I was never addicted to Klonopin. I had only become dependent from as-prescribed use to help me sleep. Once home after the “detox,” the gates of Hell began to open. The pacing I had experienced before the detox only worsened. Instead of a few hours of akathisia a day, it morphed into a daily marathon of 10 to 14 hours of pacing — often starting at 4:30 a.m. and stretching into the evening.
I got to my seat, fastened my seatbelt, and started chanting like the Little Engine That Could, “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.” Then it hit — bam — “Holy hell, I am trapped in this tube for the next eight hours, and more importantly, strapped to this seat, locked into somehow manifesting normal behavior.” I quickly realized that any weird movement or utterance could draw the ire of another passenger or the flight crew. The immediate flush of increased agitation upon these realizations was immeasurable — it could have heated a small home throughout the winter, it was that combustible. This is the constant fulcrum in akathisia: the tenuous balance between the inner raging agitation and managing its outer expression.
Read Up in the Air: Surviving 24 Hours with Akathisia HERE