FORTY DRUG NIGHTMARE

Doctors put me on 40 different meds for bipolar and depression
« on: June 02, 2016, 05:30:28 am »

[Buddie]

Source: https://medium.com/invisible-illness/doctors-put-me-on-40-different-meds-for-bipolar-and-depression-it-almost-killed-me-c5e4fbea2816#.7kfi3px5m

Tears were flooding down my face. Textbooks, highlighters, and my laptop were strewn across the bed, along with my crumpled body. I sobbed into my pillow, in hopes that it would all go away. Deep, low depressive swings had once again returned to my life. Despite my outward appearance as a highly motivated 21-year-old college student, my energy was sapped. It was getting harder to concentrate, harder to get out of bed, harder to get through the day without weeping.

My psychiatrist had been changing my medication in hopes of finding an anti-depressant combination that would help me to feel like my passionate self again. It wasn’t working. That night I called my friends and family crying. I needed to vent and release some of my pent-up sorrow. I needed to connect with people who would understand. I needed loved ones to help me hold a bit of the gut-wrenching, depressive pain that flowed through every inch of my body. After I hung up, I felt a bit better. I set my alarm for an early morning wake-up to get in some studying before finals the next day. I hazily drifted off to sleep, salty tears drying on my cheek.

A couple of hours later, my heart erupted with panic as two armed police officers burst into my tiny dorm room. I was half-naked, shaking my head in terror as one cop ripped open drawer after drawer, barking “Where are your pills?” Another police officer got in my face and demanded an answer to the question, “Are you going to kill yourself?”

One of the police officers shoved a phone in my ear. On the other end was a psychiatrist I’d never spoken with before. With terror in my voice, I told him I wasn’t going to kill myself, that I was just letting off some steam. I pleaded and begged with him to tell the officers to leave — not to handcuff me and take me to the psychiatric ward that night.

I was lucky. Something I said convinced the doctor I didn’t need to be placed on a mandatory involuntary hold in a mental hospital. But if the color of my skin wasn’t white, or if I wasn’t cisgender, or at an affluent college, I may not have been so lucky. People of color face disproportionate risk of violence in police encounters — and police are the first responders in mental health crises.

I didn’t make it to my finals the next day. I had stayed up most of the night, trembling with fear, so when the sun finally rose, I took a long, warm shower. Sitting on the bathroom floor, back pressed against the wall, fingers shaking, I dialed the number of my psychiatrist. I wasn’t sobbing this time. My tone was distant and my gaze was glassy and vacant. She convinced me to check myself into the psychiatric ward. In a haze, I slowly packed items into a bag and a man I’d never met before dropped me off for my first psychiatric ward visit.

Within an hour of checking into the hospital, I knew I needed to leave. The air was thick with pain. People wandered the fluorescent lit halls. Like mine, their eyes were vacuous. When someone erupted in an expression of intense emotion, doctors swiftly followed the outburst with sedatives. There was no wellness here. After several hours, I packed my bag, walked up to the front desk and told the secretary:

“I’d like to check out.”

“You can’t leave.”

“… I came here voluntarily.”

If you walk through those doors, we’ll place a mandatory involuntary hold on you and put you in there,” she motioned toward the ward next to mine, where I would’ve been taken last night.

My breath grew heavier and my eyes darted back and forth. I was trapped. Still reeling from the previous evening, my heart was beating out of my chest. I slowly curled in a fetal position on the hospital floor. I was having a panic attack. Two doctors in white coats and clipboards hovered over me. After a few minutes, they medicated me and I drifted into sleep.

I had never been suicidal before being locked in a mental hospital.

Much of my stay there was a blur of medications. I laid on my back in a cold bed for days, for the first time wanting to die. I shuffled off to group therapy in my gray hospital socks, listened to the screams of my neighbors, peered into the ward next door, and obliged when student doctors and clergy came into my room and asked if I wanted to pray or take long surveys about my mental health. I took the surveys but declined the prayers.

Sometime during my stay doctors etched the diagnosis “Bipolar Disorder” onto my chart. My brow furrowed with confusion. I had managed intense OCD and anxiety since I was in elementary school, and yes, over the last several years, I had waves of depression, but otherwise I was high-functioning: I took the maximum course load, got straight A’s, worked multiple jobs, led several campus organizations, and performed in numerous plays simultaneously. I thrived off the adrenaline of being busy. I crackled with ideas and buzzed with creativity. My energy and passion were my greatest assets, how could that be an illness?

The diagnosis was the first time I really tried to understand myself in the context of pathology. Someone who barely knew me combed through my traits and behaviors and labeled it as a disease. Bipolar Disorder. Grappling with this new way of understanding my identity, I felt my brain begin to slow with each fistful of pills I dutifully swallowed. I wasn’t on merely a drug or two — I was on four or five and counting. Antipsychotics, mood stabilizers, antidepressants, sleep drugs, anxiety pills, each addressing a side effect brought on by the last one. My energy, passion, and strong-will began to fade away as apathy and lethargy settled in. I said “yes” more. I didn’t really care what happened.

The psychiatric ward released me to a halfway house for people with mental health challenges. The doctors at the house sat my worried parents down and told them that I was ill. That my academic and personal accomplishments were not something to be proud of: They were a product of my bipolar mania. The doctors’ answer? An expensive combination of pills that would help me be happy, stable, and “normal.”

After awhile I somehow managed to get back into the swing of school. On the surface it appeared like I was thriving, but people close to me knew I was very unwell. My health declined rapidly. The medications made it almost impossible to wake up for class in the morning. My father, recently laid off from his job at a car dealership after being diagnosed with cancer, drove 45 minutes to my school everyday to wake me up and drive me across campus to class.

My once sharp memory dissipated. I used to be an actress, performing in multiple shows at a time, easily remembering every single line. Creativity was a core part of my identity and wellness. Now I would read one line over and over again, unable to retain a word. I did my last performance with a script in hand. Each time I left the stage, I vomited profusely before coming back on again — another side effect of the medications. Eventually, I stopped performing altogether.

Over time, I developed dependence on the anti-anxiety drug ativan, which I was prescribed to take every day, multiple times a day. On top of my other medications, my doctor prescribed me 20mg adderall to help get me up the morning, followed by 2mg ativan to reduce the teeth-chattering anxiety brought on by the morning’s strong upper. Then I would take another adderall mid-day to bring me up, followed by another dose of ativan. When panic attacks hit — which they frequently did — I would take multiple ativan at a time. Once, I collapsed on the floor of a campus building. A woman working at the front desk found me passed out cold on the floor and called my partner to pick me up.

