Live by the Plan, die by the Plan

One of the first necessities I remember acknowledging in front of my therapist was “I need a plan”. We were talking about the Xanax I had been prescribed to help me relax a bit before going to bed and my reluctance to even try it. I had thousands of reasons why I didn’t want to open that little bottle: fear of dependence first of all, fear of losing control over my real-self, fear of being transformed into someone else by those drops, fear of starting it off without knowing if, when and how I could have quit it. So I…

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The world keeps spinning around

"spinning top" by Creativity103

During mid-April, one month after my March breakdown, I was still at home on sick leave. Almost all of my days were looking alike: wake up, breakfast, paroxetine, yoga, lunch, walk, groceries, afternoon snack, reading, dinner, movie, xanax, bed. Sleep was slowly getting better, days were looking a bit brighter and, after all, spring was finally disclosing. Yet life out of my house was still limited to my afternoon walks, invariably accompanied by one of my parents. The idea of getting back to work or simply going out either alone or with friends still scared the hell out of me.…

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A new (or such) beginning

365.282 - it gets better by Michael Verhoef

Not quitting Paroxetine and starting Xanax were not the only resolutions I made that day. I tried to shake off the image that I had of myself as an ill person, or at least, I made my first attempt at it. My bedroom, as well as part of the rest of the house, was filled with all the stuff I had been using for my many problems: antacids, milk enzymes, anti-spasm meds, melatonin, tons of paper tissues and medical prescriptions were everywhere. I carefully removed every trace of my sufferings from my sight. The only remaining boxes were Paroxetine in…

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A pill that had to be popped

Bad Drugs by Derek Gavey

The afternoon after my first therapy session, my GP wanted to see me again to know how I was. I shared with her my positive impressions about that beginning of therapy and she sentenced “Ok, so that’s all you were needing”. Not really. The following day everything started again as usual: fears, lack of appetite, stomachache, tachycardia and all the rest. I spent some more days like that, counting the hours separating me from the second therapy session, that was going to occur two weeks later. Then I got back to my GP: no, therapy was probably not all I…

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Let’s strike with the drama

Shattered Colours by Martin Kenny

Let’s go straight to the juiciest part: in the morning of a mid-march day, I lost my senses to my kitchen floor. After 3 days of absolute no-sleep, that morning I raised from the bed asking myself whether it would be a better idea to go to the office or to stay home again. As you may recall, everything had started to make me feel terrified, since December. For some reasons, going to work and especially having meetings were two of my biggest fears. A phone call was scheduled for my boss, some colleagues from a different site and me…

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