Farewell Prozac
That’s the name of a new blog that first appear in early September and which I ran into yesterday. It’s an ongoing account of a British writer and “wage slave” who’s recently taken his last hit of Prozac and walked away from medicating depression after six years of Lexapro, Celexa, Cymbalta and Prozac. He’s a pretty good writer.
“Last weekend, on Saturday morning, without fanfare or drama, I swallowed what will hopefully be my last ever antidepressant tablet with a mouthful of orange squash, looked out of the kitchen window and then got on with my day. It was an entirely unremarkable act which means nothing unless I find that I’m able to cope without it ever happening again, which is what I hope.
“I’m aware, of course, that addiction to something as pervasive as nicotine is an entirely different pair of trousers to the kind of discontinuation syndrome associated with SSRI antidepressants. But I wonder if there might be some way of drawing parallels between the two. Having what might turn out to be my last antidepressant reminded me of the day I had my last cigarette, and how that marked a similar change in my life between everything that was before and everything that was after. Sometimes these things happen, and they do mark a change – not the towering epiphany of predictable fiction, but an event that really does mark a difference between one time and another.”
It goes from there. I hope it all goes well for him.
Related posts:
Posted in Furious Seasons