“I’m just really tired,” I told her.

I gained 125 pounds and was diagnosed with sleep apnea. I started taking a daily hormone to treat a thyroid disorder, which I developed from my mood stabilizer lithium. (The damage from lithium was permanent, I still need to use the thyroid hormone to this day.) I started experiencing severe, incapacitating migraines where I would need to lay in complete darkness for days at a time, vomiting relentlessly, occasionally making a trip to the ER. Migraine preventatives and painkillers were just another addition to my daily fistful of medications.

I barely survived those two years, but still somehow managed to graduate with two degrees, honors, and a Fulbright Scholarship. I even received several academic awards that came with monetary prizes. But my money was gone in the next several months, every cent going to out-of-pocket medication expenses. Lithium alone was $300 a month.

My family didn’t have a lot of money, but we made ends meet. I was better off than most. When I didn’t have an income or home, I stayed with my supportive parents in a safe place. Unfortunately, many marginalized people with mental health challenges don’t have access to this kind of luxury; for many, comprehensive mental health treatment is prohibitively expensive. My family went into debt to pay for medications and treatment because my doctors told me I was sick and needed them. We complied without question.

I never went on my Fulbright scholarship. As my medication count climbed, I slowed to a halt. I stopped being able to drive. Despite my costly treatments, panic and depression still overwhelmed me. I was unable to function. I didn’t feel anything anymore.

Over a five-year period, I was on more than 40 medications. The side effects brought me to the edge of my physical and emotional limits. My body broke out in hives and red bumps. One medication made it difficult to take deep breaths for several weeks. I was either up all night wired in panic or sleeping for 12+ hours. I ate everything I could find or I didn’t eat for days, the thought of food making me feel sick. I was horny all the time and then I didn’t want to be touched.

I couldn’t leave my room. All of my memories became jumbled and I couldn’t tell if I had made a situation up or if it had actually happened. I didn’t recognize myself anymore, physically or mentally. I couldn’t see any way out of this deep pain and numbness. I would lie on my side and stare at the dozen pill bottles on my counter and the boxes of partially used medications that I had been prescribed then taken off of. I laid awake thinking about how easy it would be to swallow every pill in the bottles and drift off into a state where I wouldn’t feel unrelenting emptiness and agony.

Soon my psychiatrist had a new diagnosis for me: Treatment Resistant Depressive. Because I had taken every psychiatric drug on the market in different combinations and still felt depressed, there was no cure for me and we had to take a more drastic measure: Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation, a cousin of electroshock therapy. My old self would have resisted. My over-medicated self was much more passive and docile. I didn’t put up a fight, I didn’t care. I felt dead already. And I would have gone through with the procedure if my insurance hadn’t denied me the service because it was too expensive.

A small voice inside of me thought: “I need to get off these medications.”

I devoted the next three years to the challenging, painstaking process of coming off my 10+ drug cocktail. I left my psychiatrist for a new one, a person I told, “I just want to get off of my meds to establish a baseline.” She reluctantly agreed. She didn’t have the vision or understanding of my mission, and I quickly found that my own research outpaced what she knew about the drugs.

Medication is a tool: Some people’s lives are saved by the right combination. Other people respond better to wellness options outside of the mainstream. Cannabis helped ease my depression, anxiety, pain, mood swings, and sleep challenges. Not only alleviating some of my mental and physical pain, cannabis centered me in gratitude and gave me some much-needed motivation and energy. I could now do short errands, drive around the block, even get to my own doctor appointments on public transportation — huge accomplishments for me. It was also the first time I was in control of my own dosing.

Tapering did not come without challenges, however. A whole new batch of withdrawal symptoms entered my life: My entire body itched, and I would scratch until I bled; I frequently woke up convulsing, my body drenched in a cold sweat; my moods were unpredictable; my anxiety, overwhelming. I menstruated everyday for months at a time. And yet, with each medication I eliminated, I became more myself again. I went to a sliding-scale community acupuncture clinic which relieved me of some of the physical and emotional pain of withdrawal. Weight started coming off. I no longer had sleep apnea. My migraines persisted but with less intensity.

As I began to read about alternative mental health frameworks, I realized that I am not sick with mental illness — I live in a sick society and have “dangerous gifts”: They need to be handled with care, but they are also my sources of passion, connectivity, creativity, and drive.

Now I identify as “neurodivergent”, a framework through which I transform what I have been taught are my weaknesses, diseases, and shameful secrets into my strengths.

Neurodivergence also recognizes that mental health challenges are deeply tied to societal oppression along lines including race, class, gender identity, and physical disability. Discriminatory barriers often make it even more difficult to access treatment. It’s hard to achieve wellness within a system that profits from our illness. But when our dangerous gifts receive the meaningful support they need, we can transform society. Our greatest challenges become our wellsprings of power.

I am not an anomaly. I am one of many people who barely survived the mental health system. Lots of folks with dangerous gifts are sitting in prison and psychiatric wards right now instead of receiving the support they need. It’s quite likely that you or someone you know has been deeply impacted by mental health challenges — even if that person hasn’t opened up about them. While each of our stories is unique, many of our experiences echo one another’s, reminding us that we are not alone.

SIG LINE TERROR

Turning off user signatures
« on: December 30, 2015, 07:42:43 am »

[Buddie]

I noticed that I was obsessing too much with other users’ signatures and taper histories. I’ve turned that off, and it’s made me feel better….

Re: Turning off user signatures
« Reply #1 on: January 12, 2016, 09:58:17 pm »

[Buddie]

I’d like to make a suggestion for you- try a lightbox. It may be just the ticket you need to feel better.

Re: Turning off user signatures
« Reply #2 on: January 13, 2016, 09:20:51 pm »

[Buddie]

I agree about user signatures. They can really freak me out too. I stay away from the horror stories and stick with threads like Accentuate the positive. Also, when I started my taper 7 weeks ago I literally sat on my couch all day on benzo buddies. I now go on twice a day for fifteen minutes and get on with my life. We have no choice in what we are going through but we do have a choice in how we deal with it.

Re: Turning off user signatures
« Reply #3 on: January 20, 2016, 12:22:10 am »

[Buddie]

Thank goodness the signature lines are in small print. Many are way too lengthy and to me your entire history and tapering schedule from day one doesn’t belong there. I wish folks would modify their signatures. I just try to ignore these unless I have some reason to want to know a person’s back story. 

