Ash again, though I know you know that. Feels weird to introduce myself but feels weird not to.


Back to the “amazing” story of my screwed up life.

So I thought it was just easier to prescribe myself the Xanax. I’d been taking it for years, I knew what I needed, and I was a doctor for god’s sake. I knew I could trust myself. I wasn’t my dad.

Of course, there is a reason it is frowned upon for physicians to prescribe themselves their own medications. Especially if it was a controlled substance like Xanax. But I was too busy to worry my pretty little head about those rules, and too busy to notice when I started taking too much.

Yeah, I went from one pill a day to have another if I needed it. To relax. I needed to relax, so I could help my patients better. That was all. No one wanted a stressed and overworked doctor.

Then I started taking two regularly, and I couldn’t function on just one. No biggie. I just prescribed more for myself. There wasn’t anyone to tell me it wasn’t a good idea. No one to remind me how addictive this medication could be. So I just chugged along as always, but now I was taking quite a large amount daily.

Life was going good, and I was successful in all ways. Lisa and I were happy, and I didn’t completely hate her dogs. She knew at this point that I was on medication, but not that I was self-prescribing.

I convinced myself it was fine, but I never did try and share that with her. That ’s a good warning sign guys. It’s not okay if you’re not willing to be open about it.

It was when I was taking three or four doses a day that things really got crazy.