PF (Patricia/Pat) Anderson

I hope those who follow my timeline appreciate my willingness to share deeply personal aspects of my life. Some are difficult to discuss. This is one of them. I’ve been prescribed benzodiazepines by the VA every single day since I was 29 years old. I’m now 46. Seventeen years of continuous use. Today, I take 5 mg of lorazepam (Ativan) daily. My severe anxiety traces back to my general discharge (under honorable conditions) from the Marine Corps during the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell era. I loved being a United States Marine. I wanted to make the Corps my career. During my service, I was navigating questions about my sexual orientation, without fully understanding or defining that part of myself. I faced the loss of the military career I’d envisioned. I believe my commanding officer thought a relatively favorable discharge would soften the blow. But no characterization of service could erase the humiliation, the profound sense of rejection, or the crushing disappointment of knowing I would never again have the privilege of wearing that uniform. That loss and anxiety followed me long after I left the Corps. I remember sitting across from my VA psychiatrist in 2009 when she first prescribed Xanax. I remember her face and taking that first dose. I was working as a corrections officer at the time. For the first time in years, the relentless noise in my mind went quiet. The apprehension, hypervigilance, and overwhelming anxiety seemed to dissolve. I experienced a sense of peace I’d almost forgotten existed. Over the years, Xanax became Klonopin, then Valium (at one point 20 mg daily), and eventually lorazepam. The initial relief faded as tolerance developed, but the medication continued helping me manage anxiety that threatened to consume my life. I genuinely question whether I could have navigated some of my darkest years without it. And yet, seventeen years later, I find myself grieving a version of myself I’ll never know. What if someone had helped me confront the underlying trauma more effectively? What if I’d received intensive, individualized psychotherapy instead of spending nearly two decades dependent on medication? The VA did try antidepressants. Several left me emotionally numb, profoundly depressed, and sometimes experiencing passive suicidal thoughts. Tapering was discussed over the years, but my anxiety was severe, and I resisted. Today, my psychiatric care often consists of a five- or ten-minute telehealth appointment, a handful of routine questions, and another three months of refills. Now I live with long COVID, POTS, dysautonomia, MCAS, vEDS, SRS, and chronic pain. At my most recent VA telehealth appointment, my psychiatrist asked the same routine questions, checked whether I needed more lorazepam refills, and that was the extent of our conversation. So here I am, seventeen years later, physiologically dependent on a medication that once gave me my life back. And I wonder about my future. What will another decade or two mean for my memory, cognition, and neurological health? Research concerning benzodiazepines and dementia remains inconclusive, but the uncertainty is unsettling. I’m grateful for the relief these medications provided. I’m deeply saddened that I may never know whether another path could have given me that peace without lifelong dependence. To my chronic illness, chronic pain, mental health, and veteran communities: Has anyone else spent 10, 15, or 20-plus years on prescribed benzodiazepines? Have you experienced cognitive changes, attempted tapering, or questioned the long-term consequences? I’d genuinely appreciate hearing your experiences. At 29, I thought I’d finally found relief from years of psychological suffering. Seventeen years later, I’m wondering what that relief may ultimately cost me.