Prozac, protracted withdrawal & akathisia

I was prescribed Prozac in 2001 for situational distress following a divorce and the birth of my daughter. I had no history of clinical depression or anxiety. In 2006, I tapered as directed and then crashed several months later with intense symptoms — including akathisia, a state of unbearable physical and internal agitation and restlessness.I saw several different Dr’s of different disciplines but withdrawal was never suggested as a possibility. I was voluntarily hospitalized briefly and then polydrugged with Effexor, Wellbutrin, and Clonazepam, which began a cycle of psychiatric drug dependency that would last the next 15 years.

Over the next 15 years, I functioned on the surface but experienced persistent emotional blunting, apathy, and flattened affect. I lost my ability to feel deep joy or meaningful connection to life.I couldn’t even sincerely laugh, I lost my sense of humor. After 6 or 7 years I was switched to Citalopram (along with Wellbutrin and Clonazepam), which began to lose its effect around 2017. I developed brain fog, severe fatigue, gastrointestinal issues, presyncope, and weight loss, malaise, low motivation and low grade depression — all while still medicated. I discussed all of this with my long time psychiatrist but was prescribed Abilify. I intuitively knew another drug was not a good idea and didn’t take it. My Dr did not recognize these as signs of antidepressant tolerance or neurotoxicity and received no informed warnings about long-term risks.

In early 2021, I decided to taper off Effexor (150mg). Over 8 months I tapered completely off despite my longtime psychiatrist insisting that was way too long. Initially, I felt better — clearer and lighter than I had in years. But around four months post-discontinuation, I developed severe stomach pain, nausea, and “acidic” digestion — symptoms that rapidly escalated. Within two weeks, I experienced full-blown withdrawal-induced akathisia, along with suicidal depression, intense agitation, insomnia, and despair. The condition was not recognized by my doctors, who misdiagnosed me with a new psychiatric disorder and suggested more medications. I started to realize I was in withdrawal after watching “Medicating Normal” then reading Peter Breggin and found others with similar messages. 

I reinstated Effexor at 75mg in March 2022 and stabilized over the next few months. Since then, I’ve been tapering very slowly and am currently at 18mg. Despite this cautious approach, I continue to experience waves of withdrawal symptoms: cognitive dysfunction, hypersensitivity to sound, extreme fatigue, episodes of internal agitation, and social withdrawal. I am no longer able to work full-time due to cognitive dysfunction and poor memory. I have lost relationships, hobbies, my sense of vitality, travel and even my love of reading — once a lifelong passion.

These medications were originally prescribed for a temporary, situational life crisis. I was never informed of the high risk of withdrawal or the need for gradual tapering. In fact, I was told the opposite. Now, 20+ years later, I am struggling to recover my previous health and mental capacity. I still look “well” on the outside, which has contributed to disbelief from many medical professionals. Akathisia and withdrawal syndromes remain dangerously misunderstood, and patients are routinely misdiagnosed, disbelieved, and retraumatized.

There are no required warning labels about the risk of akathisia from delayed or protracted withdrawal. There is no mention of the risk for months-delayed symptom onset, nor are there standardized tapering guidelines. I submitted this report so that the next patient doesn’t lose their health, career, family, self identity and possibly their life because of lack of informed consent and a system that treats withdrawal as relapse.There are millions of us suffering and we deserve better.The true tragedy of this experience is not just the physical symptoms — the fatigue, stomach pain, weight loss, and insomnia — but the loss of who I used to be.

I was a sharp, capable person. I worked for years as a government contracting officer, handling complex negotiations, multitasking under pressure, and keeping up with high-stakes, detail-heavy responsibilities. Now I struggle to concentrate, to learn anything new, or even to read more than a few paragraphs at a time. My attention span, motivation, and processing speed have all deteriorated.

I’ve become increasingly introverted — not by choice, but because my nervous system can no longer tolerate stimulation. Loud music, crowded rooms, even bright lights can trigger a kind of sensory overload that leaves me exhausted and distressed.

This is not depression. This is not anxiety. This is neurobiological injury, and it is the direct result of my long-term SSRI use and withdrawal.

People need to know this can happen. They deserve informed consent before starting these medications, and real medical support if they decide to stop.

Even now, I continue to be dismissed by doctors who should know better. If I mention antidepressant withdrawal, I’m often met with skepticism, eye-rolls, or a condescending diagnosis of anxiety. It feels like being harmed twice — first by the medications and then by the denial and disbelief of the very system that caused the harm. The insults keep coming. Those of us living with the consequences of SSRI withdrawal are too often treated as psychiatric cases rather than injured patients. We deserve to be heard, taken seriously, and treated with respect. Millions of us are suffering — and we deserve better.