Dog-Day Ennui

"Lassitude" also came to mind when I started to write this post, very late last night. I love the sound of that word - lassitude, can you feel it roll off your tongue? - and it's perfect for this feeling. One of the reasons I love language - there's almost always a word for what I'm feeling, and almost always a perfect word.

I'm not sure what it is. Call it ennui.  Call it lassitude. Call it laziness. Call it writer's block. Call it a case of The Summertime Blues. Whatever it is, it has engulfed me, and I feel like I can't really find the enthusiasm or focus to do anything other than the occasional workout at the gym; otherwise, I'm sitting in front of the computer and playing Elvenar (which is a really fun game, by the way, if you're into being an elf, a la Tolkien), or sitting in the backyard with my iced tea, staring at the hazy sun as it beats a slow path from east to west during these dog days of the end of summer.  I feel like the girl in Edward Hooper's painting, "11 A.M.," sitting staring out the window in nothing but my shoes, waiting for something to happen.

EDWARD HOPPER’S “11 A.M.,” 1926

Just sitting there, waiting for it to be noon. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting for someone.... And while I love Hopper, I don't want to be one of his paintings. They're....bleak.

When I started all of this, first Persephone's Pen, Ltd., then Sally-Cat Content, Inc., and finally, the umbrella of GoddessVox, Inc., my dreams were huge. I wanted to not only write for people, I wanted to make my companies successful enough for us to be able to hire and train other women in recovery, so that we could help them acquire marketable skills and move on to a real job with a real paycheck. To help them break the cycle, to help them get to the point where they can take care of themselves and their families as the independent, capable, self-reliant human beings that they are. And my writing; I wanted to share ideas, I wanted to make a difference. 

As it stands at 11 A.M. on August 17, 2016, I have accomplished none of that. My writing, when I get any done, is either pointless advertising copy or corporate blog posts. I have a client with Persephone's Pen that regularly orders erotica, but it's been like pulling teeth for me to sit down and write anything of quality, anything that I'd be willing to actually charge for. I don't charge much - this guy's paying me a penny a word, which is 1/4 of what I earn writing ad copy and blogs (but he's been with me from the very beginning) - but I do take pride in my work, and if it sucks, I'm not letting anybody else even read it, let alone pay for it. He depends on me for quality, for character development. My erotica is the furthest thing from porn that you will ever read. It's hot, yup, but it's also meaningful.

Except lately. Lately, all I want to do is sit in the yard with a glass of peach iced tea and watch the sun move from east to west, wait for the fall. I feel like I'll be better when this oppressive heat and humidity is finally gone and the clear, crisp days of autumn are upon us. I'm not exactly depressed, not in the clinical sense. I just don't have any motivation.

Granted, there have been a lot of giant upheavals in my personal life lately, some of them overwhelming. But, as that well-known sage "They" is oft-quoted, "It's always something." "They" also say, "This too shall pass," not to mention, "One day at a time," and "Keep it simple, stupid." (Keep It Simple, Stupid, that's KISS, get it? Huh? Get it?) "They" have quite the pithy way with words. "They" can also be a pain in my ass.

Since I can't seem to "shake it off" like I usually do, I'm going to, for once, lean on Herr Nietzsche for encouragement. Perhaps this period of ennui is meant to give me time to dig deeper, deeper than I've ever gone, and come up with what's next to move the whole thing forward. "They" are fond of saying, "God (or the Goddess) will do for you what you cannot do for yourself." And I tend to believe that's true. But I also tend to believe in the other side of that - "God/the Goddess helps those that help themselves." In other words, God/the Goddess isn't going to do it for you if He or She deems you fit to take care of your own business.

So, I'll sit in the yard some and watch summer turn to autumn. I'll sip my peach tea, write some blogs, take on the occasional project, and do some serious drinking from my innermost fountain. It's never failed me in the past. 

Here's to the full moon tomorrow night.

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To find out how you can help people suffering from mental illness, and to help get rid of the stigma, please visit The National Alliance on Mental Illness to take the pledge, get involved, and make a donation.

For more information on mental health, please visit The National Institute of Mental Health.

