I was prescribed Klonipin back in 2015 after first being diagnosed with MS. This was even before most of my symptoms got angry and went bezerk. I hadn’t even been diagnosed with primary progressive MS yet but was stumbling around in the dark about this very scary new illness. My doctor at the time thought I could use some help adjusting. Let’s face it. He was right.

My dose started out small but it was just enough to get me through a day without losing my mind over the uncertainty and confusion I was experiencing. Klonipin eased my mind. Smoothed out my jaggedy edges. Got me through the toughest days and nights. Nights were probably the worst. I would sit in my cozy home, covered in cats (I had four at the time) and watch television trying to distract myself from the thoughts that swirled around my brain. Television, in particular, Grey’s Anatomy, made me focus. Oftentimes it allowed me an outlet for my feelings. If iwas was feeling sad, which was not unusual after my diagnosis, it allowed me to actually cry it out. I couldn’t cry without this outlet. I couldn’t feel angry. But television allowed me to feel things for fictional characters that I couldn’t allow myself to feel otherwise.

Klonipin gave my brain the little help it needed to allow me to connect with my feelings.

As time went on, though, I found myself needing more and more. I would give myself a boost every now and then – knowing I could float myself through until my next refill would go through. Those little boosts became something I would do on the regular. I found myself running out of pills before my script was ready to be filled. This wasn’t a big problem in the beginning. I’m guessing my dependence on the drug was merely mental at those early stages. My mind remained strong. Tough. Difficult to get down. But those were the early days.

It started to get a bit difficult to get myself up when I started to find my mind buzzing again. Wha to do? Take another pill. Try medical marijuana. Try taking a drink of wine. Nothing satisfied my brain like the trusty Klonipin always did. What to do? Go to my doctor and ask for a higher dose. They didn’t even question it at the time. Another pill was easy to prescribe – especially understanding my circumstances. Working full-time in a job I loved running an advertising agency in Pittsburgh where I lived. Being active answering the needs of our many clients. Attending to the needs of the team that worked for me. Using my creative mind. Making a good, rather impressive salary. Living my dream. Spending a good deal of money fulfilling my every wish and desire. Plugging holes in my brain, in my life really, with fashion. Shoes. Makeup. Fancy cars. Traveling the world. Doing for myself but also others. Pretending any of these actions actually filled the holes in my brain, in my life, like those little green pills always did. Instead, I merely watched as mountains of things piled up around me.

What to do? Take another pill… float myself toward my next dose until my script could be filled again. And again, this always worked for me a little bit too easily. Until it didn’t anymore. Go to the doctor. Again. Ask for a higher dose. Get it. Take another round of pills. Feel better for a quick minute. Go back to living my life – my dream as if all was well. Of course, it never worked for long enough to fix the problem.

Nothing did. Nothing ever did because I was choosing to mask my true feelings with Klonipin instead of actually feeling them. Everyone of sound mental health knows this never works. I was obviously not of sound mental health.

My therapist at the time didn’t really address the root problem. We’d become too close for her to separate her feelings for me from my true mental health needs. She had MS too. How crazy is that? I never knew. She never told me. In the 15 or so years that I’d been seeing her it somehow never came up. She felt so terrible when I told her about my diagnosis she used to say she was afraid she gave it to me.

I have a new therapist now who actually helps me. We are not friends but are friendly. She gave me a diagnosis of borderline/histrionic personality disorder. This diagnosis basically encompasses an explanation for all of my most annoying thought patterns and nervous behaviors. Here is an explanation of the disorder:

Histrionic personality disorder (HPD) and borderline personality disorder (BPD) are both mental health conditions that can involve intense emotions, but they have different core features.

Similarities 

Both conditions can involve intense, rapid changes in emotions
Both can involve dramatic, theatrical, or flamboyant behaviors
Differences:
Self-image
People with BPD have a more negative view of themselves, and their sense of self is often unstable and changing
Relationships
People with HPD may form superficial relationships to stay the center of attention, while people with BPD have intense, unstable relationships due to fear of abandonment
Behavior
People with HPD may act in a way that seeks attention, while people with BPD may engage in self-destructive behaviors
Symptoms of HPD 
People with HPD may:
Have a desire to be noticed and admired
Have a flamboyant expression of self
Have poor impulse control
Have poor judgment
Have difficulty maintaining relationships
Have a need for instant gratification
Symptoms of BPD
People with BPD may:

Have intense feelings of emptiness and anger
Have a fear of abandonment
Have a troubled sense of self
Have self-destructive impulses
Individualized psychotherapy can help people learn to change unsupportive thoughts and behaviors related to personality disorders.
This also explains why my little green pills helped me so much. Talk about an overactive brain!

An extra pill became an extra couple of pills. And on it went. That’s about when I started buying klonipin from the friend of one of my caregivers. That’s also about when I stopped being able to stand up anymore. I suddenly needed 24/7 care from helpers called caregivers – strangers who quickly became an integral part of my life. Take a few extra pills just to get through an average day in new me’s life.

Then start chugging water as if it will save your life when it actually has become a serious and dangerous habit that causes severe hyponytremia that plops your ass in the local university hospital’s ICU for what is looking like is going to be a solid week. I’ve long ago gone completely cold turkey off of all benzo-shaped objects in my daily pill intake. But it all keeps going on and on seemingly forever without end. A month is nearing 180 days but yet I keep struggling – now a bit more dangerously close to the edge against the possibility of literally losing my mind, if not my actual life. All at my own hand fully aware of what I’m what I’m doing.

I suppose this is truly a “don’t be like me, kids” post to share how important strong mental health support is so critical in all of our lives not just those of us who also happen to be chronically physically ill. More to come about the ICU stay adventures soon.