Death in a Bottle: My 24-Year Battle with Benzodiazepines

I was 16 years old when a doctor handed me my first Xanax. I didn’t ask for it. I just said I was stressed. I was closeted, scared, and trying to navigate the world as a young gay kid, and that was enough. One pill. One taste. That’s all it took.

I wish I could go back and stop that 16-year-old version of me. I wish I could scream, “Don’t take it.” But I didn’t know. And once your body gets a taste for it, it never stops wanting it. That’s how benzos work. They don’t help you. They hook you.

A few years later, I was prescribed Klonopin by a cash-only doctor who gave me whatever I wanted for $300. I was trying to get clean from Oxy at the time, and instead I got thrown deeper into the fire. That doctor later lost his license. I never lost the pills.

Now I’m 40, and I’ve been on Klonopin for over 15 years. You want to know what it feels like now? It feels like nothing. I could take five of them and still sit across from you like nothing happened. They don’t calm me. They don’t fix me. They just keep me from going into withdrawal.

Because the truth is, if I stop taking Klonopin cold turkey, I could die.

I could have a seizure. I could die.

That’s what nobody tells you.

You hear about opioid withdrawal all the time. Purdue this, Purdue that.

But here’s what they’re not talking about:

Benzo withdrawal can kill you.

Benzo withdrawal does kill people.

And nobody seems to care.

I’ve been through that withdrawal. More than once.

I’ve stood in a shower, looking at a razor, after five nights of no sleep, feeling like I was being electrocuted from the inside out. I’ve sat in a packed movie theater, shaking, hallucinating sounds, trying not to scream. I’ve collapsed in a bathroom, unable to pee, unable to think, unable to be.

I’ve been through enough rehab centers to know this. They aren’t built to treat benzo withdrawal. They want you off in a week, maybe two, using weak tapers with lorazepam and wishful thinking. But this isn’t a two-week detox. This isn’t a spiritual breakthrough. This is chemical warfare, and we’re the ones left bleeding.

And the worst part? I’m not even taking Klonopin because it helps me.

I’m taking Klonopin so I don’t go through withdrawal from Klonopin.

That’s the trap. That’s the truth.

Now I live every day counting pills. Planning vacations around my prescription. Hoping my new doctor won’t cut me off. Wondering if I’ll be okay next month. My life, my freedom, my identity, all tied to a pill bottle.

You want to know what I’d say to someone just handed their first Xanax?

Don’t. Take. It.

That’s not anxiety relief in your hand. That’s your future slipping away in silence.

And to the makers of Klonopin and Xanax, Teva, Roche, all of you hiding behind generics and profit margins, I have a challenge for you.

Take your own product. Every day. Two milligrams. For a year.

Then I’ll lock you in a room and take it away.

Let’s see how safe it feels then. Let’s see how fancy your cars look while you’re shaking on the floor.

This system is broken. And it’s killing people quietly.

So here’s what needs to change:

No more long-term benzo prescriptions.

Pharmacists need to flag doctors writing beyond seven days.

Long-term users like me should be cared for, not punished.

And the silence has to stop. Today.

This isn’t just my story. This is reality for millions of people who never knew what they were signing up for.

If I have to scream loud enough to make them listen, then fine.

Let it be me.

I’m Timothy John Snyder.

And I’m not staying quiet anymore.