elite? Should I stick to poetry or attempt a novel? For teens? in a totally pomo breaking-the-rules style? a mystery?
The thing about memoirs, is it sure nails the "write what you know" thing, plagiarism and falsified memoirs aside. And I'm struggling with that "write what you know" thing. Can I write fiction and write "truth"? Who am I to try to tell a story I never experience? I mean, I like to read fiction. I like to watch fiction. I don't really have a problem with the "truth" thing there--as long as the story is internally consistent, follows its own rules... and yet the art I like is raw and I guess autobiographical. Certainly so is the poetry. Frida Kahlo, Anne Sexton.
Is the answer to write raw poetry and abandon writing fiction until I'm off my unleasing-my-anger-to-fuel-my-writing phase? But what I want to write is a novel. I kind of see poetry as a waste of time. Why? I don't even know why. It seems like it's superfluous somehow, and yet I love the poems I've collected: Sexton, Shange, Angelou, Bushon, etc. They are valuable to me. And I think good fiction is valuable because it entertains and because it can move you, and I certainly think the same thing about these poems. What is my problem with writing poetry? It's too easy? Maybe. Too easy, too short. I can write a poem I'm reasonably happy with (which is the height of my satisfaction with any writing I do) in about an hour. Maybe I'm vain. I don't want ot be known as a poet. There's something fluffy about being a poet. Yes, even Allen Ginsberg, you know, howling away, is somehow more of a lightweight than Steinbeck. And yet I'd rather read Ginsberg.
(And fuck, I just accidentally deleted a whole paragraph. But the point of it was, every writer is unique and so there's something to be said for writing even though it's all been done before, and others have done it "better", because as a writer you may become the one writer that someone really loves.)
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
what's new
I seem to be pretty much through with the withdrawal. Every now and then I get a "zap" but it doesn't last. So for me, I guess it took about two and a half weeks to get done with it.
I feel better, physically and emotionally. I've also been trying a lot of wheat-free alternative products and egg-free products. My mother's friend F recently found out she's allergic to wheat and eggs. She's heavy and has always struggled with her weight. She went to a doctor for blood tests and after an initial series that turned up nothing, another set (more thorough somehow) showed she was allergic to wheat and eggs. I guess in her case the main result was that her body can't metabolize wheat or eggs, and so it just stores them as fat. I don't know if she had any other symptoms. When F found out about the allergies she called her mother and told her, and her mother said, "Oh yeah, when you were a child you were allergic to eggs--you vomited whenever you ate them." I guess the wisdom at the time dictated that F's mother continue to feed her eggs, so she'd get over the allergy, and she appeared to since the vomiting stopped. My mother told me all of this and then added, "And you used to vomit after eating eggs when you were little too." Hence the forays into gluten-free, egg-free food alternatives. I'm hoping to find a nutritionist or someone like that and get some tests done soon. It feels like since I started avoiding wheat and eggs (although I haven't totally cut them out) that my digestion is better. I'll spare you the details but something's been rotten in Denmark for a very long time. Things haven't been just normal, you know, in at least six months, and I think it's probably been years, actually. And lo and behold, this week, things are starting to firm up. Is it getting off the paxil? Is it getting enough sleep? Is it eating less wheat and eggs? We'll see how it goes.
I'm not even drinking the kava all that much. I did this morning because I didn't get a lot of sleep last night and I don't want to be too edgy today. That's another thing--last night, I wasn't tired even when I finally made myself go to bed at 2am, and even then I lay awake. This is very unusual for me... or at least, I think it is. It's hard to know because paxil sedates and I've been on it for so long I don't really remember... Except I do know I used to wake up early a lot and not be able to go back to sleep. I don't think going to sleep at night was ever a problem for me.
Anyway, in other news...
