Why Does Paxil Withdrawal: Voices From The Edge Focus On Personal Stories?

The richest man in Hovendale, Stanley Hawk, had been in a vegetative state for three years. His wife, Wendy Crone, took care of him during that time. After he awakened, Wendy caught him cheating through a message on his phone. It turned out his first love had returned to the country. His friends, who once looked down on her, were now poking fun at her. “The swan has returned; it’s time to kick that ugly duckling to the curb.” It was then that Wendy realized Stanley never loved her. She was nothing but a joke to him. One night, Stanley received the divorce papers from Wendy. Her reason for wanting to get a divorce was due to his failing potency. Stanley went to confront her with a gloomy expression on his face, only to find that she had transformed into a gorgeous doctor in a long dress that glistened under the dazzling lights. Seeing him approach, Wendy smiled gracefully and asked, “Stanley, are you here for an andrology consultation?”

Mason Reid has everything hockey captain, scholarship, a dad who’s also the coach. The only thing he can’t have is Ezra Cole. When a cafeteria fight gets them benched, the principal forces them to train together in secret. What starts as hate turns into desperate stolen nights, lingering touches, and a kiss that cracks Mason’s whole world open. As senior year drags them through competitions, rumors, and a chaotic training camp, Mason and Ezra aren’t the only ones circling each other. A new transfer student wants them both. A popular girl falls hard for Ezra. And one jealous classmate catches something he was never meant to see… and starts blackmailing all four of them with a video that could destroy everything. Family rejection, panic attacks, public humiliation, and the fear of losing scholarships force Mason and Ezra to decide: keep hiding and lose each other forever… or burn it all down and skate out together.

Being a mute used to be simple before all the craziness started. I just can't talk and that's who I am. Mum has learned to accept that and I guess so have I. Everything was just fine in my high school in Shanghai. I had finally made it to year twelve and even though I was in China, I was actually being treated as a human being despite my disability. Things were definitely not perfect but I would give anything to go back to that, like it was before. I heard my first voice that year, right at the beginning of year 12. I didn’t really have any real friends, but I was used to it and before the voices started, I was fine with that. But it all changed when I first heard them. The voices inside their heads started then and my life was never the same. They weren't just thinking about school or they girls or guys they were into, no they were thinking about doing things, doing horrible things to each other and I was the only one that knew how messed up they really were.

When my wife's childhood friend's depression flared up again, she handed me divorce papers. I signed them without a fuss and told her I was leaving the country. She looked surprised, then seemed to figure it out. "So you're finally behaving? Realized your little tantrums won't work, so now you're trying something new to get me back? Fine. Go abroad. Stay out of Asher's sight so you don't trigger him. When he gets better, I'll come get you." I slipped off my wedding ring and handed it to her. My gaze fell to the jagged scar on my wrist. "No need," I said. "Let's just let each other go. Stop holding on."

I have a severe case of logorrhea. Only speaking makes me feel alive. My classmates all call me a freak, but Marvin Britt is the only one willing to listen to me. One day, I bring some homemade soup over to see him, only to catch him holding his junior's hand. "Lexie, your voice is so lovely, unlike my wife at home. She sounds like a squawking duck. It's exhausting." My hands shake so violently that I drop the thermal flask. The commotion angers a nearby madman, who forces a bottle of boiling water down my throat. With my mouth full of blood and blisters, I realize I need proof. I send Marvin—a lawyer—a frantic voice note to accompany me to the police station for evidence. Marvin shoots back a single word—"Noted". Of course. He doesn't even listen to it, as usual. He used to reply to everything I said with voice notes at least a minute long. But we hit the seven-year itch, and he's sick of my endless talking. Leaving the hospital, I stare at my diagnosis of permanent mutism and laugh bitterly. He must be thrilled. His world is finally quiet.

Mom always says that depression is nothing more than an illness born of idleness. People who are truly busy studying don't have time to be depressed. So, during my senior year of high school, I lie awake through countless nights, my hair falling out in clumps as I tremble over endless mock papers. Mom only slides another mock exam booklet in front of me. "Finish this booklet, and you won't have time to wallow in self-pity." At family gatherings, my relatives notice that I keep my head down and barely speak. They ask Mom, "Why has she gotten so quiet?" Mom's face darkens at once. "It's because she's guilty about something, duh. Go on. Tell everyone what you've done wrong this time." Later, even my homeroom teacher calls to say I don't seem like myself anymore. The moment Mom hangs up, she rounds on me. "So, now, you've started tattling to your teacher?" It isn't until I collapse before a mock exam that she finally listens to the doctor's advice and brings home a tiny orange tabby. Through the darkest days of my life, that cat becomes my only reason to keep going. Eventually, I make it into college. When I come home for the Independence Day holiday, I step through the door and call out instinctively for him. "Tangy?" No answering meow. Even the cat bed on the balcony is gone. "Stop calling," Mom said flatly. "I dumped him back where I found him the day you left." I stand there, frozen for several seconds before turning and darting outside, only to realize I have no idea where to go. The sounds around me become muffled, as though separated by a pane of glass, drifting farther and farther away. At that moment, my last connection to the world quietly snaps.