I will try to sum up the past 4 weeks as quickly and as simply as possible.
I was doing the liquid taper method for the last .25mg of Klonopin using almond milk instead of water. It was working just fine, or so I thought. By the 4th day of that liquid taper, I was insane. I was hallucinating, crying hysterically, talking crazy and basically loosing my damn mind. I decided that enough was enough and I admitted myself into the hospital.
They put me in the psych ward and treated me like a common drug addict. When I told them I was only on .25mg of Klonopin they didn't believe me. They said it wasn't possible for me to have such extreme symptoms from such a small dose. They made me feel as though I was insane. They tried to get me to take an antidepressant. They tried to give me more Benzos. I said no to all.
I stayed in the psych unit for 4 days. By choice. I went through withdrawals, oh yes, I did. Finally, I told them that if they cannot help me in any way other than giving me more drugs then there was no point in me being there and I checked myself out and went home.
My first day home was a good one. I had high hopes. I thought it was finally all over. I felt good. I felt safe. I felt healthy. I had been fed 3 meals a day, snacks, and had zero responsibilities for 4 days. It was a nice vacation. I came home and cleaned my house. I did more in a few hours than I had done over the past 2 months. My daughter came home and I told her it was all over. I told her I was ok. I told her I was 'Mom 2.0'. I was wrong.
Within 2 days, I was having panic attacks. I was in the ER almost every day for a week. I couldn't stay home alone. I was afraid to leave my home. I was in a constant state of fear and panic for an entire week. I didn't eat, I didn't sleep, I barely left my bed. All anyone thought to do was give me more pills. That was not the answer.
I finally decided enough was enough. My daughter was feeding herself every day and I wasn't eating at all. We were running out of food and I couldn't make it to the grocery store. I ended up in the ER one last time at 2am on a Tuesday morning. I sent my daughter to the neighbors and called an ambulance.
When the doctor came in, he was the same doctor that had treated me earlier that week. He sat me down and told me the truth. He told me there was nothing he could do. He told me that the only thing that will help me was taking another Benzo, which I had adamantly said that I would not do. He told me that I have a problem and I need to get help. He told me that I have to take something for the anxiety and that I have to stop coming to the ER. He told me I had been to the ER 6 times in a month, most of which were that same week. I was afraid. They wanted to put me in the psych ward, without my consent. He scared me. Basically made me feel as though if I came back, I would be locked up in one way or another. I was terrified. He gave me no pills. He told me to go home and take a Klonopin. I couldn't go home. It was 2am, I had no car, and everyone I knew was asleep. Plus, I was too ashamed to call my parents to come get me. I was stuck there, in complete panic, with no where to go and no meds.
I called my x-fiance, he showed up. Thank god for him.
He told me he would help. He stayed with me when I got home. He went and got my daughter for breakfast while I slept. He went and got us groceries and cooked dinner. He made me eat. He made me get out of bed. He held my hand. He stayed with us. He has been at my house for 2 weeks. That's what we needed.
He made my daughter laugh again. He MADE me stay away from the hospital and doctors. He took all my pills away. Even the pills for nausea. He made me survive. He talked me through panic attacks every day, until one day he stood by and made me suffer though one alone. So I would learn how to do it when he wasn't around. He stayed. He believed me. He knew what to do. He is the reason I have made it.
Bottom line...
I thought that once I was off of Klonopin all my problems would be over. Oh was I wrong. They were just beginning. My anxiety and panic disorder were still there, and I had to learn to deal with it. I had emotions again, and I had to learn to deal with them. I had agoraphobia and I had to learn to handle it. The hardest part of this entire process has been adjusting to daily life. I had been numb for 3 years. I didn't care for 3 years. I had to learn how to deal with the little stresses of daily life without taking a pill. It has not been easy.
Right now, I am doing better. In fact, I think I will sent him home today and see if I can make it through the night on my own. I have to push myself and learn to do it alone and not be scared. I have to learn to embrace it and not run from it and let it control me.
I never would have made it this far without him and my family.
Listen to your body. Ask for help. Get help if you need it. Let go of your pride and realize that you were put on the meds for a reason and be ready to deal with those symptoms when they come back to you. It can be done. It will be done. And we can do it. You can do it. I can do it. Keep going.
