Confessions of a sleeping-pill junkie

I drove off in my rental car, still groggy and blinking rapidly in order to stay awake on the highway. (I gave no thought to the fact that I was, for all intents and purposes, driving under the influence.) I was embarrassed about what had happened on the plane and, for the first time, truly scared. I wanted to see what experiences other people were having, so that night in my hotel room, I Googled “Ambien addiction.” I was shocked to find dozens of chat rooms devoted to the subject. “I have run into things, banged my head on my desk and woken up with bruises and a burn on my stomach,” wrote one woman. “I’ve purchased things online, and the only proof I had was an e-mail receipt,” confessed another. Too shy to participate in the discussion (and unwilling to admit the extent of my own addiction), I just lurked online, deliberately looking for posts from people who seemed way worse off than I was. Whoa, I thought as I read about a woman who supposedly wrecked her car while on Ambien with her two young sons in the backseat — at least I’m not that bad.

By then I was involved in a long-distance relationship with a guy I’d met through an Internet dating site. Whenever our marathon phone conversations ran late on a weeknight, I would take my usual dose of Ambien, thinking I’d hang up when I felt tired. But it didn’t always work out that way: If the Ambien failed to knock me out, I would go into a sort of waking blackout. We would have entire conversations I couldn’t remember the next day. Or it would make me strangely hypersexual: We would have entire sessions of phone sex I couldn’t remember. My boyfriend knew I sometimes took Ambien at the tail end of our conversations, but he didn’t seem to suspect it was fueling my adventurous side. Even if he did, I figured, why would he mind?

Had my boyfriend known I was taking Ambien during his visits, though, I’m fairly sure he would have minded. It was something I did surreptitiously, in the bathroom with the water running so that he wouldn’t hear the click of the pills as I shook them out into my hand. I liked the drowsy feeling they gave me, which took away any anxiety about being intimate with him after a long separation. Once in a while he would get suspicious and say, “OK, you’re being weird — did you take Ambien?” But I’d act indignant and deny it. Then in the morning my boyfriend would say, “Crazy night …” and I wouldn’t remember a thing that we’d done. Had there been over-the-top dirty talk? Boundary-pushing sexual acts? I didn’t know. The details were lost to me forever, and as I lay there racking my brain, I felt terrified by the yawning absence of memory — and the knowledge that that very evening, I would take Ambien again.

No doubt I was exacerbating my behavior by mixing Ambien with alcohol, one of the things the manufacturer expressly tells you not to do. Combined, they can depress the nervous system to a dangerous — even fatal — degree. But I ignored that warning from the start, telling myself I was working hard and “needed” to blow off steam with a couple of drinks at night. I got so used to mixing the two, I didn’t worry about it. Every so often I would wash down a pill with a sip of red wine.

Eventually my boyfriend and I broke up. I missed him terribly and got support from friends, who suggested I try yoga, meditation and baths with candles. I’ve never been one to sit in a bath  — I'm too type A — but one night I was feeling so sad, I decided to try it. I lit some candles, grabbed a glass of red wine and got into the water. It was close to bedtime, so I popped an Ambien, too. Fifteen minutes later, I felt a familiar, melting sensation in my limbs. The lump in my throat dissolved, the sadness and anxiety lifted. I closed my eyes, sank into the tub and allowed myself to feel good for a change. If I could just get through the next few weeks ...

I woke up with a jolt, squinting into daylight; I was freezing, shivering. I had no idea where I was. When I looked down, I saw I was naked and surrounded by low-burning candles. Slowly it dawned on me that I’d been lying in cold water, deeply asleep, for more than six hours. What if I’d drowned? I jumped up, grabbed a towel and blew out the candles. I vowed never to do something so idiotic again. Of course, I made this vow only to myself — I didn’t tell a single friend or family member what had happened. I didn’t even tell my therapist. I figured, I know what I did wrong, so why make people worry?

A week later, still feeling down, I drew another bath, and woke again at 6 A.M. with the candles blazing away. Again I kept my shocking lapse a secret — I just promised myself that this time, I really, really, really wouldn’t do it again. If this logic seems absolutely insane to you, that’s because it is — this is the kind of rationalization that goes on in the mind of an addict. (Months later, when I finally told my therapist the entire story, she asked me if I might have been suicidal. If that was indeed the case, it was a subconscious wish — I wanted to check out from my feelings, not life itself.)