I got a new job at a health food store in town. Hence access to wheat-free/egg-free products. I started last week and I've been working my ass off. 8 hour shifts suck. The job is actually pretty great though (so far). Everyone is super nice and it's really low key. Everyone has a 2 hour shift on the register and the rest of the time, you just stock. It can get kind of slow. All the supervisors I've had have been nice, no weird demands or obsessiveness, so I'm hoping that keeps up. And it pays about a dollar more than the gift store, so that's a bonus. But being on my feet for 8 hours eventually becomes excruciating. I blame my weight. My left foot's arch, in particular, hurts like a bitch, but by the end of the day both feet throb awfully, so it's truly agonizing to walk. I work 2 to 3 days a week (so far 3, but later this month 2). I did a 6 hour training on Wed., then 8 hours on Fri., 8 hours on Sat., and 8 hours on Mon. Saturday was the worst. It was like 16 hours of being on my feet. Yesterday (Mon.) actually was better because I bought gel insoles and they seemed to be doing the trick, but then closing took a lot longer than on the other days and by the end I thought I was going to cry.
Sean and I talked about my requesting fewer hours, and he was even pushing for me to
just quit and not work for a while, but we went over the budget last night, and we need the income if we want to eat well and be able to afford cell phones, health insurance, etc. So I'm not going to ask to have my hours cut or anything. In any case it doesn't look like I'll always have three day weeks and that may even become a bit of a problem so I don't think it's wise to ask for fewer hours.
Sunday Sean and I took the dog for a walk by Lake Siskiyou, which was beautiful and a lot of fun for her, since she got to meet other dogs and collect a lot of sniffs. Then Sean and I pulled out the sofa-bed in the living room and had a Lost (Season 2) marathon. We ate angelfood cake with strawberries, that strawberry goo they sell for shortcake, and Cool Whip. It was so nice.
I feel better, physically and emotionally. I've also been trying a lot of wheat-free alternative products and egg-free products. My mother's friend F recently found out she's allergic to wheat and eggs. She's heavy and has always struggled with her weight. She went to a doctor for blood tests and after an initial series that turned up nothing, another set (more thorough somehow) showed she was allergic to wheat and eggs. I guess in her case the main result was that her body can't metabolize wheat or eggs, and so it just stores them as fat. I don't know if she had any other symptoms. When F found out about the allergies she called her mother and told her, and her mother said, "Oh yeah, when you were a child you were allergic to eggs--you vomited whenever you ate them." I guess the wisdom at the time dictated that F's mother continue to feed her eggs, so she'd get over the allergy, and she appeared to since the vomiting stopped. My mother told me all of this and then added, "And you used to vomit after eating eggs when you were little too." Hence the forays into gluten-free, egg-free food alternatives. I'm hoping to find a nutritionist or someone like that and get some tests done soon. It feels like since I started avoiding wheat and eggs (although I haven't totally cut them out) that my digestion is better. I'll spare you the details but something's been rotten in Denmark for a very long time. Things haven't been just normal, you know, in at least six months, and I think it's probably been years, actually. And lo and behold, this week, things are starting to firm up. Is it getting off the paxil? Is it getting enough sleep? Is it eating less wheat and eggs? We'll see how it goes.
I'm not even drinking the kava all that much. I did this morning because I didn't get a lot of sleep last night and I don't want to be too edgy today. That's another thing--last night, I wasn't tired even when I finally made myself go to bed at 2am, and even then I lay awake. This is very unusual for me... or at least, I think it is. It's hard to know because paxil sedates and I've been on it for so long I don't really remember... Except I do know I used to wake up early a lot and not be able to go back to sleep. I don't think going to sleep at night was ever a problem for me.
Anyway, in other news...
