Prescription Drug Withdrawal

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My dear friend, mentor, and teacher, John Gallagher, died this June. The news was shocking on many levels. He was young, vibrant, and full of life—and his death was completely unexpected. What made it even more devastating was that he took his own life. None of us saw it coming.

This article is my personal reflection, an attempt to come to terms with the events that led up to John’s death. It’s also my way of shedding light on an issue that I now see with far more clarity: the very real, and often overlooked, dangers of prescription drug withdrawal.

This isn’t a crusade against medication. Many prescriptions save lives, offer stability, and help people thrive. But when it comes time to stop—or when the decision is made abruptly—the brain doesn’t always transition gently. And too few people, including medical providers, are adequately prepared for the fallout.

This also isn’t about blame or shame. If you’ve experienced suicidal thoughts—or lost someone to them—you’re not alone. The pain is real, and it's not your fault. We need more compassion, not silence. More truth, not stigma.

When Kimberly, John’s partner, called to tell me he had died, I was standing above Inch Beach on the coast of the Dingle Way in Ireland. I knew bad news was coming, but I couldn’t have imagined just how bad the news would be.

Knowing she had more calls to make, I offered to notify some of the people I was close to—those we wanted to hear the news directly before it spread more widely.

As I made those calls, I was stunned. Every single person I spoke to had a story about someone who had either died, attempted suicide, or experienced severe suicidal thoughts while withdrawing from certain prescription drugs. 

Every. Single. One.

The Brain on Medication: Balance Rewired

Medications that affect the brain—like antidepressants, benzodiazepines, sleeping pills, and antipsychotics—don’t simply “correct” chemical imbalances. Over time, they reshape the brain’s internal systems, creating a new kind of balance that relies on the drug’s continued presence.

Take SSRIs (selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors), for example. These medications increase the availability of serotonin in the brain. But as the drug raises serotonin levels, the brain adapts—dialing back its own receptor sensitivity and adjusting feedback loops to maintain equilibrium. A similar process happens with GABA-related drugs like Ambien or Xanax. These medications enhance the brain’s calming signals, but over time, the brain may reduce its own GABA production or receptor responsiveness in response.

It’s a bit like building a house of cards around a support beam that wasn’t originally part of the structure. At first, the new support helps stabilize things. But if you pull that beam out too quickly—or without reinforcing the rest of the structure first—the whole thing can collapse.

This process of neuroadaptation is part of what makes these medications work. But it’s also why stopping them abruptly, or even tapering too quickly, can throw the nervous system into chaos.

When Withdrawal Is Minimized: The Problem with “Discontinuation Syndrome”

When people stop these medications—especially without a careful, gradual taper—they may experience what’s technically called “discontinuation syndrome.” But that term can feel like a profound understatement. It sounds mild, clinical, almost bureaucratic—like something that belongs on a discharge form, not in a life-threatening health crisis.

What many people actually experience is withdrawal—and it can feel like a descent into madness.

Symptoms can include:

• Severe anxiety or panic
• Crippling insomnia
• Depression or emotional numbness
• Suicidal thoughts or compulsions
• Physical symptoms like tremors, dizziness, nausea, or “brain zaps”

This isn’t just the return of the original symptoms. In many cases, it’s something entirely different—worse, and unfamiliar. People often describe feeling unrecognizable to themselves. Emotionally volatile one moment, frighteningly numb the next. Desperate and unsafe in ways they never were before.

These aren’t rare side effects. They're part of a growing, documented pattern—and yet too often, they’re dismissed, misdiagnosed, or minimized.

Why Do People Stop Taking Medications?

Sometimes it’s personal: side effects, a desire to try alternatives, or the hope that they’ve “outgrown” the need. Other times, it’s systemic: a provider retires, insurance changes, or someone is cut off cold turkey in a hospital or jail.

And often, people don’t even know they need to taper slowly. They trust their doctor. Or their doctor doesn’t know either—many prescribers aren’t trained in safe withdrawal protocols and may underestimate how long tapering takes (often many months, even years).

A System Not Built for This

Even in 2025, the infrastructure for safe withdrawal is barely in place. Mental health care is often fragmented. There’s no standard for tapering off most psychiatric medications. Many doctors still believe withdrawal should last only a few weeks, when in reality, symptoms can stretch on for months.

Worse, withdrawal symptoms are often mistaken for relapse. This can lead to people being re-medicated, institutionalized, or shamed—when what they really need is support and time for their nervous system to recalibrate.

The Unspoken Link: Suicide After Withdrawal

We don’t talk enough about how withdrawal can drive suicidal ideation—even in people who never had those thoughts before. The loss of sleep, the crushing despair, the physical symptoms that won’t relent—it can all accumulate into a dangerous state of mind.

Studies and anecdotal reports point to this connection. But it's underreported, understudied, and often misunderstood. When someone dies by suicide during or after stopping medication, it’s rarely recognized as a possible consequence of withdrawal. But it should be.

What We Can—and Must—Do Better

This isn’t about blaming doctors or demonizing medications. It’s about acknowledging a critical blind spot in our system—and choosing to face it. Many people, including well-meaning providers, were never taught how deeply withdrawal can impact the brain. But now that we know better, we have a responsibility to do better. We can’t undo what’s already happened, but we can build a safer, more supportive path forward.

Here’s what that looks like:

• Educate providers
  All prescribers should be trained in the realities of withdrawal and the importance of tapering slowly—sometimes over months or even years, not just weeks. This is foundational to informed consent.
• Support patients holistically
  People deserve options beyond meds alone. That includes access to counseling, trauma care, sleep support, herbal medicine, movement therapies, and community connection.
• Listen and believe
  When someone says they feel worse after stopping a medication, we must take that seriously—even if their symptoms don’t fit textbook definitions. Validation can be life-saving.
• Normalize staying on meds if they help
  There’s no shame in needing ongoing support. Healing isn’t a race to get off medication—it’s about stability, functionality, and quality of life.
• Create withdrawal-aware crisis care
  Emergency rooms, suicide hotlines, and mental health teams should be trained to ask one essential question: “Have you recently stopped or changed any medications?” It could change the entire course of intervention.
• For herbalists and holistic practitioners
  If a client expresses interest in stopping psychiatric or nervous system–affecting medications, it's essential that we pause and gently impress upon them the seriousness of this process. Withdrawal can be intense, even dangerous, and it’s not something to approach casually. We must encourage slow, medically supervised tapers—and recognize that our role is not to guide someone off medication, but to offer support alongside their healthcare team. Herbs can be wonderful allies in this journey, but only when paired with informed, collaborative care.

To Anyone Going Through This

If you’re reading this in the midst of withdrawal, please hear this:

You are not crazy. You are not weak. Your suffering is real, and it’s not your fault.

Withdrawal can make it feel like there’s no way out. But this state is temporary, even if it feels endless right now. The brain and body can heal—but they need time, and you deserve support.

You do not have to do this alone. There are others who’ve been through this and come out the other side. Look for slow taper guides. Find a prescriber who understands. Lean into whatever stabilizes you—routine, gentle movement, herbs, friends, even reintroducing medication if needed.

In Honor of John

Since John’s sudden death, I’ve often found myself wondering how to truly honor him and the life he led. John gave so much to the herbal community—his passion, his creativity, his generosity, and his unwavering commitment to helping others learn about herbs.

One way I can honor him now is by speaking openly about this issue.

Let’s talk more about prescription drug withdrawal. Let’s bring it out of the shadows. Let’s stop treating it like a footnote and start treating it as the serious, sometimes life-threatening experience that it is.

Because people’s lives depend on it.
Because John’s life mattered.
And because silence helps no one.