Different Hats

Warning: This post mentions prescription drug abuse so please be advised that it could potentially be triggering.

I’m a little late on this small celebration because I’ve been busy.

July 5, 2025 – my 5 year anniversary of giving up my benzodiazepines addiction which included Xanax, Klonopin, and Ativan. Oh, and mixing alcohol with them too.

5 years ago I was anorexic, depleted of life, abandoned, made fun of, ridiculed, laughed at, frowned upon, and just plain psychotic thanks to a psychiatrist that took advantage of me and my postpartum depression.

Becoming a mother has been the greatest accomplishment of my life and has forced to me open my eyes to the reality around me, and I knew that I had to become a much better version of myself.

The world watched as I fell apart at the hands of a doctor who just kept writing more and more prescriptions for me to keep my mouth shut.

Antidepressants, antipsychotics, mood stabilizers, benzodiazepines…….They took over my life and the old Meghan.

I became a monster – a fool led to believe that prescription medications was going to save the day and cure all of my problems.

I was a lab rat who ran after the rotten smelly cheese.

I was so stupid.

I was very immature.

I needed time, support, and love and I lost all of it.

I went through postpartum depression and I survived it. Twice actually.

I was struggling to be a new mom who had a baby with someone she barely knew, but we did it.

I learned how to change my first diapers, feed and hold a baby, and stay up late every night.

I kept a schedule and wrote down everything important.

I was recovering from postpartum preeclampsia.

And inside I was struggling with anxiety and I convinced myself that I really am a terrible person and maybe I don’t deserve to be a mom.

I suffered for about 6 months during the first time I was going through postpartum depression before I finally told my family that I don’t feel right and I need help.

People looked at me differently. Like I didn’t love my son but that wasn’t the problem at all. I loved him so much that I couldn’t believe God could grant me a blessing so small and pure and I thought that I didn’t deserve that.

I had people share whispers about me and accuse me of not loving my son.

Doctors looked at me like I was just a person searching for pills and not help.

I had friends that didn’t give a shit about me and laughed at the pain I was going through. They put me to the side when I had issues but I was always here and there for all the stupidity they went through.

I was at a point in my life where I was so addicted to prescription medications that I would have to mix them with alcohol to feel any kind of effect.

To be honest I can’t believe I am still alive because I should probably be dead.

But I’m not.

I went through so much during my first time with postpartum depression and I fell down the rabbit hole for a while, until……

I gave up on all those medications, I went through benzodiazepine withdrawal and that was quite an experience.

I said goodbye to the psychiatrist who tried his best to keep me addicted to the game.

I became a loner and stopped all communication with people that never cared about me from the beginning.

I became a college student who studies information technology.

But the most important thing I’ve done was become a very dedicated mother to my kids.

I do whatever I can for them and I put my needs to the side. I’m perfectly fine with that.

I changed my life around and I’m not the same Meghan that I was years ago.

I think it’s safe to say that I’ve finally started to grow up and stopped caring about what the world thought of me, because they don’t matter.

I know that I’m not alone and I have met plenty of other mothers who are just like me and went through the same experience.

Here is something that I’ve learned about becoming a mother and going through postpartum depression, it’s a lonely road to recovery and unfortunately many people do not understand this illness.

The first people that judged me were people that didn’t even have any children themselves.

It’s not all bad though.

Throughout this entire journey I’ve learned that I am a strong person who is smart, a good mother, and I’m doing the best that I can for myself and my family.

I’m in a good place right now.

Mental illness tried to ruin my life but the tables have turned, I’m here to ruin the life of mental illness.

It feels delicious knowing that part of my life is finally over and I’ve blossomed into a new Meghan.

It’s been a hell of a ride but I did it, and I am proud of myself.

People thought I was just going to lay down quietly and drown in my own sorrows, but I stopped feeling sorry for myself.

This was, in some twisted and dark way, the best thing that ever happened to me because now I know how life really can be and I’m prepared.

Here’s a small toast to my small victory and never looking back at how it used to be, and cheers to the new life that I’ve been working hard for.

To Dr. N – if by some strange coincidence you ever stumble across this blog post and recognize that it is me, you failed my friend. I’m no longer in your clutch of insanity and I hope your patients someday realize what type of psychiatrist you are.