Symptoms: Brain zaps, insomnia, depersonalization/derealization, suicidal ideation, severe anxiety/panic, muscle/joint pain
For twenty-seven years, my brain was not my own. It was a laboratory for a revolving door of specialists, a site of chemical experimentation that began when I was just a child.
I was thirteen when they first handed me a prescription for Alprazolam. I was told I was "depressed." I didn't feel better; I felt muted. Two years later, at fifteen, my first panic attack hit me like a freight train during a trip to New York. The medical response was simply more: Clonazepam and Paroxetine. I felt terrible, but at that age, you trust the adults in the white coats. You assume they have a map.
As I moved into adulthood, the "treatment" and the underlying trauma created a devastating cycle of emotional dysregulation. My life was a rollercoaster I couldn't get off. This volatility had real-world consequences: I couldn't hold a job. The instability of my internal world made the demands of the external world impossible to meet. I was stuck in a loop of starting over, failing, and being medicated further to "fix" the failure.
At 25, I managed to stay off the meds for a year, but after experiencing physical violence, I was pulled back into the system. This time, I was labeled with BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder). They gave me Risperidone, Carbamazepine, Escitalopram, and Clonazepam. When the symptoms of the drugs became as unbearable as the trauma itself, I was committed to a psychiatric ward for a month. They added Olanzapine, Lamotrigine, and Zolpidem. I lost count of the antidepressants.
The low point came a year later. I had developed a physical addiction to the Clonazepam they had so freely prescribed. I was committed a second time, for two weeks. I will never forget the psychiatrist who looked at me not as a human in pain, but as a "problematic" BPD patient. She loaded me up on Amitriptyline, Aripiprazole, Risperidone, Lamotrigine, and Zolpidem. I became a ghost. I couldn't follow a conversation with more than one person at a time. My cognitive functions were being erased by the "cure."
It took me the last five years to untangle myself. With my doctor's support, I began the grueling process of tapering off a list that eventually included Bupropion, Venlafaxine, Quetiapine, and the ever-present Clonazepam.
The withdrawal was horrific. I had to build my own toolkit: meditation became my anchor, and cannabis provided the relief from withdrawal symptoms that no pharmaceutical could. I adopted a cat, and when suicidal ideation flooded my mind I would just hug him and do breathwork exercises until they passed. I started going to the gym, fixed my diet, and began journaling, processing the trauma that the pills had only ever suppressed.
Today, I am 40 years old. Last year, at 39, I finally became 100% medication-free.
The difference is night and day. After a lifetime of being unable to maintain a career, I have now been at the same job for three years. Not only have I stayed, but I was recently promoted. For the first time, I am building a future instead of just trying to survive the next hour.
I still have some "souvenirs," severe allergies and occasional insomnia, but I am present. I can see the brightness of the grass and smell the rain. I'm no longer numb or go to therapy; I surround myself with positive people and keep my mind clear. I am firmly against the culture of over-prescription and the "loose" mental health diagnoses that trap people in cycles of dependency.
To anyone reading this who feels lost in the fog: normalcy is possible. It is a long, hard road, but your mind, and your life, is worth fighting for.
Strength to you all.