I got a new job at a health food store in town. Hence access to wheat-free/egg-free products. I started last week and I've been working my ass off. 8 hour shifts suck. The job is actually pretty great though (so far). Everyone is super nice and it's really low key. Everyone has a 2 hour shift on the register and the rest of the time, you just stock. It can get kind of slow. All the supervisors I've had have been nice, no weird demands or obsessiveness, so I'm hoping that keeps up. And it pays about a dollar more than the gift store, so that's a bonus. But being on my feet for 8 hours eventually becomes excruciating. I blame my weight. My left foot's arch, in particular, hurts like a bitch, but by the end of the day both feet throb awfully, so it's truly agonizing to walk. I work 2 to 3 days a week (so far 3, but later this month 2). I did a 6 hour training on Wed., then 8 hours on Fri., 8 hours on Sat., and 8 hours on Mon. Saturday was the worst. It was like 16 hours of being on my feet. Yesterday (Mon.) actually was better because I bought gel insoles and they seemed to be doing the trick, but then closing took a lot longer than on the other days and by the end I thought I was going to cry.
Sean and I talked about my requesting fewer hours, and he was even pushing for me to
just quit and not work for a while, but we went over the budget last night, and we need the income if we want to eat well and be able to afford cell phones, health insurance, etc. So I'm not going to ask to have my hours cut or anything. In any case it doesn't look like I'll always have three day weeks and that may even become a bit of a problem so I don't think it's wise to ask for fewer hours.Sunday Sean and I took the dog for a walk by Lake Siskiyou, which was beautiful and a lot of fun for her, since she got to meet other dogs and collect a lot of sniffs. Then Sean and I pulled out the sofa-bed in the living room and had a Lost (Season 2) marathon. We ate angelfood cake with strawberries, that strawberry goo they sell for shortcake, and Cool Whip. It was so nice.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
okay, I guess I'm into medicating.
Well, after the Grand Paxil Betrayal you might expect I'd just go cold turkey, never touch another chemical as long as live, and I kind of wish that was how it would go too. But, I find I am still drawn to the "cure" fantasy. "All I needed was to take this med and it fixed all my debilitating problems... all I needed was the cure." In any case, I have been taking kava kava off and on, mainly to ease the withdrawal from Paxil. I may try taking it in future, once the withdrawal is over, because from what I've read about it, it helps with depression, anxiety, and panic, and as long as you stick to mild doses the side effects are rare and pretty low-key.
I've considered that I'm trying to take a chemical in order to solve my emotional problems instead of working through what I need to work through to get better. I guess I don't have a lot of faith in my ability to get to the other side of the issues. Maybe I'm not even sure there is an other side. You know, I tried to deal with the death rushes for years unmedicated. No dice.
I feel like the CBT I went through last fall really helped a lot to give me ways to combat my depression. I went in believing my thinking patterns were fine, not the problem, but I learned to identify a lot of ways in which my thinking was the problem. So it was absolutely worthwhile. And you don't get addicted or go through withdrawals or gain an average of 40-60 pounds when you do CBT. So I feel confident recommending it. In my experience, it can only help. Of course, I think my therapist was a good one (although perhaps not great). I imagine a bad therapist could screw CBT up. But I think of all the therapy types, it's so straightforward, it seems like even a mediocre therapist could do a good job with it.
Anyway, my point is, I've done therapy. The CBT was the fifth time I've done it. As far as the big-catharsis-oh-finally-I-see-my-subconscious-need-to-be-an-underwater-ballet-performer-epiphany-moment concept of therapy goes, I don't believe in it anymore. Maybe there are exceptionally brilliant psychologists out there who really can help you straighten out all the tangles in your mind and soul, but I don't know where they are, and I probably couldn't afford them anyway. I think I'm stuck with the tangles. And I think maybe I'll unravel some of them, a little at a time. But it's not going to happen overnight.
Which brings me to medication. I would rather take regular doses of heroin than live with the death rushes. It's that simple, and it's that clear to me. The feelings I deal with when they are in their full-blown glory are intolerable. I would rather go back on Paxil. And believe me, right now, Paxil seems like the worse con in all of history. But if I am faced with dwelling in death rushes or going back on Paxil, gaining even more weight, being an addict, having the zaps when I let my dose dip, and all the other crap, I'd take the Paxil.