What happened to Grizzle?

Grizzle – Journal of a Laboratory Rat
« on: January 30, 2011, 11:34:46 AM »

grizzle

43 year-old White male, 6′ 1″, 220 lbs. (all that may be relevant). Was on klonopin, 1 mg, 20/month at first and eventually brought up to 30/ month. total time on klonopin 13 months. Ambien, maybe 7 months, 10 mg, again, 20 at first and 30/month later. Hit tolerance WD halfway through, began having extremely vivid dreams, paranoid thoughts, stomach growling, began on morphine sulfate for WD effects some months ago (I had no idea of the severity or duration of benzo WDs), became addicted. Up to 180 mg/day (lethal oral dose for 200 lb. male in good health is 240). Drank two months, liqueurs. Quit everything cold turkey about two weeks ago, stayed off four days, had some symptoms of benzo WDs, total sleeplessness, arms ached, lower abdominal pain, extreme sensory acuity – all senses. I had already switched to temazepam 15 mg/day shortly before attempting cold turkey. Reinstated to get over that experience before attempting taper. Not advocating reinstatement for others).

Warning – don’t read below if suicide particularly bothers you.

History – Had severe convulsions in first five years, some febrile, some not. Fevers up to and including 108 F. Was prescribed Phenytoin at age five. One week later went from normal happy child to brooding loner child. Agoraphobia and autism-like symptoms presented. Cerebellar atrophy is acknowledged side effect of Phenytoin (Dilantin). The cerebellum is a center of socialization reward and the inhibitor of the amygdala (brain parts that mediate fear and aggression). Reduced cerebellar volume implicated in autism. I could read and comprehend college biology texts at age 9 (gifts from aunt). At age 12, tested as having sophomore college reading level. Suggested by three teachers for participation in MENSA group. IQ never tested. I got by through imitating the behavior of others, and just holding it in. School was living hell. Last two years of high school, went to trade school due to relaxed atmosphere. Learned machining.

At age 18, due to termination of love relationship, had nervous breakdown, didn’t sleep for 14 days. Self-inflicted gunshot wound with 10% liver damage. Major abdominal surgery, doctor punished me for suicide attempt by withholding pain medication for four hours after awakening. First contact with mental health profession shortly after. Prescribed Elavil. Side effects, wore sunglasses indoors, urinary urgency and frequency and retention. Ran air conditioner in winter.

Attempted suicide with Elavil OD. Stopped Elavil without incident some months later.

At age 33 had surgery for abdominal adhesions resultant from first surgery. April 2001, due to troubles with mate, lost home, belongings, and 27 small animal pets. And more. Fortunately did not become homeless between then and now. Had various suicide attempts (acetaminophen, diphenhydramine+ dextromethorphan powder, ethylene glycol). Failed. Was in coma for three days after diphenhydramine + dextromethorphan OD. Hanged self from bridge in Oct of 2005. Rope broke and I fell 25 feet. Had non-displaced fracture of C2 vertebrae, healed without incident. Was prescribed (and pretended to take) various psych meds until I felt comfortable asking for what I thought was safer – low strength benzo (see above). On mental disability five years, diagnosis: bipolar (incorrect, no cycling, situational response), agoraphobia panic disorder.

Saga of the Ponderosa: Manslaughter guilty verdict forces prison cold turkey

Waner drove out of Reno
headed back to the Ponderosa
loaded on pills and booze
f-u-n times
had a little, err trouble, driving
and crash! like that
He killed someone, someone innocent
did three years in the pen
Xanax cold turkey
hallucinated he was living in the Bonanza TV show
yeah
got out of the pen
wasted what was left of his life
then died
life's a gas
RIP
Re: Jon in California
« on: March 15, 2007, 02:03:23 am »

Jon

Quote from: nixnay on March 12, 2007, 11:51:52 PM

Hey, J.W., I think you think like a snuggly ole bear. lololol. or a little puppy dog, what do you think liz?

hey, jon, can you tell us all how you came out of your c/t? it is rather amazing! I think it is rather inspiring and may give some of us who have been off for a while some hope. you might have to make a song out of it just like Johnny Cash. lol.

Quote from: dave on March 13, 2007, 11:54:00 AM
Quote from: Jon in California on March 13, 2007, 11:24:46 AM
Hi Everyone.

Jay, I’ll be happy to relate the HELL I went through for 8 mos. getting off the Xanax. I’ll do it tonight after I get home, Savvy?

Y’all have a nice day

I’d really like to hear your story as well.

Thanks

Dave

OK, I’ll try to give you the short version. (LOL, It won’t be short).

After I took the plea bargain (I didn’t really have a choice), it was about 9 mos. ’till I had to show up for the sentencing. The judge told me to get my “affairs” in order because I was going straight from the courtroom to jail.

I didn’t know it at the time, but I thought the state put you as close to your house as possible to allow for visiting…. Wrong! They put you anywhere in the state system that has “bed space”. I also thought that the judge could order the continuation of my meds…. Wrong again! Once you’re in prison, they “OWN” you.

I spent 3 days in the county jail before I was transferred to state prison. They did keep me on my Xanax there.

When the prison bus showed up I had papers from my doctor telling them what I was on and how much per day. Before I got on the bus I was strip searched and the guards told me I couldn’t take ANYTHING with me… They tore up my doctors papers.

First they took me to DVI in Tracy (a prison referred to as “gladiator school” because of the number of stabbings). That’s where I was “processed”. I was given an orange jump suit, 3 feet of toilet paper and a blanket. Then I was thrown in a cell. The next day I was taken to the prison “doctor”. He asked me if I had any medical problems so I told him about the Xanax. He said that I wasn’t going to get any there. I was already starting to have w/d symptoms… The doctor saw me for about 30 seconds and sent me back to my cell… 3 days later, I couldn’t even walk. The guards said, “you don’t walk, you don’t eat”…. I kept writing notes to the warden and sending letters to the wife asking her to contact the judge who sentenced me and see if he could do something…. I never got any mail back. (I later learned that the staff does this to EVERY new convict as a “game”. They hold the mail for about a month before you get it)..

About a week into this, I started hallucinating (auditory and visual), I thought I was on the Ponderosa (Bonanza) and was standing in line waiting to get my $0.25 for the days work… I knew where I REALLY was but it seemed real to me.

I hadn’t eaten in about 2 weeks by then and couldn’t stand up. The guards just laughed and said, “looky here, we got ourselves another nut”.

