Disclaimer: In this post, I am in no way suggesting that psychiatric medications are bad or that they shouldn’t be used. I know that they are literally life-saving for many people. I am simply describing my own experience.
When I mention to friends that I can’t drink alcohol now, they usually ask, “Oh, because of the medication?” When I tell them I’m not on any medication, some respond with surprise. “No Xanax? No Lexapro? Really?” As I tell each of them, medication just isn’t for me.
After my second spontaneous attack, and as the residual anxiety symptoms didn’t go away, my doctor prescribed me a small quantity of Ativan in the lowest possible dose. “Cut each pill in half”, she said, “and take it if you have a panic attack or if you really can’t sleep at night.” My anxiety was so strong in the first several weeks of my panic disorder that I sometimes felt on the brink of a panic attack every couple of hours. So, I took the Ativan. I never exceeded what my doctor had recommended. I never ran out of pills. Yet I felt myself becoming dependent on those tiny benzodiazepines. I could feel each pill melt into my bloodstream like a sigh of drunken relief. After 4-6 hours, I could feel that same medication exit my body, leaving me feeling anxious and depressed, sometimes more than I had been prior to taking it. While I experienced relief and relaxation from Ativan, I also experienced sedation. I did not feel like myself.
My doctor, and later my therapist, eventually suggested longer-term drugs like Lexapro or trazodone. Both women warned me that my anxiety symptoms would likely increase, possibly for weeks, if I started medication. They told me it was up to me to choose: continue therapy and mindfulness exercises and rest for a very long period of time, or take the medication and speed up the process.
I chose the longer, sometimes harder path. Not because I was brave. Not because I was strong. Because I feared side effects. Because I feared withdrawal if I ever wanted to come off the drugs. Because I hated feeling medicated, and preferred to suffer as long as I could remain myself. Fortunately, my anxiety hasn’t flipped over to depression for more than a day at a time so far. If that ever happens, and lasts for considerable time, I will revisit the idea of medication. For now, yoga, meditation and exercise are my drugs. I am semi-dependent on them, but I am grateful for them.
The Panic Button 