Thank you for reading. If you liked this post, or any other posts, please don't forget to like and share. And please leave a comment if you're so inclined. As you can see, I have no followers - you could be the FIRST! (Who knows, you might get a t-shirt)

Go Ask Alice

As many of you already know, I currently reside in a community residence for people with mental illnesses. I have a co-occurring disorder: addiction along with major depressive disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), anxiety disorder with panic disorder, and trichotillomania (trik-o-til-o-MAY-nee-uh) (a disorder that involves recurrent, irresistible urges to pull out hair from your scalp, eyebrows or other areas of your body, despite trying to stop). That last one took a long time to admit, but it's not the end of the world. Fortunately, I don't have any diagnoses that involve psychotic features. But one of my best friends does.

To protect her anonymity as much as I possibly can, I'm going to call her "Alice." She was diagnosed with schizophrenia in her second year of college. She's now 38 years old. We've known each other for three years, and lived together for two. Of all the people I'm friends with (and I have a lot of acquaintances, but not many who I count as friends), she's the most generous, thoughtful, funny, enthusiastic and supportive. I can always count on Alice to chill with me when I'm feeling blue, binge watch entire seasons of our favorite television shows (currently "Salem," we're on Season 2), co-sign my bullshit when I say that cake I bake myself has only 100 calories per (very large) slice, and tell me when my ass looks fat in a particular pair of jeans. She's a gem of a person. I've watched her struggle, and she was getting there. She was working and preparing to move to the next level of housing in this agency (the apartment program, where 3 women share a house, each with their own room, and no staff on site except for a few times a week). We've supported each other along the way, and she's just as happy about me moving to my new place (SPA housing, which is a little bit less intensive than the apartment program but not entirely on my own) as I am. 

But here's the thing with schizophrenia, and many other mental illnesses: you just never know when the shit is going to hit the fan. 

A few weeks back, Alice's medication regimen was changed. She'd been super, super sick and in the hospital for a few months (this was last year). While she was there, they put her on a completely new lineup of meds. When she got home, she was still a mess, but then, one day, out of the blue, the "Old Alice" emerged, and it was a joy to behold. She was absolutely fine. So why the doctor decided to ditch one of the meds that had gotten her back, I do not understand. That happens a lot when people with these illnesses manage their own meds - we think we're better, so we think we don't need the meds, when meanwhile, the meds are the reason we're better - but for a doctor to do it just baffles me. 

In the weeks following the change, I told staff repeatedly that I thought Alice was acting "off." She was just not herself, and it was clear that something was not right. I know that I'm not a psychiatrist or any kind of mental health professional, but I've been her roommate long enough to know when something is going on. Alice, of course, said she was fine. She always says she's fine. But she wasn't.

For the past 3 days, the girl has been gradually declining to the point where she now has almost no grasp on reality. She's talking to herself, in gibberish, she's singing to the paint, she's not sleeping. She had to quit her job. All of the staff here NOW agrees that something is wrong. Everybody thinks she needs to be hospitalized, except for the doctor, who says no. The same doctor that took away the medication that had made her stable in the first place.

Here's my thing. If we live in a house where there is staff in place to keep us safe, then shouldn't it ultimately be the decision of the staff whether or not Alice goes to the hospital? Or, at the very least, to the psychiatric emergency room, where she can be evaluated in person by a physician? Because her current psychiatrist has made this call based entirely on one telephone conversation, and not even a conversation with Alice, but a conversation with a staff member.  I mean, the girl hasn't slept in three whole days. I feel like, at the very least, they should bring her to the ER, sedate her, and force some rest on her poor, tired body.

The auditory hallucinations are probably the scariest thing, and they're the most common symptom in schizophrenia. The goal is to not only reduce the occurrence of "the voices," but to also teach coping mechanisms and reinforce that the person doesn't have to obey, or even acknowledge, the hallucinations. But I can't talk to Alice right now, because Alice isn't there.

It saddens me that her own doctor is so very adamant that she remain outside the hospital. I know why he's doing it - this particular doctor doesn't like to have any of his patients hospitalized, because it will reflect poorly on his choice to change the medication regimen that was working in the first place. Also, Alice is one of his "stars," because she was doing so well. But at what cost?

Whether you realize it or not, you know someone with a mental illness. We all do. Every last person in this country is affected in some way by mental illness, and we need to educate ourselves. Alice needs a voice right now, since her doctor doesn't seem to want to use his on her behalf. I am grateful that the staff at this house sees the need, and will probably just take her to the hospital by the end of the day. But how many are out there right now, alone, singing to the paint and not being heard? We all need to stand up and use our voices so that they can be heard.

