yup, kicked 'em.

Being that I started taking Paxil when I was fifteen years old, it's been a good seven years that I've been a slave to this drug. I'd attempted to wean myself several times, but the incapacitating withdrawal symptoms always drew me back to it. My will power was no match for the debilitating nausea, vertigo, severe mood swings, shaking, aggitation, profuse sweating, hot flashes, blurred vision, involuntary muscle twitching, hallucinations, and being constantly aware of the feeling of my insides trembling as if they were cold, particularly my stomach.

Under Paxil's thumb, I was a zombie. I no longer cared about things that used to be important to me. I hated myself for not being able to quit this drug and take control of my life. I hated ANYTHING that had this much power over me, and I hated that I NEEDED it just to feel normal.

In May, I'd had enough. I decided I wanted my life back (even though I wasn't sure what it had been like before, being that I hadn't been living without chemical assistance since I was a freshman in high school). I was going to endure the withdrawals and become a stronger person because of it. I prepared myself for hell.

Surprisingly, the withdrawals were minimal. I supplied myself with plenty of Omega 3s and Dramamine, and, most helpful, I took up running. I exercised, practiced yoga, and took off for a run whenever I felt a symptom creeping up on me. I also avoided caffeine, replacing all my soda with gatorade and water. I tried to eat better foods-- lots of fruits and veggies and nothing that listed more than ten ingredients. I also tried to avoid meat, though I did give in a couple times. I tried to laugh and smile as much as possible, and keep a positive outlook, surrounding myself with supportive, funny people.

As the weeks went by, my determination didn't waver and the withdrawals disappeared. Before I knew it, I was living without dependency and actually experiencing human emotions at an intensity I hadn't felt in a very long time.

I envisioned celebrating my triumph by dramatically flushing these pills down the toilet as soon as I realized I was capable of living without them. Uncertainty kept me from doing this, however, and instead they remained in the bottle for months. Part of me was skeptical of my achievement, sure that the withdrawal symptoms would return any day now, hitting me with such force that I would be desperate to get this shit back in my system. And part of me was unsure that I would indeed be strong enough to handle things on my own. And, yes, dealing with emotions that had been swept underneath the rug for so many years has been a challenge, but the withdrawals are long gone, and it feels good knowing I can function without these little pink pills. So, it's time to say good-bye.