I finally got a reply from the judge saying that he had spoken to the warden, was told that I was getting “appropriate” medical care and not to contact him again. I also got a paper signed by the prison shrink saying that I’d been “evaluated” by him and was appropriate for “Mainline” placement. (General population)… I had never seen the guy.

I was “wired for sound”, couldn’t eat or sleep and really thought I was going to die. The guy in the cell next to mine didn’t get into his cell fast enough for the guards liking so he was thrown in by the guard. This kid was 24 yrs. old and had severe asthma. His inhaler was crushed when the cell door was slammed on him. His cell-mate was screaming, “Man down, man down!!!!” No-one came. They found him dead in the cell the next morning…. I guarantee you that his family wasn’t told the REAL reason for his death… Everyone around him was either shipped to another prison or moved out of the cell-block.

By this time I had been there about 2 and a half weeks… Oh yeah, I also got a copy of my medical “examination”… Gee, it had a blood pressure reading on it as well as a negative TB test, heart rate, Etc… NONE of these tests were ever done.

21 days in and I was just fading in and out, laying on the floor and my cell-mate told me that I’d had several seizures (I don’t remember that). I was starting to pee blood and told one of the guards who said he’d tell the doctor. I guess he forgot.

26 days in and I was carried out onto the tier by my cell-mate, who dropped me on the floor and told a guard that I was “sick”…. They took me to the prison hospital and was told that I had kidney stones and my kidneys were shutting down… The doctor tried to get me into an outside hospital… An associate warden who’s name was Schmidt said that I’d written too many letters and they didn’t want any outside institutions to know what was happening…. They put a lot of saline solution into me, shot me up with Morphine and sent me back to my cell. The warden ordered the staff to bring me 2 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches a day. By this time, I didn’t even remember my name.

I’d try to eat, throw up, eat some more, throw up again and so on… Then I went before the “classification committee”. They decide your custody status and what kind of job you’ll be assigned to… They took one look at me and transferred me to Vacaville (CMF), another prison as a “cat-J” (Mental case). I got there and was thrown into another cell… I got lucky, my cell-mate had some food and I was able to eat a little here and there. My wife was denied visitation rights because the warden told her that I was a danger to myself and others and was in a PCU (Protective Custody Unit). No visitation allowed. This was a complete lie.

I saw the prison psychiatrist and told him what was going on… He said he had no choice but to reject me as a “cat-J” and sent me back to Tracy. I went before the same classification committee and they sent me down south to Solidad… Even though I was a minimum security convict, the prison did what they call a “population over-ride” and set my custody at “MAX-A” (The highest custody there is). I was in the same cell-block as Sirhan, Sirhan (Not sure if I spelled that right but he’s the guy that shot Robert Kennedy)… Again, I got lucky and got a good counselor who lowered my custody to “MAX-B“. He read my case and told me he would do what he could to get me out of there.

About 7 weeks had passed by then… My symptoms were, dizziness, vomiting, blurred vision, tingling all over, bleeding from my nose and ears, stiff muscles, ringing in my ears, insomnia, lack of appetite, muscle twitching and involuntary jerking, complete loss of bladder control, couldn’t walk, metal taste in my mouth, dry mouth, heart pounding, breathing problems, and complete depersonalization, cramps. I really thought I was going to die.

About this time a guy approached me asking if I wanted any drugs? I said yeah, get me some Xanax or valium… He couldn’t but got me something called Doxepin. This stuff put me to sleep and I slept for 4 days. At 2:00 AM a couple of guards came into my cell, grabbed me and took me to a prison bus heading for San Quentin. My counselor had arraigned my transfer. I hit S.Q. in early June.

I managed to smuggle some Doxepin in there in the bottom of a deodorant stick. It did take the edge off a little, not much.

I was placed in North-block one floor below death row. I was managing to keep some food down by then and some of the really severe symptoms started to subside. I still had trouble remembering my name and still couldn’t walk without assistance.

When I went before classification committee, they lowered my custody level to “MIN-B-ORWD” (The lowest custody level there is). At that point I was able to “front myself off” as just a regular convict… I spent 6 weeks in North-block and was transferred to “H’ Unit (Medium security) awaiting transfer to “The Ranch” (Minimum security). Drugs were rampant in there and I started snorting heroin… I could eat and function OK that way. I was also taking the Doxepin for sleep… I hadn’t seen my kids or my wife in over 3+ mos. by then.

At that point my symptoms were dizziness, muscle spasms, nausea, vomiting, loss of balance, twitching, depersonalization, mild hallucinations, severe agoraphobia (I hardly ever left my cell), ringing in my ears, drooling, severe nightmares, blurred vision, Anxiety through the roof, and shaking all the time… I could remember my name and prison #.

I lucked out again and met an old acquaintance from my younger days who happened to be the head of the Aryan Brotherhood (AB)… That’s the “gang” that “con,ed” the prison… Now the Aryans are supposed to be NON Jewish and what they do is to control all the drug trafficking. They’re called “skinheads” on the street here. “Red” (The guy I knew) and I go back to grade-school. His last name is Rosenzweig. He passed that off as a German name but he knew that I knew in reality He’s a full blooded Jew… He obviously didn’t want this getting around… He made me a deal… I keep my mouth shut about him being Jewish and he’d put out the word to protect me… I agreed and he kept his end…

Red told me who was who in there and what I could get from them… He also got my visits approved in a couple of days (I didn’t ask how). He also set me up with some of the guards that brought in drugs. Between him and my wife smuggling drugs to me, I now had all the Xanax and Valium I wanted. After almost 8 mos. of pure HELL, I started to feel “normal” again. Once the warden found out that I had a state smog inspection and repair license, I was “set”….

This is getting to be a “book” so I’m going to cut it short. I spent my last 22 mos. livin’ pretty darn good in there. I NEVER ate in the chow hall… I did so much work on the correctional officers personal cars and all the smog checks for the 250+ vehicles in there + the Golden Gate Transit authority vehicles + the wardens personal car, I always had a breakfast burrito on my smog machine in the morning, Pizza or burgers for lunch and believe it or not, steak, asparagus and mashed potato’s for dinner almost every night…. Not to mention the food I had that the staff looked the other way on…

The first 8 mos. were HELL! after that, I did pretty much as i pleased in there. I even had a vehicle assigned to me so I didn’t have to walk so much and only had to present myself once a day for “count” instead of every 4 hrs…

Also had all the conjugal visits I wanted whenever I wanted them (You’re only allowed to have ’em every 6 mos)

Well if ya’ took the time ta’ read this “book”, I hope it answered your questions… If not, let me know specifically what you want to know and I’ll be happy to answer you

Good night all!

“Rik’s Story”

If you’ve been unfortunate enough to frequent one of the so-called benzo withdrawal forums over the past few years there is little doubt you’ve run into a predator named “Rik” in one of his many incarnations.  At last tally we counted 46 different screen names Rik used, with 24 of those used at Benzo Buddies alone. Following is small sample of Rik’s more popular names: HopeToBeMeAgain, KonaJim, Razzle, Rik9393, RixRaz, Sail_A_Wai, Sit2KNow, Dr. Rik.

Rik claimed to be a doctor and would offer his services to the poor addicts that populate these forums. He would gain their trust by pretending to be a benzo-wise doctor, obtain telephone numbers and other personal information – next would come the calls/emails and offers of consultation (allegedly for money). We later discovered the suffering Rik was really out on his yacht in the Pacific Northwest.

Continuing the Tradition

It was in the tradition of extending a helping hand through contact made first on the Internet that I met fellow Vancouver residents Rik and Konnie _______ in June of this year. The _______ had just purchased and taken delivery of a 1998 Catalina 22 mkII that the boat’s previous owner had had delivered to them from Arizona. Rik had asked the list some questions about stepping the mast, so I volunteered to come over and give him a hand.

Wow! What a gorgeous boat! Rik and Konnie had bought a time-capsule. The boat is a 1998 wing keel model, with a 1998 8hp Honda, bimini, full cover, stainless steel telescoping mast carrier, mainsail, 150 Genoa, 110 Jib, VHF, Depth Sounder, kick up rudder, dual-axle galvanized trailer, and has only been in the water six times and stored for the last three years.

When I arrived Rik and Konnie had already removed the duct tape and unfortunate sticky residue it left behind, so we were able to set about making sense of all the fittings and wires that hadn’t been put away in a manner most Catalina 22 owners who trailer much would be accustom to. After checking for signs of chafing from the trip up from Arizona, and getting all the shrouds and stays reattached, we raised the mast carrier, walked the mast aft until we could secure it to the mast step, moved to the cabin top, and then swung and lifted the mast into the vertical position. I then went forward and attached the forestay, followed by connecting the two forward shrouds.

The Catalina 22 mkII is suppose to have a “Gin Pole” mast raising system. In fact the hole in the base of the mast was present, and so were the two pad eyes mounted to the tops of the cabin top turning blocks, but the pole and block and tackle wasn’t present, so Rik is going to check with the previous owner to seeing if it is hiding in a garage. I suspect the boom vang could be used in place of the block and tackle, but I’m going to have to see a standard factory gin pole and side cable supports to fully understand this portion of the system.

After get the mast raise, I talked over some of the other aspects of the boat with Rik and Konnie, and then offered to made myself available in the future should they want any additional assistance. The _______ have a beautiful boat, and I look forward to seeing them out on the water.

Following are just a few of Rik’s claims:

  • He was in serious trouble after less than 6 weeks on a very low dose of Xanax.
  • He was in and out of 4 treatment centers, 2 mental hospitals and had more doctors than he could count.
  • He sold a fabulous resort home to rent a small apartment a block from a hospital so he could be close the emergency room.
  • He had absolutely every symptom on the 90,000,000 benzo withdrawal symptom list.
  • He hallucinated often.
  • He was floridy psychotic for months.
  • He tried every holistic and medical treatment known to man.
  • He kept drawers full of failed medicines, natural substances and healing tapes.
  • He went to religious healers of all faiths (perhaps with his best forum friend Flick Rahke – who’s guru was noted deviate Adi Da Samraj).
  • He was so sick he had to hire a live-in caretaker.
  • He bought a pair of regulation police handcuffs to shackle himself to his bed to so he would not commit suicide during the worst days. He used them often.
  • His nights were passed screaming into a pillow, curled up in a fetal position rocking himself.
  • He was only able to sleep 2 hours per night for 2 years.
  • He spent sleepless nights walking – sometimes for 8 hours at a time.
  • He visited the emergency room so often he was on a first name basis with most of the staff.
  • He posed as a doctor and called every major hospital in the United States – holding “rigorous” discussions with the department heads.
  • He spent $5000 on telephone calls to doctors, in search of answers to benzo withdrawal, but found only one doctor who would aid him (and it wasn’t Ashton).
  • His wife chained him to a radiator.

Rik was welcomed to benzowithdrawal.com by the hapless Andrew Bressler. TRAP welcomed Rik. Benzo Island welcomed Rik. Benzo Liberty welcome Rik. At Benzo Buddies, Colin also welcomed Rik – that is until he received dozens of complaints and was forced to ban him or face mass defections.

Note: The Benzo Liberty site is gone (it currently seems to be a home decorating site) but that is the origin of the following story.

Rik’s Story

From: “Rik” <rik9393@e…>
Date: Fri Nov 29, 2002 7:41 am
Subject: My Story

Since I have returned back to the is board I have received several E-mails asking about my background and benzo experience.

I seldom post on this board and actually have tried to distance myself from the entire benzo issue for the last few years. I have received a very strong calling to return to help others out of this life passage and will be working towards establishing the Benzodiazepine Recovery Center later in 2003.

This is my thumbnail background: undergraduate degrees in human sciences and pre-medicine, postgraduate degrees in counseling psychology and chemical addictions and lifelong research and writing on medicine, wholistic health and spiritual paths. In spite of this training a persistent and often severe anxiety disorder caused me to believe the medical lie that benzodiazepines were the answer. My degrees and professional credentials did not prepare me for the damage done by benzodiazepines or provide the knowledge necessary to extract myself from their grasp.

On a very, very low dose of Xanax I was in major trouble within 6 weeks, became severely paradoxical in 12 and went on a years crusade looking for a way to get off without enduring the near seizures I experienced with even minute cuts.

I was in and out of 4 treatment centers, two mental hospitals and more doctors than I can count and at one year was so sick on the drugs I had to hire a live-in caretaker. I eventually left my resort area home and rented a small apartment one block from a major city hospital emergency room and began the self directed 8-month titration down and eventually off. In spite of minute cuts my withdrawal was severe; for over 2 years I had absolutely every symptom on the benzo symptom list and in addition hallucinated often and was outright psychotic for months. I tried EVERY holistic and medical treatment known. I had drawers of failed medicines and natural substances, healing tapes, had been to many religious healers of all faiths in the end a bought a pair of regulation police handcuffs to shackle myself to my bed to so I would not commit suicide during the worst days.

I used them often!

I have been off all medications over 12 years now…in the days I detoxed myself there was no Internet, no support groups and I did not meet another benzo survivor until I was over 3 years off. This was truly my dark night of the soul.

Possibly because of the paradoxical effect I experienced my withdrawal was protracted and severe. I had no windows until around my 5th year. For the first 2 years, 2 hours of sleep were maximum, I would spend the days with endless walking, sometimes up to 8 hours continuously!

My nights were passed screaming into a pillow or curled up in a fetal position rocking myself. I prayed to see the next sunrise and the tiny bit of reality the daylight brought.  I prayed to see the next sunrise and the tiny bit of reality the daylight brought. My body went into breakdown- normal colds and flu’s lasted months, my liver was sick from all the drugs I took to stop the symptoms and I experienced literally hundreds of physical breakdowns due to the stress andlack of sleep. I was on a first name basis with the local ER staff for years.

Fast forward: it has now been over 12 years and I have recovered from the benzo damage and the severe anxiety disorder. My only lingering symptom is stress sensitivity.

Along the way done thousands of hours of research, have charted the blind alleys, failed promises of both medicine and wholistic health and the ignorance of those who should have known. At one point as I began to recover I posed as a doctor and called every major teaching hospital and treatment center in North America and had vigorous discussions with medical department heads.

In over $5,000 in telephone calls I found one doctor who had credible knowledge on benzos…the rest denied the patient case I described (myself) or rigorously supported the use of benzodiazepines. The treatment centers were outright dangerous and extremely misguided…and remain so to this day.

It has been a long, unwanted journey. I have learned much and continue to put the pieces into place. For want ever divine plan it appears I am being called back into service to help others though this passage…understand I am very reluctant. Having survived this, most want to distance ourselves as far as possible from any hint of this time….my emotions are the same!!

I am taking the process of opening a Center for Benzodiazepine Recovery on step at time and allowing it to manifest itself.

In a few words the most healing thing I can impart is that absolutely everyone heals no matter how severe your benzo illness…no one remains in acute withdrawals forever.

Be well
James R. “Rik” _______

http://www.benzoliberty.com/stories/rik.php

Former cult member spills beans on shocking abuse of mentally ill

A lot of people that are prescribed benzos ARE mentally ill and a lot of said mentally ill people ARE on Benzo Buddies.

When I found Benzo Buddies last year I was traumatized for a second time in my life.

This is such self-defeatist bullshit.

ANYONE who is in the vulnerable state of even mild acute benzo withdrawal (assuming they are part of the minority of people that actually have a really hard time with it) would be extra susceptible and sensitive to the power of suggestion to the degree in which being unfortunate enough to stumble across BenzoBuddies during such a time could mean SEVERE psychological damage.

I know because it happened to me. Had I not found that site and had the EVER LIVING NIPPLES scared off of me I do believe I would be OK right now. First I came off of opiates (prescribed) that I had been a “true addict” to… as in, physically dependent and using the painkillers daily to run from a hellish psychological nightmare… a bundle of awful automatic negative thinking and cognitive distortions that I created in my own mind after experiencing severe trauma for the first time in my life as well as panic attacks beginning at the 18th birthday party my friends in highschool were throwing me. There’s a point to my delving into this.

We all used recreational drugs in highschool… products of our environment I guess you could say (but not trying to avoid responsibility for my own actions.) and on that night I swallowed one to many of some sort of designer pills a friend had and everything went all messed up, impossible to verbalize because there is no reference point in our perceptions to place the change in psyche in contrast beside what it may have been earlier. Hard to detect a change but definitely something terrifying. This initial fear turned my ultra confident, truly happy self into a nervous wreck and I NEVER learned how to deal with it. After 5-6 months I realized that opiates were the only thing that made me not care about the looping anxious thoughts I was having which I now believe was a fear of feeling worry and fear themselves associating themselves with philosophical/existential questions that I believed to be the cause of my distress but it was all just a big cognitive distortion which was TRIGGERED by an initial OVERLOAD of fear and panic… like say the kind of fear and panic one might feel when they are tapering off a medication that their trusty doctor prescribed them… decide to look it up… and find fucking BenzoBuddies and the Ashton manual… supposedly a benzo professional that knows more than your doctor with thousands of people to back it all up… all using their own lingo… no longer associating with the rest of society but amongst themselves exclusively. How is the potentially (extra) neurotic & anxious person supposed to know that these thousands of people and this professional… the way it is being presented to them… it is simply the terrifying results of what a mass of people can do using fear and negative reinforcement to break people and reconstruct their minds in a manner in which will benefit THEM or their cause. (Hail fucking Xenu).

So basically… my underlying cause for medicating myself for 7 years of my life was the automatic negative thinking that occurred after a traumatic period in my life. What I was running from by using opiates was no more than an illusion created in my own pessimistic mind which was only pessimistic because of the initial negative event to begin with.

I think this is a great analogy for the poor souls at benzobuddies that weren’t lucky enough to realize that these sites are the results of a mass of people after being frightened and then manipulated by some VERY sick people. Look at this poster above.

“Don’t tell me it’s all in my head.”

I am not saying at all that the awful distress that benzobuddies members must endure… the suicidal, hopeless despair they feel as a result of having their worst fears confirmed… truly believing they will be crippled… unable to live their lives for YEARS and based on the word of THOUSANDS as well as a “professional when it comes to benzos” and a freaking book. Sorry, ADHD… I’m not saying that this awful distress is not real. But it’s BECAUSE of the attitude that corresponds with “Don’t tell me it’s all in my head.”

This is disgusting. It suggests that the human mind is powerless within the limitations of its own neurotransmitter systems. I’ve wondered a great deal about this chicken/egg ordeal here but I think it’s either both or neither. Either way… people have the ability to choose to fight against struggles in their lives regardless of their GABA, glutamate, dopamine, endorphin configurations. It’s this disgusting mentality corresponding with that quote that makes these… absolute victims feel like “No matter what I do I’m going to be sick.” “If I am depressed and do nothing but sit on benzobuddies all day it is not my fault. My doctor did this to me. All I can do is wait instead of… challenging the horrific hopeless negative thoughts that ALL manifested as a negative and exponentially, malignantly growing way of thinking that you could think of like a computer virus copying itself to the person’s entire psychological state of being.

Ugh. Sorry for the book. I know Mike59 and some others probably understand and agree with what I’m saying but it really bothers me that not a lot of others seem to be able to grasp what’s going on.

“It’s not my fault if I’m depressed and have become an invalid because benzobuddies says the doctors have carelessly poisoned me.”

“That’s a load of crap”

“No! You just don’t know professor ashton wrote about it in this… book and all of the benzobuddies and waves and windows and benzo belly and benzo brain… you know what I’m just going to go back to talking to benzobuddies… the only people who know what’s up”

How does anyone not see what is going on here?

Should anyone… TELL these people that anxiety and stress have 250+ physical and psychological symptoms alone? How about the anxiety of having someone tell you while in an anxious state that your life is essentially over… for 2-3 years if you’re lucky. The anxiety from that and the hopeless despair DEFINITELY are the cause of more symptoms than the benzowithdrawal itself. Statistically speaking, only about 18 people out of the entirety on that site should be experiencing ANY withdrawal.

LOOK HOW MUCH SUFFERING IS GOING ON FOR NOTHING and mike59 makes a site like this and it comes off as if his motives result from a personal vendetta so whether or not he is sincere in his mission to stop suffering in this enormous amount of people… it doesn’t matter because for the same reasons that people get sucked into the benzobuddies crap.. they get sucked into believing the critiquing of benzobuddies = hate which is just bullshit.

I have no ill intentions towards anyone on those sites unless they really are aware of the suffering they’re causing and not stopping it for the sake of supporting something like scientology… for the sake of being a part of something… whatever reason. Aside from that I wish every member on that site luck and athough I do agree that the site contains good information… why couldn’t the owners type up something like this post and put it in the user agreement to spare people the hellish nightmare of needlessly thinking their lives are over when their chances of experiencing withdrawal at ALL let alone needing to taper for years are less than 50%?

WHAT IS IT THAT IS SO HARD TO UNDERSTAND HERE? Just another example of humanity ostracizing the one person that isn’t part of the problem… of ludicrous misinformation in this case. Oh the rest of the world can’t comprehend what this post I wrote up in 15 mins means even if it could save lives. Benzobuddies that sounds like a nice name! Look it says its a forum for SUPPORT! Someone is ridiculing the support site? Let’s go ahead and asume they’re wrong and post hate pages that show up on google of the real names of people behind it and potentially jeopardize their real lives and the lives of their families for speaking up against our RIDICULOUSLY unimpressive (when considering the potential it has to help rather than hurt) support forum.

Yeah mike59 you’re a dick. How dare you provide an outlet for this type of life-saving information.

Ps. I tapered my 3mg of clonazepam 0.5 mg at a time over 2.5 months and then went 1/8 mg per week for 4 weeks to get off of the last half mg. I was on it for over half a decade every day. When I found benzobuddies last year I was traumatized for a second time in my life. I’m glad I was blessed enough to be a naturally critical thinker which allowed me to question what I was being taught there as I do most things to the extent in which one day my anxiety and despair suddenly alleviated to a ridiculous degree… almost to the point of euphoria… because I was thinking about some of the realities surrounding what a “hypochondria heaven” of that many people could truly cause in vulnerable people and realized some of the things I’ve mentioned in this post… and thus the nightmare world had an escape. I wasn’t doomed. I then punched in what I thought of benzobuddies to see if ANYONE noticed the flaw in these benzo forums (I’m not even getting into the fact that a lot of people that are prescribed benzos ARE mentally ill… and a lot of said mentally ill people ARE on benzobuddies. You will never see them contemplating whether or not someone should stay on their meds. How does this stuff not JUMP OUT AT EVERYONE?!” and when I did that I found this site ran by one “Mike Fifty-Nine”. After googling that handle I immediately found a hate site directed towards him threatening real life harm on the man behind the username? Because he’s doing this!

I’m ending this for the sake of the attention-spans of potential readers/lurkers with the assumption that my point has been made clear to anyone that is capable of thinking on a level that is not “absolutely moronic”. I don’t mean to be hostile but are there really only ~6 people in the world that are;

1. Aware of benzobuddies or similar sites.

&

2. Capable of understanding this?! Seriously?

TL:DR – Take some d-amphetamines and try again. I’m not catering to people who can’t be bothered to read what I took the time to write with good intentions towards the very people that would be most likely to criticize the validity of what I’m saying and my motives for typing it. What a sad and frustrating state of affairs. Someone read this… and do something about the absolutely ludicrous existence of “benzo support forums” under the premise that it is QUITE OBVIOUS how they do more harm than good?

There. I tried. Let’s see if it was worth it. (I doubt it.) If anyone doubts the validity of what I’m saying still after reading this post I can keep going. I could specify on literally every quote on that poster up above and logically spell out why it’s representative of benzobuddies causing more harm than good (by far) and I still wouldn’t be 10% through making every point that I could brainstorm to back up my opinion (facts) surrounding BB and similar sites.

>: [

Metheral66’s Story: Booze, pills, marijuana, cocaine, hallucinations, ECT, the madhouse and a rope

My Story - A Trip away from me
« on: June 18, 2012, 08:55:57 am »

Metheral66

Hi. I’m a 27 yr old male from Vancouver B.C. I was 18 years old when I had a bad anxiety attack from smoking weed. I saw a psychiatrist who put me on 0.5mg of clonazapam. I was told to take it indefinatly. I got my life back…… for a while. I finished high school, went to work for a year, then went to university. All the while I began to drink more and more and more. I was drinking everyday and smoking weed, doing coke, and poping t 3’s. My life lead me down to a dark path. I was hanging around the wrong people and ended up having a tramatic event happen to me at the age of 20. My anxiety kicked it ten fold. I fell into a horrible depression. I quit the drugs but kept on drinking and taking benzo’s. Eventually my depression and anxiety sx got so bad I attempted suicide by taking a handful of asprins and 2 bottles of wine. I ended up in hospital, they pumped my stomach, and put me in the psychward. I couldn’t move or get out of bed for 2 months. I was given lithium, serequel and effexor. Eventually through alot of hard work I came back to life. I had to learn how to walk again and how to talk again. I went to rehab for 4 months and felt about 80% back to normal. I went back to school for a year. Then one day I got the idea that a drink or two wouldn’t kill me. I had one drink at my buddies cabin. By the next day I couldn’t stop. I drank around the clock for the next 3 months. I ended up back in rehab. This time though they cut off my benzo’s c/t. I ended up going insane. I lasted about a month or so then I slit my wriste, they immidiatly put me on an even higher dose of clonazapam then before. I was now on 1.5mg. Things were shaky after my failed c/t. I never felt right. I suffered from depression, dp/dr, anxiety, dizzyness, intrusive thoughts, suicidal thinking, and restlessness. I got involved in A.A. Everything was going smoothly. I was going to a meeting a day, volenteering, working here and there and going to therapy. However those sx’s lingered. No matter how hard I tried I just never felt right, I never felt I was getting any rewards for the work I was putting in.

FINALLY I talked to a therapist who informed me about benzodiazapeins. I was shocked. But at the same time my situation finnally made sence. I was suffering from benzo tolerance withdrawal! AND THE SOLUTION WAS TO GET OFF THESE MEDICATIONS!.

So thats exactly what I started to do. I found informatin on the net about how to withdrawl. I tried to follow the ashton manual but my tapper became very scattered. I would cut down from 1.5 to 1.2 then back up to 1.3 then down to 1.1 then up to 1.2 and on and on and on. My sx’s became unbearable. I could no longer leave my house. I locked myself in my room. I was in isolation 24/7. My mind started playing tricks on me. I had horrible depression, dp/dr, panic attacks, aggression, insane thoughts, I would think I was someone else, I didn’t know who I was, I lost my identy, I was suicidal, constently tried to figure out life, terrified of death, lost faith in my faith, my self, my life, life became pointless, I was utterly hopless.

I remember when the day when I went to a friend/adviser. She is an amzing person, someone who has overcome many many obsticals in her life and full of advise. I told her I could no longer go on. She kept telling me “don’t stop, don’t quit your taper, you’ve come so far” But to my regret I didn’t listen. I was taking to the psychward where they uped my dose. They put me on 2.5mg’s, a full mg over my original dose.

We all waited. My family, my friends, myself waited for me to feel better. But I never did. My sx’s never improved. I thought I was hopless before, now I knew I was hopless. I couldn’t come off benzo’s and couldn’t be on them. There was no way out. I was admited once again to the psych ward

I escaped the nut house 2 times, and staggered back to the arms of the secuirity gards a few house later drunk from alcohol I had stolen from the liquore store up the street. It must of been quite a sight to a guy in a hospital gounde with two bottles of wine running down the street.

When the psychiatrist got word of this he told me I had ran out of options. I was simply not getting any better. The only thing left to do was Electro Shock Therapy. The nurses brought me into a small room and showed me a video of the ‘miricals’ of E.C.T. I was more than horrified. When I told my parents, they came to get me immidiatly. Before I left I had to talk to the head of the psychiatry at the hospital. I clearly remember him telling me that I was a hopless case. Over and over he repeated these words to me “you don’t want to get well you want to die” those were is exact words and he repeated it about five times. I left his office in tears. For someone who is suicidal those arn’t exactly the words you want to hear.

I became a full time job. My parents, more than once, found suicide notes I had writen. Luckily they found me before I could do anything. They decided I couldn’t be alone so they constently watched over me. They got tired of doing this and sent me to a trusted family friends house. There I had to sign a contract saying that if I tried suicide or if I felt like it I would tell her.

Over the next 3 months I was admited to the psychiatric ward 8 times. Either for suicidal behavior or cutting my wriste. Eventually they stoped taking me. I will never ever be able to express the hell I felt at this time. I wanted to die. It was all I thought about. The pain was so over the top it was unbeleivable. I found out that it is absolutly impossible to discribe Hell.

I was sent to another facility for the severly mentally ill. I stayed the maximum lenghth of time and forced to leave. I tried 5 different anti depressents, 2 different mood stabalizers, and had my benzo’s switched, decreased, increased, you name it. I was given the diagnosis of major depression, bi polar, boarderline personality disorder, ptsd, and even scizophrenia. I started to hear voices and see things that were not there. The voices came on as a rare side effect of a medication. They stoped once I got off it.

During this time alot things happend. I got stories for days, it was just insane. There was a month were I ran drugs for a ‘friend’ in exchange for money and booze. I had an incident with a clint that had me pinned to the floor with a knife to my neak. All I remember was screaming at him to do it, but he never did. Another time I purposly drove my truck into a telephone pole going 70 km/h. I was completly unharmed. I often wondered how I managed to stay alive.

Eventually they put me on lithium which I must say is the best medication I have been on. It definatly stoped the suicidal thoughts.

I moved back to my parents place and was on the waiting list for a mental health and addictions center. Unfortuanatly I started to drink again. I have a history of alcoholism. I was on 60mg of valium a day along with effexor, serequel, and lithium.

I drank and drank and drank. I had six months to kill while I waited to get into this treatment center. During those six months I was sober only 3 times. And that was for days when I was so physically and mentally sick I feared I would have a heart attack. My weight went up to 260pds from 200pds only a year later. I had trouble breathing, constently sweated, and delerium tremers.

One night I had attempted to go out with some friends. It had been months since I had ventured out of my house. I got so drunk I made a fool of myself. My social skills were obviously out of wack. Everyone, including myself, had difficulty understanding me. I stole as much liquore as I could find and made my way home. I drank all that I could. I found a rope and made a noose. I hung it from the roof of my garage, wraped it around my neak, and jumped. I was so drunk that instead of hanging my head sliped out of the noose and I landed flat on my ass. I dusted myself off, drank some more and passed out.

My drinking continued on until finnaly a bed opened at the recovery center. I found out later that this was place were people were sent who were to sick to get into regular rehab centers. I remember calling alot of other rehabs and being told I was to unstable to be accepted. They said I was a danger to myself and others.

When I arrived at the treatment center I quickly found out that this is not so much of a treatment center than it is a mental hospital. The only remain insane assylm had shut down and alot of the patients were sent here. About half of the patients are scizophrenics. There is fights almost everyday, people trying to escape, and drug use almost every where you look. I often walked in the bathroom to find people shooting heroin. Many people smoked crack or meth in right in there rooms. People often talk to themselves. Cursing the voices in there head. The halls are narrow and the rooms small. We have small activities through out the day to keep us busy. Thats helped me out a lot with my benzo withdrawal.

I have gone from 60mg of valium to 16mg in 6 months. Its been far from easy. I have countless stories about the facility I’m in and the journey through this hell that I’ve been on.

I just hope that I can somehow someway find a way back to me.
« Last Edit: June 18, 2012, 09:12:43 am by Metheral66 »