It has now been seven years since I last took one of those damaging, debilitating, weight-adding psychiatric medications. Seven is a big milestone; they say that your cells completely change over 7 years… losing weight and keeping it off for 7 years means your body has replaced the extra fat cells with more useful cells, etc.
My friend Gianna Kali had it worse. They had her on a cocktail of drugs so large and varied that it took her 6 years just to stop taking them, shaving away little pieces of the pills at a time or switching to injectable so she could cut back more accurately. She has been “clean” for 9 months now, and still is mostly flat on her back. I know she’ll get better just as I did and many others have, but she’s not all that convinced right now — other than being totally convinced the drugs were making her sicker and sicker.
In my seven years, plus a year or so before, I’ve helped literally hundreds of others examine the drugs their doctors put them on (in those men’s infinite lack of wisdom) and most of those have also taken the path I have, of eliminating all use of these drugs. (I simply can’t call them medications, they don’t cure or fix anything other than the profit margins of the doctors and drug companies.)
I still have symptoms. Not nearly as bad as when I was taking the drugs, but they’re still there. My diagnosis, I am convinced, was correct, just the “treatment” my doctors proposed (and changed, and changed, and changed…) did not treat the causes of the symptoms. In some people’s cases they effectively mask the causes and hence the symptoms, but I don’t believe they cure anything.
I am, for the first time in 12 years, living in a situation which is not considered housing for the handicapped/homeless, with two other people who love and accept me.
May you each be so blessed. And drug-free.