How my Anti-Depressants Almost Killed Me— and What I Did About It

I remember being in the middle of a Target store when I started to fade out. Something deep within me knew I wasn’t right. My vision was becoming blurry, my balance off, everything around me becoming dark. I made it to the pharmacy just in time to mutter “Please call me an ambulance,” before I started to hyperventilate.

On my way to the hospital I kept begging the EMT to tell me I was going to be ok. He remained silent.

My resting heart rate was a little over 180.

Was I going to die?

After I arrived at the hospital, staff took three EKG’s, inserted an IV of Ativan, and told me to rest. It took a little over an hour for my heart rate to lower.

The problem?

An adverse reaction to two medications I was taking.

I’d been on a cocktail of pills since I was about fourteen. Prozac, Xanax, Trazodone, Viibryd, Ambien… and that’s only a select few. I’ve had depression from an early age, that much I know. But looking back; I wonder, was it necessary for a kid that barely hit the stages of puberty to be taking prescription drugs like candy?

I knew the moment I landed myself in the ambulance that something had to give. I was fighting the good fight, as so many of us do, but I couldn’t take it anymore. My body physically and mentally could not bare any more experiments. I had gained weight, my anxiety had heightened, I was suffering from extreme sleep paralysis and hallucinations. I wasn’t sleeping. I had no idea who I was or what I stood for anymore. If this was what my life was destined for, I wanted no part of it.

So I quit cold turkey.

I threw seven years of work down the drain. I knew if I didn’t stop I would end up killing myself or the medications would end up killing me. If I was going to die, I wanted control over it. I wanted a life, my life, back.

So I ran after it as fast as I could before it was too late.

Every breathing second after ceasing my regular use of medication was a walk through Satan’s garden. Withdrawal is a bitch and it was no kinder towards me. The shakes, cold sweats, confusion, sleepless nights and everything in between. I almost wanted to go back on everything I said I wouldn’t do– but I couldn’t and I didn’t. I had to pull through.

And I did.

It’s been three full months without any prescription medication in my body. It seems so minuscule, but it is a victory 14-year-old me would be mesmerized at. I never thought I would be able to say I’m free of all anti-depressants and sedatives.

The story for each prescription is the same– I take it for a few weeks and feel great. I swear I am cured and I am so happy to be alive and I can take the world by storm.

Then the crash comes and the cycle continues. Over and over and over.

But not anymore.

The only “drug” I take regularly now is CBD oil by mouth once daily and melatonin at night to help me sleep soundly.

It’s been three months since I’ve released myself from the pharmaceutical prison that held me as their bitch for so long.

I’m doing fine.

I’d like to stick around to see just how much better it gets.

The world needs me.

DISCLAIMER: I do not condone nor endorse quitting medication abruptly without a doctor’s approval. This story is purely to share how far I’ve come– every one of us deals with things differently. Everyone’s body is unique and should be treated as such. Take care of yourself. ❤️

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