But, hopefully it won't come to that. I do think the CBT tools have made it possible for me to manage my depression, and part of the use of the Paxil was for the depression. The CBT may also work somewhat for managing my anxiety, although I find that a lot more difficult. Mainly it's a lot of work. I can do the CBT stuff in my head mostly for the depression. I think if the depression got a lot worst that might not be enough, but the point is if I stay on top of my thinking, that shouldn't happen. For the CBT to really work for anxiety, I think I have to keep writing everything down. And at this point I just hate diverting so my of my time and energy to that. I mean I'd be carrying around a notebook all day long. It's fine for a couple of months while I was in therapy to do that--it was my project. I don't want to spend the rest of my life that way. I have a lot of other things I want to do with my time and energy. And I don't like the sense that I'm obsessed with my own navel.
So maybe, if it becomes necessary once I'm done with the Paxil withdrawals, I'll drink a dose of kava kava each day to stave off anxiety and the death rushes. They certainly seem to have faded out since I started taking it for the withdrawal. We'll see how it goes. Maybe getting regular exercise and eating a healthier diet (Sean and I are determined to start that now that his mother and step-father are finally gone), and getting 9 hours of sleep at night, maybe losing the Paxil weight... maybe it will be enough. I'd rather be chemical-free.
I've considered that I'm trying to take a chemical in order to solve my emotional problems instead of working through what I need to work through to get better. I guess I don't have a lot of faith in my ability to get to the other side of the issues. Maybe I'm not even sure there is an other side. You know, I tried to deal with the death rushes for years unmedicated. No dice.
I feel like the CBT I went through last fall really helped a lot to give me ways to combat my depression. I went in believing my thinking patterns were fine, not the problem, but I learned to identify a lot of ways in which my thinking was the problem. So it was absolutely worthwhile. And you don't get addicted or go through withdrawals or gain an average of 40-60 pounds when you do CBT. So I feel confident recommending it. In my experience, it can only help. Of course, I think my therapist was a good one (although perhaps not great). I imagine a bad therapist could screw CBT up. But I think of all the therapy types, it's so straightforward, it seems like even a mediocre therapist could do a good job with it.
Anyway, my point is, I've done therapy. The CBT was the fifth time I've done it. As far as the big-catharsis-oh-finally-I-see-my-subconscious-need-to-be-an-underwater-ballet-performer-epiphany-moment concept of therapy goes, I don't believe in it anymore. Maybe there are exceptionally brilliant psychologists out there who really can help you straighten out all the tangles in your mind and soul, but I don't know where they are, and I probably couldn't afford them anyway. I think I'm stuck with the tangles. And I think maybe I'll unravel some of them, a little at a time. But it's not going to happen overnight.
Which brings me to medication. I would rather take regular doses of heroin than live with the death rushes. It's that simple, and it's that clear to me. The feelings I deal with when they are in their full-blown glory are intolerable. I would rather go back on Paxil. And believe me, right now, Paxil seems like the worse con in all of history. But if I am faced with dwelling in death rushes or going back on Paxil, gaining even more weight, being an addict, having the zaps when I let my dose dip, and all the other crap, I'd take the Paxil.
But, hopefully it won't come to that. I do think the CBT tools have made it possible for me to manage my depression, and part of the use of the Paxil was for the depression. The CBT may also work somewhat for managing my anxiety, although I find that a lot more difficult. Mainly it's a lot of work. I can do the CBT stuff in my head mostly for the depression. I think if the depression got a lot worst that might not be enough, but the point is if I stay on top of my thinking, that shouldn't happen. For the CBT to really work for anxiety, I think I have to keep writing everything down. And at this point I just hate diverting so my of my time and energy to that. I mean I'd be carrying around a notebook all day long. It's fine for a couple of months while I was in therapy to do that--it was my project. I don't want to spend the rest of my life that way. I have a lot of other things I want to do with my time and energy. And I don't like the sense that I'm obsessed with my own navel.
So maybe, if it becomes necessary once I'm done with the Paxil withdrawals, I'll drink a dose of kava kava each day to stave off anxiety and the death rushes. They certainly seem to have faded out since I started taking it for the withdrawal. We'll see how it goes. Maybe getting regular exercise and eating a healthier diet (Sean and I are determined to start that now that his mother and step-father are finally gone), and getting 9 hours of sleep at night, maybe losing the Paxil weight... maybe it will be enough. I'd rather be chemical-free.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Unbelievable.
I feel so stupid. I feel like the truth was all around me and I just turned a blind eye. I guess I wanted to believe that all the signs were wrong, because I needed the fucking drug. God, I'm an addict.
Did you know that SSRIs are dependency-forming and addictive? I don't think I'd have had too much trouble with this one. Of course, I'd have agreed. They alter your brain chemistry and you can't quit them abruptly so sure, they are habit-forming.
What I didn't know about was the withdrawal period, which can last several months. Jesus.
That and I just read that paxil causes weight gain. It messes up your metabolism. I've been going nuts trying to figure out why I'm up to 217lbs and I've been generally eating healthy and getting a fair bit of exercise.
God, I feel so betrayed.
I believed in this stuff, I though it was my fucking salvation, I feel like such an idiot. Such a typical junkie.
I've been tapering off, trying to quit, because I have to buy health insurance soon and if I'm on it they'll see this as a pre-existing condition and deny me coverage. (Yay for the shareholders.)
And lo-and-behold, this last week I've been having these awful bouts of shock-like symptoms. Tingling in the mouth and hands, seeing stars, clammy skin, cold sweats. I've been having the most horrific nightmares. I've been nearly out of my mind, and so worried about it, thinking this is it, I'm finally having some kind of real psychotic break, here. I'm going to develop adult-onset schizophrenia and lose myself completely. It's been fucking terrifying. Not to mention the digestive problems. And the mood swings... god, the anger. I actually fantasized about leaving Sean last night, I was so furious over some stupid shit that happened yesterday.
So anyway, I've been feeling rotten for about a week. Today I went online to try to research my symptoms, try to get some idea of why I might be having these near-fainting spells, feel like I'm going into shock. Are the bowel troubles related? Am I having diabetic crises, have I developed diabetes? Or is my heart--heart disease runs in my family. Severe dips in blood pressure? And I researched all this for a while and didn't really come up with anything other than a sense that I should check myself into a hospital asap.
And then, I thought, "Oh yeah, I wanted to check out withdrawal from Paxil." Because Sean mentioned that someone he knew got dizzy.
And there it all was, in a bulleted list. Every single symptom, including "You are seriously concerned that you are going insane."
Christ.
Jesus Christ.
I want to fucking kill someone. Why didn't I hear about any of this before?
And yet I did, in little bits and pieces. If I'd put them all together... If I'd just listened to my friend Dante instead of thinking he was wrong... GOD. DAMN. IT.
Okay, so the good news? Eventually I'll get through the withdrawal period and feel normal again.
The bad news? What about my panic attacks? See, "normal" for me can get pretty fucking bleak. Unmedicated is not a generally a good state for me. It looks like Paxil's the worst, but most of the other SSRIs are pretty bad too. Can I take beta-blockers? Xanax? I can manage my depression since therapy, and maybe even the regular anxiety, you know. I don't know about the OCD thoughts. And the panic attacks, god. I thought the meds would save me. But they turned me into an addict, my god. I've spent my whole life staying away from addictions, and I've even struggled against my food addictions, but this just snuck up, because I thought that SSRIs weren't addicitve. You had to take them a certain way, but they weren't addictive. You didn't have to go through withdrawal like heroin or something.