For more information, please visit The National Institute of Mental Health's page on schizophrenia.  And for ways you can help to end the stigma and help give all mentally ill people a voice, please visit the National Alliance on Mental Illness and see how you can get involved. If you won't do it for me, do it for Alice. Or for the Alice that you may not even know you know - and love.

Bye, Felicia

Or, as I should say, "Bye, Suboxone." 

I've been down to 1/2 mg of that nasty shit for a week now. I still have a few weeks' supply left, but I've decided that this morning's dose will be my last.

I've made some drastic changes in my life and my health since June 1. I started eating healthy foods, low in fat and added sugars, and I've been going to the gym every day. I do yoga daily. And I drink water like it's going out of style. I've been meditating and praying to my Higher Powers every day as well. And I feel wonderful.

Except for this lousy buprenorphine flowing through my system. It's done its job. I'm off opiates, and my plan is to stay off of them forever. And the bupe does not fit in with my new life choices. It's not healthy. It can't be good for my teeth or my mouth in general to be melting a strip of bupe and naloxone under my tongue every morning. And the bottom line is, due to my daily cardio workouts, I don't feel like I need it anymore.

When I dropped from 8 mg to 4 mg, I felt like I wanted to drop dead. It was a drastic decrease, and I felt terrible. But then I started changing my health habits. Eating better. Getting even just a little bit of exercise every day. Utilizing my other meds to ease the withdrawal symptoms.

And it worked.

Now that I'm down to 1/2 mg, I'm at the point where I feel like, really, what's the point in dragging it out? Yeah, my bowels are very enthusiastic right now. Yes, my legs are a little twitchy, and yes, I have screaming anxiety almost all the time. But I hurt my pectoral muscle a few days ago, and the doc at the emergency room gave me a five day script for 5 mg. Valium. So, since the pec feels better, I'm going to be using the remaining Valium to get me off the subs. I have 4 left. That's enough for 4 days, because I only take them when I feel like I'm gonna go out and punch a kitten.

I know, I know. I'm not supposed to be taking benzos, either. But every reliable study I've read has said that short-term use of a light benzo like Valium is key in getting you through the hideous anxiety that comes from bupe withdrawal. I can't use the kava because it gave me that disgusting shedding rash. But bupe has a crazy-long half life (37 hours). So it will take like two days to get the last of it out of my system, and then I will be totally, absolutely drug-free. No opiates or opioids, no benzos, nothing.

I'm making LIFE CHANGES. I don't want to be one of those people that has given up on life. I have gone through a lot of loss in the past couple of years. My daughter, my mother, my father, and my soulmate. And I thought I needed some kind of buffer to cope. But all the buffers did was keep me stuck in a state of non-feeling, and I haven't dealt with any of those losses. Hell, I haven't even dealt with my miscarriage from 10 years ago. That's a lot of shit. But I think maybe going to a bereavement group is a little healthier than sitting on the couch shooting dope and snorting bars, don't you?

So, here we are at the end. Thanks to everyone who has supported me on this journey. This blog will not be all about drugs anymore. I'd like to add a little more humor, since that's how I write, and maybe some sex, if I can get me some. We'll see.

In the meantime, I'll see you at the gym. Or a meeting.

Namaste, bitches.

So, It Does Get Better. Eventually.

It's been two weeks since the Suboxone cut, and I'm starting to feel a little bit better. Which is not to say that I feel great, but I wasn't expecting to feel great, just well enough to do my job and take care of the things I need to take care of. To stay out of bed for more than an hour or two every day. To do my laundry. To shower.

Actually, the laundry is just going now, because, while I felt well enough the other day to get it started, the thought of folding all that shit and putting it away exhausted me. The reason I started it today? I have therapy tomorrow and I can't walk in there in dirty clothes. I don't want them locking me up in the psych ward because I haven't done my laundry in two weeks. Also, I'm out of underwear. I mean OUT of underwear. I don't even have a pair of period panties in my drawer. And while you can Febreze a pair of jeans, you really can't do that with panties. So, the wash is going. I have three loads of clothes, plus linens, which may or may not get done. 

I also did the NAMI walk on Saturday. Granted, it was only 4K, but I honestly didn't think I was going to be able to do it at all. I brought two bottles of kava with me. However, I locked one of them in the van, because I'm a fucking genius, so I did the whole walk with NO kava. And 2 mg. of Suboxone. As opposed to 8 mg. I went with a bunch of people, and I figured, hey, it's at Jones Beach, there are bathrooms everywhere. Well, there are. But they were all locked. Towards the end there, I have to say I nearly shit my pants, but I managed to finish the walk and get to the only open bathroom, the one at the beginning of the walk, and I pity whoever was in there with me, but I got it done. I slept all day Sunday, and most of Monday, but I'm up now.

Kava helps. Kava, for those who don't know, is a root in the member of the pepper family, and it has anxiolytic properties. Sometimes, people have "reverse tolerance" and it takes a while for it to start working, but once it does, it's awesome. You're clear-headed but calm and able to cope with a myriad of things, like people. People are a problem for me, and the anxiety from this withdrawal has been the number one problem (aside from having to poop every 15 minutes but hey, according to Dr. Douchie, that's all in my head).  With the kava, I'm relaxed enough to get through things like group therapy and the car ride there and back without wanting to kill myself.

The problem is, if I drink enough of it to feel REALLY relaxed, I get SO relaxed that I just want to go to bed. So, I've stopped making it in gallon jugs, and I make two shots (we call them shells) at a time. Just enough to take the edge off, without sending me back to bed.

The stomach issue, I don't know what to say about that. I was starting to think that maybe it was a virus, but it's lasted for a couple weeks, so it's not that. I tried Imodium, but unfortunately, since it's an opioid (it just doesn't get you high) it doesn't seem to work with the Suboxone. So, I'm riding it out.

I want to tell everyone reading this that I feel amazingly better, that the 4 mg. is holding me just fine, that I can do everything I did on 8 mg. But, unfortunately, that's just not true. If I force myself, I can do SOME of the things I'm used to doing. I can work, that's most important (at least it is for me). But I work from home, so that's not a huge deal. And I try to take a walk every day, because cardio supposedly helps. The NAMI walk certainly helped, at least a little. But then, like I said, I spent the next two days in bed. So maybe not 4K, but at least a few blocks, and fast enough to make me sweat.

I'm sure that by next week, I'll be feeling relatively normal. And then I'll have a week of feeling relatively normal before Dr. Douchie drops me another 2 mg., and I feel like shit all over again. I promise not to bore you with all the details, but I do want this blog to offer SOME hope to others going through this. I want to be a little bit positive about the jump off Suboxone. So, expect some bitching along with some hope. Because, more than anything else, I want this blog to be REAL. And I promise, it won't be all about Suboxone, or even recovery. It's just that that's what I'm going through right now, and it's kind of all-consuming.

Except for the erotica I'm writing. That's consuming some of me too.

Anyway, that's the latest. If you're interested in why I went to the NAMI walk, you can check them out here.  They do awesome work for the mentally ill, and it's a cause that's dear to my heart. Feel free to donate to them. I won't mind.

Things are getting better, as they always do. Nothing is permanent. Good or bad, it always changes. So just remember that, when you're feeling like shit. Or even when you're not. It will pass. Hopefully, my next post will be more positive. Or at least funnier.

Seven Days In and I Want to Drop Dead

This sucks, ladies and gentlemen, and not in a minor way. It sucks like all the sucking ever sucked in the history of sucking. I had no idea when I started this Suboxone taper that dropping from 8 mg. a day to 4 mg. a day was gonna kick my ass so bad or I would have held out for the 2 mg. drop we'd been doing all along. But my doctor, for some reason, thinks that he knows better than me how I feel and how my body responds. Here's how the conversation went:

Me: I've been reading some studies that suggest that a slow taper with a low jumping-off point is preferable. I'd like to drop by 2 mg. per  month until I'm down to 1 mg., then cut the 1 mg. dose in half for two weeks and jump off at 0.5 mg. That's what I feel most comfortable with, since I've been on 16 mg. for a year now.

Dr. Douchie:  Any withdrawal symptoms you feel after 4 mg. is all in your head.

Me: Not really, I've been to this rodeo before. And the studies....

Dr. Douchie: Anybody can write anything on the internet (side note: I guess that's true because I'm writing this, but still) and I am going by the FDA's protocol.

(Another side note: as of this writing, there  IS NO FDA PROTOCOL TO GET SOMEONE OFF SUBOXONE. Only to get them ON it. So whatever, Douchie.)

