After nearly five years, I am trying to come off seroxat for the fourth time. I plan to keep a diary of my efforts and to discuss a few issues relating to the greed and lies of GSK, the makers of the drug, the woeful ignorance of the real effects of this drug amongst the medical fraternity and hope to find out what help is available to the thousands of people who struggle to come off it.

Monday, 15 January 2007

The healing power of exercise

The palpitations stopped on Friday so by Sunday, I felt ready to reduce my dosage again. Have reduced by a plunger width every couple of days amd am now down to about 4.7ml. Felt really stinky on Tuesday. I'm not sleeping well at the moment and seem to wake up every couple of hours. Have also been having even weirder dreams than usual. The other night, Freddie Ljungberg was stabbed to death outside the Royal Hotel in Ashby. Am really struggling to get out of bed, too - although the weather outside might be a partial explanation for that. It is a bit like the apocalypse - howling winds and rain beating against the window. For a month.

I know exercise is supposed to be helpful in the latter stages of this process so I have joined the local sports centre, which has a gym, pool, sauna and steamroom and runs a range of exercise classes. I love gyms - they are so funtional. As someone who bears deep psychological scars from school PE lessons, I love the fact that you can get fit without having to compete with anyone other than yourself (and I don't see the point of competing with oneself). It's a bit shabbier than the one in Notting Hill but they don't seem to play any music so at least I can take my ipod (though will probably have to take it into the shower if I don't want it to get nicked. At my old alumnus, Kensington leisure centre, I found my ipod, which is only a mini, didn't go loud enough to drown out the R&B remix compilation they had on a permanent loop. Now I just have to work out how to go on the cross trainer with the thing without accidentally garrotting myself with the wires. I am being 'induced' on Tuesday.

Today, I am craving coffee. Before Christmas, I took to making myself a latte at around 4 o'clock every afternoon, which slipped down nicely with a mince pie. It's no wonder the croissant of lard around my front has expanded. I haven't touched the stuff since New Year, but I'm wondering, seeing as it's such a rancid day, I might be permitted a tinsy wincy ickle cup. A thimble of milky magic. We shall see...

No comments: