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2006-03-01 Back in July, I began the process of weaning myself off the benzodiazepine Klonopin. Klonopin had been prescribed to me—carelessly, I now contend—when I was nineteen, at a very high dosage and for a very long period of time. I was told I would need to take it for the rest of my life, and I was not told that this drug is at best habituating, at worst addictive. Tapering off this drug was easily the most difficult thing I’ve ever done—certainly the most difficult thing Stevie Nicks has ever done. It was also part of the reason why I stopped updating for so long. (I am so sorry, my small babies.) My withdrawal symptoms were formidable: psychosis, shakes, hallucinations. My teeth itched unbearably. My memory loss has been substantial. I have frighteningly few memories of my first year of marriage; even fewer of our engagement. I fell out of the habit of coherent speech. And I forgot how to read. These symptoms have subsided for the most part, but the aphasia has been unusually persistent; it still rears its head from time to time. I just read the sentence, “Scott enacts her tardy revenge”, and instead of understanding that the word tardy meant “late”, I thought for a moment that it meant “pertaining to tards, in the manner of a tard.” I was so sad when I realized my mistake, because the phrase “tardy revenge” is utterly delightful in my invented context. “Good for that tard,” I nodded, “she deserves her revenge.”
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