We've had this conversation every month now since I started my taper, with me feeling more and more frustrated because, let's face it, even if it were "all in my head," he's my fucking psychiatrist and my head is his JOB. Plus, it really sucks when you feel like your psychiatrist isn't hearing you and keeps offering your vistaril for your anxiety (I don't have hives, asshole, I don't need an antihistamine). Finally, last month, he told me he was going to cut my 8 mg. to 4 and then stop my script. Of course I freaked out. So on my last appointment, I brought backup with me, another counselor to help me advocate, because I couldn't believe that this guy still didn't get it.

Again, he blew me off, and the research I'd brought with me. Then my advocate chimed in, and we came to the plan where I'd go down to 4 mg. this time, then 2, then cut them in half and jump at 1. Which was not what I wanted, and I figured I'd feel kind of crappy with cutting the dose in HALF, but it was better than jumping at 4.

I thought.

Let me start out by saying that I don't think I've digested any of the food I've eaten since Sunday night. I started the lower dose last Wednesday, and I felt pretty okay for the first couple of days, apparently because my brain was still basking in the warm fuzziness of buprenorphine. Plus, I was drinking a lot of kava. Which is a huge help, but I'll talk about that later. But I ran out, and I decided to give it a rest because my skin is getting dried out from it. Right now, let me just tell you, my bowels feel like I've been on an extended colon cleanse for the world's longest colonoscopy. I walked to the grocery store yesterday, the one time I've been brave enough to move out of shouting distance of one of our two toilets, and I almost didn't make it to their nasty ladies room (having that kind of diarrhea in a nasty bathroom, by the way, makes you feel even shittier, like you now reek of shit). I'd thought maybe the kava root was causing it. Nope.

Also? My anxiety is off the fucking charts. I can't sleep for more than an hour at a time. If I wake up at 2 am, I'm done for. That's it for the night. I won't feel anything close to normal enough to rest until I take my first 2 mg. dose at 6 am; I can't take it any earlier than that or I'll be shot for the afternoon and I'm trying to maintain SOME kind of a normal life here. Without having at least a cup of kava in my system, I'm quite literally sweating bullets at the thought of doing anything other than reading funny mom blogs and eating chocolate (which is what I got at the supermarket).

My legs feel weird. My stomach has that hideous shitty knotted feeling that anyone who has gone through opiate withdrawal will recognize as the realization that shit is about to get real. And it only alleviates for a couple hours after I take my dose, then it comes back.

I knew I was going to be uncomfortable with this big drop. I said that. But it feels like nobody is listening to me telling them how my body feels. I haven't been to group twice this week because Monday I was shitting like a champ and last night I woke up at midnight and was kicking the blankets around in between running to the bathroom for the next six hours.

I called my therapist and told her what was going on. She said she would email my doctor and have him call me. That's a vain hope. I doubt he will, and if he does, I probably won't understand wtf he's saying anyway because of his accent (also he needs a hearing aid, which makes me suspect he doesn't really catch most of what I'm saying to him).

The way I feel right now, if this is going to keep up, I'm going to just jump ship and deal with the withdrawals. Because I don't want to be in a low-level panic for the next three months. I can't live my life like this. I don't have the luxury of lying around on the couch while I kick the drug that was supposed to help me live like a "normal person." I'd rather go through the withdrawal all at once, treat my symptoms as they arise, and deal with it like that.

We'll see what he says. Stay tuned. If you need me, I'll be in the bathroom.

Getting Off Suboxone

Anyone that knows anything about me knows that I'm a recovering addict and alcoholic. I've spent years struggling with the disease of addiction, and I've put some time together, only to relapse a few years down the line, for whatever reason. Mostly because I didn't do what I was supposed to do. For me, the formula is simple - stay away from the mood- and mind-altering substances and go to 12 Step meetings. Also, of course, I've required therapy. But the key to all of that, the thing that makes those things effective, is rigorous honesty. Getting honest is getting to the crux of the problem, and without that honesty, I, at least, am doomed to repeat the process.

There's a saying about "jails, institutions and death." I've been in enough institutions for five people. As far as jail goes, I've spent a night or two in the company of the County's finest, and it's not an experience I'd like to repeat. And then, of course, there's death, something I'd like to avoid for as long as possible, despite my bouts of depression that was so severe I felt like killing myself.

I've been on Suboxone for a little over a year, and my doctor has decided that it's time for me to come off of it and start living my life without replacement therapy. For those of you who don't know, Suboxone is a combination of buprenorphine, probably the strongest opioid in the world, and naloxone, also known as Narcan, which reverses the effects of opiates in your system. Suboxone is replacement therapy, similar to methadone, but with the key difference being you can just fill your prescription, take your medication, and go about your life, without having to go to the methadone clinic every day. It's been a lifesaver for me; I honestly believe that I would have been six feet under by now if I hadn't been prescribed this drug.

I won't get into the politics of Suboxone, and there is a lot of that. While there is a set protocol for getting people on the drug, there is no set protocol for getting people off of it. And many people are perfectly happy to stay on it for as long as their doctors, and their insurance companies, will allow. My doctor, however, has a set period of time during which he will treat his patients with Suboxone, after which you can either titrate off the drug or find another doctor.

Initially, I wanted to find another doctor, because I was terrified of not having the drug. Part of it was the blocking action of the naloxone; it kept me from doing any other opiates, gave me time to think in between that initial thought of, "I think I'll go get high," and being able to feel the drugs. It takes at least three days for the naloxone to leave your system, which is ample time to think about the consequences involved in the get-high. Part of it, however, was also the buprenorphine. I didn't want to face life with absolutely no buffer between my raw nerve endings and the rest of the world, and the bupe was that buffer.

On further contemplation, however, I decided that it was time to live life on life's terms, so I agreed to the titration. I started out on 16 mg. per day, and have gradually lowered my dose by 2 mg. per month.

Until this month. This month, he dropped me from 8 mg. to 4 mg.

The first day, I was okay. I won't get into the whole science thing, because aside from anything else, I don't really understand it. I'm a writer, not a biologist. But your brain is awash in the buprenorphine at higher doses, so dropping by 2 mg. when you're taking 8 doesn't really affect you all that much. Once you get to the lower doses, however, it starts to be noticeable.

Today is the third day at 4 mg., and I am definitely feeling it. I have nowhere near the energy I usually have. My bowels are....enthusiastic, let's put it that way. I've got leg cramps, and my sleep is shitty. But I'm determined to do this. Why? Because at some point, we have to face life the way it's meant to be lived, and that means no buffers.

I've prepared myself, though. I have a box that I call my "care kit." It's filled with such things as loperamide (Imodium) for the stomach issues, kava root for the anxiety, and B-vitamins for my nerves. I'm going to a meeting a day. I'm reaching out to people. I'm asking for help.

I'm not here to tell anyone what they should do in terms of their personal medical decisions. I've come off Suboxone before, and it was hell. I "jumped" at too high of a dose, and I was so miserable that I wound up relapsing. What I am here to tell you is that, if you choose to do it, it can be done. The last time I jumped, it was at 2 mg.. It was too high of a dose. I was thrown into withdrawals about two days in, and after two weeks or so, I wound up using, from the sheer misery I felt. This time, I brought two advocates into my last appointment with the doctor (the same one who had me jump at 2 mg. the last time) and we came to the decision to have me cut my 2 mg. strips in half for the last two weeks of the titration. Granted, I would rather jump at 0.5 mg., but 1 mg. is still far better than 2. I feel like shit right now, and I probably will feel like shit for weeks to come, but I know it will pass.

The key, I believe, is surrounding yourself with as many positive people as possible. If you don't care for AA or NA meetings, make sure you have people in your life who are supportive of your efforts to live life drug free. Do your research, and stockpile your supply of healthy foods. If ice cream is your thing, then fuck your weight and get some ice cream. Take care of yourself. Be kind to yourself.

You've come this far; there's no reason you can't go even further. If it is your choice to come off the Suboxone, look for positive stories of people who have done that successfully. There is a plethora of negative stories on the internet about people who have tried and failed, but if you dig deeper, you will find success stories. Read them. Because those are the people who have a message you need to read and absorb.

I can't predict the future, and I don't know how I'll do. I'm hoping that, with the supports I have in place and the positive people that I have in my life, I will eventually get off this drug, and live my life without the intermediary of pharmaceuticals. I'm still on my antidepressants, and I have no plans to stop taking them - they keep me from that suicidal feeling that landed me in the hospital for six weeks the last time. But they're not mood- or mind-altering, and they pretty much allow me to live my life without blinders. I'll report back on how I'm feeling, if only to give hope to others that you can do this.