Jesus, how can I have sat through Walk the Line feeling all smug because "everybody knows just because you get drugs on prescription it doesn't make you any less of an addict," right? Uppers and downs, sleeping pills and valium, mother's little helpers. I knew perfectly well about the pills women popped in the sixties when they wrestled with the "problem with no name" and how totally destructive and real those pills were, real drugs. But not my Paxil. Not my vitamin P.
I'm such a fucking sucker.
So I've got one 10mg dose left. After that, cold turkey. This should be very, very fun.
Did you know that SSRIs are dependency-forming and addictive? I don't think I'd have had too much trouble with this one. Of course, I'd have agreed. They alter your brain chemistry and you can't quit them abruptly so sure, they are habit-forming.
What I didn't know about was the withdrawal period, which can last several months. Jesus.
That and I just read that paxil causes weight gain. It messes up your metabolism. I've been going nuts trying to figure out why I'm up to 217lbs and I've been generally eating healthy and getting a fair bit of exercise.
God, I feel so betrayed.
I believed in this stuff, I though it was my fucking salvation, I feel like such an idiot. Such a typical junkie.
I've been tapering off, trying to quit, because I have to buy health insurance soon and if I'm on it they'll see this as a pre-existing condition and deny me coverage. (Yay for the shareholders.)
And lo-and-behold, this last week I've been having these awful bouts of shock-like symptoms. Tingling in the mouth and hands, seeing stars, clammy skin, cold sweats. I've been having the most horrific nightmares. I've been nearly out of my mind, and so worried about it, thinking this is it, I'm finally having some kind of real psychotic break, here. I'm going to develop adult-onset schizophrenia and lose myself completely. It's been fucking terrifying. Not to mention the digestive problems. And the mood swings... god, the anger. I actually fantasized about leaving Sean last night, I was so furious over some stupid shit that happened yesterday.
So anyway, I've been feeling rotten for about a week. Today I went online to try to research my symptoms, try to get some idea of why I might be having these near-fainting spells, feel like I'm going into shock. Are the bowel troubles related? Am I having diabetic crises, have I developed diabetes? Or is my heart--heart disease runs in my family. Severe dips in blood pressure? And I researched all this for a while and didn't really come up with anything other than a sense that I should check myself into a hospital asap.
And then, I thought, "Oh yeah, I wanted to check out withdrawal from Paxil." Because Sean mentioned that someone he knew got dizzy.
And there it all was, in a bulleted list. Every single symptom, including "You are seriously concerned that you are going insane."
Christ.
Jesus Christ.
I want to fucking kill someone. Why didn't I hear about any of this before?
And yet I did, in little bits and pieces. If I'd put them all together... If I'd just listened to my friend Dante instead of thinking he was wrong... GOD. DAMN. IT.
Okay, so the good news? Eventually I'll get through the withdrawal period and feel normal again.
The bad news? What about my panic attacks? See, "normal" for me can get pretty fucking bleak. Unmedicated is not a generally a good state for me. It looks like Paxil's the worst, but most of the other SSRIs are pretty bad too. Can I take beta-blockers? Xanax? I can manage my depression since therapy, and maybe even the regular anxiety, you know. I don't know about the OCD thoughts. And the panic attacks, god. I thought the meds would save me. But they turned me into an addict, my god. I've spent my whole life staying away from addictions, and I've even struggled against my food addictions, but this just snuck up, because I thought that SSRIs weren't addicitve. You had to take them a certain way, but they weren't addictive. You didn't have to go through withdrawal like heroin or something.
Jesus, how can I have sat through Walk the Line feeling all smug because "everybody knows just because you get drugs on prescription it doesn't make you any less of an addict," right? Uppers and downs, sleeping pills and valium, mother's little helpers. I knew perfectly well about the pills women popped in the sixties when they wrestled with the "problem with no name" and how totally destructive and real those pills were, real drugs. But not my Paxil. Not my vitamin P.
I'm such a fucking sucker.
So I've got one 10mg dose left. After that, cold turkey. This should be very, very fun.
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