After a five month stint on Paxil, I decided that I has served my time as a eunuch and started to wean off the drug in the Spring of 1999. All hell broke loose. Having ruled out all other possibilities , I began to suspect that I was going through some form of withdrawal. An extensive search on the net yielded absolutely nothing on the subject. Since I could not sleep and was taking some design courses at the time, I decided to set up a small site which would document the symptoms that I was experiencing.

A few months later, much to my surprise, letters started to trickle in: the search engine at AOL had picked up the site. Another year later it became apparent that the number of people that were experiencing a similar reaction was actually much higher than I had ever guessed. At the same time, lawyers from around the US were beginning to call. In order to centralize the information which I had gathered, the second version of the site took shape. Shortly thereafter, thanks to a generous donation by Phil Siegrist and his company, the site got its domain name and an ad free space.

This, the third version of the site, is, in essence, just a refinement of its predecessor. Although functional, the second site was lacking in esthetics . Since it was whipped up in a matter of hours, an overhaul was overdue. Barring any major design flaws, this "new look" version will be the last face lift quitpaxil.org gets. By my estimation, it will take three to four more years until the flaw in Paxil is well know enough to make this site obsolete.

First and foremost, it must be noted by visitors to this site, that I am neither a physician, nor do I work in the field of mental health.
After being born at the US Naval Hospital in Bethesda, Maryland in 1967, my parents returned to Europe and for reasons unknown, took me along for the ride. My formative years were spend sampling beer in Belgium and Munich, playing in a sandbox in Mannheim, learning the art of French kissing in Fontainebleau and trying to duck out of English class in Koeln. The latter would come to haunt me, as my parents decided that Europe did not have enough moose and thus schlepped me back to North America, this time to Canada.
After a few trying years in High school, during which I found out that Canadian girls were not charmed at all by a thick German accent, I went off to university hoping for some change in luck. Ten years of collecting BAs, MAs, AIT, and other letters in fields that would guarantee joblessness after graduation, would follow. Now I reside in Halifax , Nova Scotia and am contemplating to either a) start my own cult, b) retire under a bridge, or c) become an Sumo wrestler. .

(not exactly as shown))