Psychiatry: A Racket For The Bad Doctors

There are some good psychiatrists out there, of this I have little doubt. I'm certain it is only a huge coincidence that I have yet to find one of them, but that has very little to do with this short post. Maybe another time I will feel inspired to rave about all the "good" doctors. working tirelessly to help people with mental illness, but today I am sort of "all fired up" about the bad ones, of which I am equally sure there are many. In fact, I've met several.

Most people struggling with Anxiety or Depression (or both) face many factors when deciding to see someone about their problem. Factors such as the emotional effects of these illnesses and the fear of stigma can make it difficult to talk to someone, especially a professional. And then there's always the money factor, as these services seldom come cheaply. However, if the pain outweighs these considerations, a doctor visit is often scheduled, and sadly these visits leave many folks shaking their heads, some feeling worse than before they went in.

This was the case with me anyway and it was frustrating. I waited three months to finally be scheduled, and when I finally got in, my appointment lasted no more than 10 minutes. I left more dumbfounded than when I arrived, holding a prescription for some drug I never heard of, which promised to cure all my ills, and instructions to come back in three months! Three months?

Fortunately I have insurance or this little adventure would have cost me a bundle. When I saw what the psychiatrist actually pulled in for this less-than-brief little chat, my mouth fell open. Three-hundred dollars for three minutes of his time seemed a bit extravagant, and that's not to mention what the pharmaceutical company made from this little deal. But here's the real kicker: the meds actually kinda worked, and once they ran out (not surprisingly, they ran out in three months), I needed to go back to him to get more. AHA! Now I see. You don't have to hit me over the head.

Bad doctors, in my humble opinion, are the ones who explore only one option, usually medication, and while their patients "fly solo" through this process, they sit back and collect the reward. They see patients just long enough to write a refill, schedule the next quarterly appointment, and Thank God for their good fortune. It's a racket and it's one that many fall prey to while trying anything for relief. If you are new to this process, and you have gone through anything like I described, I urge you to talk with your doctor and explore ALL treatment options. Hold him accountable as part of your recovery team (a paid member) and don't roll over. You are much to important for that.

10 Most Common Side Effects of Paxil

Paxil is an antidepressant belonging to the family of drugs called Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors or SSRIs. It is indicated for the treatment of Major Depressive Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Panic Disorder, Social Anxiety Disorder, Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Dosing schedules vary depending on the individual and the illness being treated.

There are however side effects that you should be aware of before taking Paxil. Below, for your reference, I have listed the 10 most common side effects associated with this drug--side effects which were noted in people taking Paxil for Major Depressive Disorder:

1. Asthenia

2. Sweating

3. Nausea

4. Increased Sweating

5. Sexual Dysfunction

6. Dizziness

7. Insomnia

8. Tremors

9. Somnolence

10. Anxiety

There have been more serious side effects reported with the use of Paxil as well. Talk to your doctor about any of your concerns before starting a Paxil regimen.

Depression: It's Not Your Fault, but.....

Looking back, my particular battle with Depression unfolded in three stages. These stages were not evident to me at the time, however. Regrettably, coping with my life-altering symptoms left little time for honest reflection. In retrospect, though, these three distinct periods seem crystal clear.

Below is a brief explanation of each stage I passed through. Maybe you can recognize or relate to one or all of them, and maybe some of my errant thinking can save you a bit of unnecessary grief.

Stage One: Why Me?

When I first began experiencing the symptoms of Depression I felt conflicted. I was scared, sure, but I was mad too. Why did this thing have to hit me? Consequently, I began to blame everyone and everything within earshot. I blamed: my parents for passing on their genetic code, my job, my upbringing, doctors and my friends. This thing was wiping out everything I had worked for, and darn it, if I had to be miserable, I was determined to pass the misery along.

Stage Two: Poor Me!

Eventually, I accepted depression for what it really is: an ILLNESS. This scourge was not my fault, nor the fault of anyone else. Depression hit me in the same way cancer may hit another. This news in itself is not harmful. In fact, it should have been encouraging. But the way I reacted to this revelation is where I went dangerously wrong: I threw myself a world-class pity party. Slowly, I began to give up on everything formerly important to me and I retreated into a world of isolation and loneliness that, without going into too much detail, should have killed me.

Stage Three: The Right Combination

At the conclusion of the above two stages I felt beaten and bruised. My life had turned into something I dreaded, something only to be tolerated. Hope, the emotion that once made life bearable, was nowhere to be seen. Ultimately, I decided I had only two options, choices that may seem cliche, but they were all too real: live--really live--or die.

Well, you know what option I chose, and that decision ignited remarkable results. As it turned out, stage three was actually nothing more than an amalgamation of stages one and two. First, I accepted my depression as an illness, and then I got mad as hell, determined to beat it.

I came out of my cocoon and I started searching for, and applying, every piece of information I could get my hands on. I became an active participant in my recovery and I stopped playing the victim. With every small success my life gained a sense of momentum and purpose, and soon the light of hope, absent for so long, began to return.

Needless to say, it would have been great to have begun at stage three rather than putting myself and my loved ones through so much pain. That regret, though, is a worthless emotion unless put to good use. I hope my story helps to steer you into stage three before you have to cope with the hardship and misery of the other two.