I haven't talked about it or written about it much, but I've been experiencing what I think is terrible and acute withdrawal from my medications late in the day this week. Monday was what I call my hell day -- the day my father came to my rescue. I really don't know if it was just mental illness related or just medications to be honest. I would feel this acute anxiety, nervousness, and restlessness. I couldn't get satisfaction or joy out of anything. Plainly, I was just a completely miserable human being cursing his existence.
"Could be the Klonopin," my father told me earlier in the day of that dastardly benzodiazapine. "You do know we all have good weeks and bad weeks. Hell, I've had bad years."
I wish I never let my psychiatrist prescribe that damn drug to me. Hindsight is 20/20 as they say, but I was so desperate to get those anxiety attacks I was experiencing to stop that I would have tried anything including selling my soul to the devil. They say coming off Xanax, a very similar drug and another benzodiazapine, is sheer hell.
Dad is at Roger's Bar-B-Que getting him and mom a fried catfish plate this evening. I am getting a barbecued pork plate. If you were to ever visit my humble burg, I would take you to Roger's to experience these delicacies.
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