What you are about to read is quite horrific for me to recount.  It has taken me a year and a half to muster up the courage to go into these details.  Fortunately I was able to keep a journal at times throughout the worst of it.

In the month of December 1999, I was beginning to get worse.  I was very alone and had much confusion.  I was hoping and praying that the year 2000 would bring a renewed life or that the gloom predictions at the time, of fatalistic predictors warning that the earth would come to an end.  The way I looked at it, I had nothing to lose. At this point in my life I had learned to compensate and mask my disintegrating memory and other behaviors that were beginning to get noticed by others.  My memory was failing and it was becoming increasingly difficult to simply function in life.  My bills had been going unpaid and other obligations both personally and professionally were going down the tubes.  I remember one time, that the thought had occured to me that I was getting Alzeimers.  I was drinking four diet cokes a day and had read about the effects of Nutrisweet and wondered about it.   But I never could hold on to a thought too long.  So, it didn't matter.  I was just putting one foot in front of the other and tryng to appear as normal as possible.  Most of the time, I just chalked it all up to stress and would talk about taking better care of myself with my therapist. I had good intentions to get more rest, eat better but it never happened.  I would become manic and be on cloud nine and then become flat.  One thing was certain, I was getting more fearful with each passing day as my abilities, especially in the classroom were dwindling.  And people were beginning to notice more and more.  I could not sleep at night and then I would be late to school.  My fuse was getting shorter with the students as it became more challening to hold everything together. Christmas break came, thank God but then so did the New Year.  I made all kinds of resolutions and tried my best to get back on track.  By early February I was barely functioning and began to isolate up in my bedroom.  It was becoming more difficult to get out of bed.  By March 1st everything caved and the incident I spoke of in the first section of this site, happened.  I was telling my superintendent that I had to go home.  I went to a local healthcare clinic.  The flu had been going around like "wild fire" so I accepted the diagnosis.  Maybe I did have the flu but I didn't get better.  I did not return to school after March 1st of that school year.  I was barely able to return in late August for the new school year but with the grace of God, I finally made it back. During March I visited the clinic, quit taking the Paxil and they tried various other anti-depressants which all seemed to make me sick.  I was throwing up and had many syptoms.  They told me that all of my symptoms were menopause and that I should get on hormone replacement therapy.  I called the medical doctor who had me on the Paxil and on the phone, he told me that I needed to increase my dose.  I remember yelling at him and telling him there was no way I was going to do that. At that point, I was losing my ability to drive.  I could hardly remember how to start my car and stay on the road to go only a mile and a half to the clinic.  I certainly could not drive the 45 miles that it would take to go to the psychiatrist.  I would not reach out to anyone as I was so afraid of how I would be viewed.  I lived in a small rural community and had a lifetime of outstanding teaching and service to the community. I stayed in bed a lot and when I could sleep, I had vivid dreams.  I woke up in a profuse sweat, dripping and would have to change my pajamas sometimes three times in a night.  My sheets had to be changed also.  Many times I would walk out on my deck in the dead of the night to just cool off.  My two little dogs stuck with me and slept close to me.  You could tell that they were concerned about me. When I phoned family and relatives who all lived great distances away, I would try to appear as normal as possible.  They all knew I was ill but no one knew how ill I was.  I had tremors, electrical zaps in my head, ticking in my ears, dizziness, sweating, blurred vision, slurred speech, confusion of thought, muscle spasms, facial tics, terrible aches and jabbing pains that would show up in an instant.  Not to mention that I was losing a lot of weight. I would e-mail friends and family who lived in other states and tell them I was ill.  Since nobody really could understand, friends were not all that supportive.  What could they say?  What could they do?  I finally allowed one of my teacher friends to visit me and she basically told me that I needed to snap out of it and force myself to drive and get out.  That was it.  Lock down!  I alowed one older lady to bring my mail and would occassionally talk to a gentlemen friend on the phone. I felt like I was in a tomb and had died and gone to Hell.  I finally went to another doctor and he had me see his psychologist who gave me an extensive questionaire and then diagnosed me with major depression.  No kidding?  Who wouldn't be.  I went back to the local clinic and demanded a glucose tolerance test.  I knew I was hypoglycemic and I was beginning to feel those symptoms as well.  I thought that maybe that had gotten worse.  So I had my gentleman friend take me.  Yes, I still had it so I demanded to see a dietician who could provide me with a strict eating regimine. I thought that maybe I could get better through a change of diet.  Still at this point, not one physician had tipped their hat to the Paxil withdrawal syndrome.  By Easter Sunday morning, I got up and went to the bathroom.  That was about 6 a.m. The next I knew, I was pulling myself up off the floor and it was 9:00 a.m.  I saw myself in the mirror and could not believe how I looked.  At that point I phoned my mother and told her that I needed her to come.  I knew I could no longer make it alone. The school had been calling me and urging me to go on disability as I was approaching 60 days.  I would tell them that I was feeling better and would probably return.  I just did not want to give up.  But now I knew that I would not be able to make it back.  So my mother and step-father came, and when they walked in, the expressions on their face scared me to death.  I knew that what they were looking at was just the small remains of the vibrant person, daughter that I was.  I went on disability and my mother stayed with me for a couple of two week stretches in which all we did was run from one doctor to another. Due to the intensity of this project, I need to take breaks during the process of this account of my Paxil experience.  Please do check back in another week to view another portion of my story.  Thank you for your support and understanding!

My Paxil Nightmare

Continued ...

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This page was last updated on: December 8, 2002