Ativan Quotes

I have what’s called an addiction to Ativan, and Xanax. Which is preferable to admitting to an aversion to planes.

Thank you for the taco casserole. It worked even better than my stool softeners. Thoughts and prayers are great, but Ativan and pot are better. Thank you for the flowers. I hope they die before I do. All your phone messages about how not knowing exactly what’s going on with me has stressed you out really helped me put things in perspective. Xanax is white, Zofran is blue, steroids make me feel like throttling you.

So part of you wanted to be kissing him and another part of you felt the intense worry that comes with being intimate with someone." "Right, but I wasn't worried about intimacy. I was worried about microbial exchange." "Well, your worry expressed itself as being about microbial exchange." I just groaned at the therapy bullshit. She asked me if I'd taken my Ativan. I told her I hadn't brought it to Davis's house. And then she asked me if I was taking the Lexapro every day, and I was, like, not every day. The conversation devolved into her telling me that medication only works if you take it, and that I had to treat my health problem with consistency and care, and me trying to explain that there is something intensely weird and upsetting about the notion that you can only become yourself by ingesting a medication that changes your self.

I crammed a handful of Ativan into his mouth and flooded that orifice with forty ounces of Coca-Cola from the cup holder. 'This is going to take effect immediately,' I lied. 'Breathe, Mr. Sakha, breathe. Would you like me to sing a calming Western song? My name is Luka', I sang. 'I live on the second floor.

She wasn't sure why she hated it so much. Maybe she hated the apartments they lived in. Or the way the laugh track would always sound after they said something that usually wasn't funny or real at all. She wondered how all the patients could watch the Friends without feeling completely betrayed and deeply sad and even more alone than they must already feel, as psych patients. If she took enough Ativan or Klonopin or Thorazine she could probably also watch Friends and tell herself that she liked it.

Zastenjala sam zbog toga terapijskog sranja. Pitala me uzimam li Ativan. Rekla sam joj da ga nisam ponijela sa sobom kod Davisa. A onda me pitala uzimam li Cipralex svaki dan, kako smo se dogovorile, a ja sam rekla ono, ne baš svaki dan. Razgovor je krenuo u smjeru da lijekovi djeluju samo ako ih uzimaš i da moram svom zdravstvenom problemu pristupiti s dosljednošću i brigom. Pokušala sam joj objasniti da postoji nešto silno čudno i uznemirujuće u ideji da možeš postati ti samo ako uzimaš lijekove koji te mijenjaju.

AS SUMMER DWINDLED, my sleep got thin and empty, like a room with white walls and tepid air-conditioning. If I dreamt at all, I dreamt that I was lying in bed. It felt superficial, even boring at times. I’d take a few extra Risperdal and Ambien when I got antsy, thinking about my past. I tried not to think of Trevor. I deleted Reva’s messages without listening to them. I watched Air Force One twelve times on mute. I tried to put everything out of my mind. Valium helped. Ativan helped. Chewable melatonin and Benadryl and NyQuil and Lunesta and temazepam helped.

I’m taking some time off. I’m going to sleep for a year.” “And how are you going to do that?” I pulled a vial of Ativan out from between the sofa cushions, unscrewed the cap, and fished out two pills. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Reva squirming. I chewed the pills up—simply to horrify her—swallowed and gagged, then stuffed the vial back between the cushions and lay down and closed my eyes. “Well, I’m glad you have a life plan. But to be honest,” Reva began, “I’m concerned about your health. You’ve lost at least three pounds since you started taking all those medications.” Reva was expert at guessing the weights of things and people. “What about the long term? Are you going to take pills for the rest of your life?” “I’m not thinking that far ahead. And I might not live that long.” I yawned.

AS SUMMER DWINDLED, my sleep got thin and empty, like a room with white walls and tepid air-conditioning. If I dreamt at all, I dreamt that I was lying in bed. It felt superficial, even boring at times. I’d take a few extra Risperdal and Ambien when I got antsy, thinking about my past. I tried not to think of Trevor. I deleted Reva’s messages without listening to them. I watched Air Force One twelve times on mute. I tried to put everything out of my mind. Valium helped. Ativan helped. Chewable melatonin and Benadryl and NyQuil and Lunesta and temazepam helped. My visit to Dr. Tuttle in September was also banal. Besides the sweltering heat I suffered walking from my building into a cab, and from the cab into Dr. Tuttle’s office, I felt almost nothing. I wasn’t anxious or despondent or resentful or terrified. “How are you feeling?” I stood and pondered the question for five minutes while Dr. Tuttle went around her office turning on an arsenal of fans, all the same make and model, two installed on the radiator under the windows, one on her desk, and two in the corners of the room on the floor. She was impressively nimble. She no longer wore the neck brace. “I’m fine, I think,” I yelled blandly over the roaring hum.

checked the downstairs bathroom and the hallway closet, ducking around corners and pointing that gun like Clint Eastwood, if Clint Eastwood was doing house rounds in nothing but a towel. But there was simply nothing to shoot. The doors were locked; the windows were securely latched; nobody was hiding in the shadows, but his heart continued to slap against his diaphragm at a million miles an hour. There was no chance of getting to sleep now, at least not without soothing his nerves first. The Ativan wouldn’t kick in for at least another ten minutes, and he had been too sore to drive into town for more

Ativan helps you forget your anxiety but takes with it everything else you wanted to remember.

Every little thing was not going to be all right but sometimes in life, you just needed to pretend. Otherwise, you’d swallow the whole bottle of Ativan and be done with it.

Carson wakes up every day around noon, brushes her teeth, then pours Kahlua into her coffee or drinks a screwdriver. For lunch, she smokes some weed or eats a magic cookie. Before work, she drinks three shots of espresso and snorts some cocaine. Sometimes that’s too much, she can feel her heartbeat in her throat and her temples and her ass cheeks, so she tempers the high with a Valium. Some days—most days—she hits productive equilibrium. She comes to work and knocks down the crowd like she’s John Dillinger with a machine gun. During work, there’s more espresso and a bump or two in the ladies’ room. After work, the serious drinking begins—a couple of cocktails first, shots, then beer. Then weed and an Ativan or a Valium to fall asleep.

Benzodiazepine medicines such as Ativan, Xanax, and Valium can reduce anxiety and help people fall asleep. They are dangerously addictive, however, and can lead to early dementia when used for as little as several months.

immediately upon her return—alcohol, Oxycontin, and Ativan sprang immediately to mind—but not panic.

-M.N. Kentucky

Here is the most eye-opening revelation of all: Ativan proved beneficial repeatedly during my ordeal.

So, we would argue that he doesn’t have insight. He continues not to follow through with his medications, although he is taking Ativan and is clearly calmer than he was earlier. He is not following through and is in need of a court order. Thank you.

She told me that Ken was taking Seroquel, Restoril and Ativan. When I asked how he hurt himself, she told me that he tried to walk through a wall.