Video   Diary of a sleeping-pill junkie March 17: Laurie Sandell talks about her addiction to the drug Ambien and how she was able to beat it. Today Show Health

But my pill-popping was starting to take an extreme physical and mental toll. I’d always been thin, but now I was down to 98 pounds (I’m 5’3”). I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a dream. And though I’ve long been prone to minor bouts of anxiety, I found myself having full-blown panic attacks. I remember having to leave in the middle of a celebrity-studded dinner Glamour was hosting — my heart was pounding, my palms were sweaty and I couldn’t face the idea of having to make small talk. (Me! A woman who loved to travel and go out alone, just to meet new people.) There is no proven connection between Ambien and anxiety, but I think the large quantities I was taking may have contributed to my fragile state of mind.

Shortly after the night of the Glamour dinner, I received an e-mail from a friend. She’d written, “How are you?” Something about the simplicity of her note — maybe it was the fact that I was so not OK — moved me to act: I found myself crying hysterically at my desk, pounding out a reply. I was terrible, I wrote. I was addicted to Ambien. I’d nearly killed myself accidentally on more than one occasion. My friend wrote back immediately, clearly alarmed. “You need help now,” she wrote. “Have you ever considered in-patient treatment?” I hadn’t — rehab seemed so extreme. In the flurry of e-mails that followed, my friend pointed out that nearly drowning in a bathtub was pretty extreme too. So was almost burning down my house. So was sex I couldn’t remember. “Get help,” she insisted. I was terrified but decided to go. It had become clear to me that there was no way I could get off the drug by myself. On the plane ride there, I took my last two sleeping pills, having been warned that treatment would start immediately upon entering rehab.

In treatment I was surprised to find I wasn’t the only Ambien addict, not by a long shot: Some people mixed it with something more insidious — cocaine, meth or, like me, alcohol — but sleeping pills were a popular crutch. That first week in rehab, I was up for days, staggering through activities. And I can promise you that had I been home — sleepless and miserable — I definitely would have taken Ambien again. Since that wasn’t an option, I attended lots of group therapy, read recovery literature and stuck to the rehab center’s boot camp-like routine. I learned about the concept of cross-addiction — when you give up one dependency, another can take its place — and decided I needed to quit drinking, too.

A week into my stay in rehab, I had my first great night’s sleep without drugs. I remember opening my eyes at 6:15 A.M. and thinking, Wow, I slept for eight hours; I feel incredible. After that night I had no trouble falling asleep. Two months later when I emerged, I put all I’d learned there to the test in my daily life: I went to bed at the same time every night. I did yoga five times a week. I attended 12-step meetings. I took a year off from dating, to give myself a break. I learned to meditate (on the subway!) and pray. Most important, I didn’t take Ambien or drink in any situation, even when, out of the blue, I found myself up one teeth-gritting night with insomnia.

If the choices I made seem extreme, they were — but then again, so was my addiction. (Plenty of women do just fine on sleep aids; see the box at right for some guidelines.) It’s been more than a year now since I’ve put a drink or a pill into my body. The depression and anxiety I used to suffer from are gone. Most nights I sleep beautifully. Sure, I still have occasional bouts of tossing and turning over some work deadline or a disagreement with a friend — but I no longer leap out of bed to “take care of it” with medication. Instead I gently remind myself that when my body is ready, it’ll sleep.

I wish I could tell you I’ve discovered a miracle cure for insomnia — I haven’t. I’ve made so many lifestyle changes over the past year, I couldn’t say which ones have helped me the most. All I know is I am so grateful for my ability to fall asleep and stay asleep, I’m not willing to experiment with the formula. Life is too good: I am single and OK with it. I’m working steadily on a book. I’m excited about the future. And I can dream again.

Laurie Sandell lives in New York City.

More from TODAY Makeover! She was bullied into cutting her hair  Treatment improving burned triplets’ scars | Images Six foods that take a bite out of the flu ‘Loser’: A player’s past choices haunt her   Images: Unlikely animal pals: Pig and tiger, more

MORE FROM HEALTH

Health Section Front

New treatment improving burned triplets’ scars   How to keep your memory sharp   How to handle stress   Expert advice on health, exercise   Outrage grows over Wall Street’s flu vaccines Amid shortage, big NYC firms get swine vaccine 6 foods that take a bite out of the flu   Joy answers your diet questions Chill: A little stress may help you live longer ‘Biggest Loser’s’ Abby: ‘Happiness is a choice’ Health Section Front   Add Health headlines to your news reader: