For those of you jumping into this blog for the first time, I’ve been recounting my recovery timeline. I am now 34 months free and healed of the mental/emotional symptoms, still battling the physical waves.
And the story goes……
I got home from Sierra Tucson thinking that I “should” be healed. I
wanted needed it all to be over. It had been a grueling nightmare of terror, anxiety, pain, emotional and spiritual turmoil. But of course it wasn’t over. In some strange ways, it was just beginning.
The first few months after the cold turkey were indescribably unbearable. BUT, I KNEW it was withdrawal. As frightening as it all was, I kept telling myself, “It’s just withdrawal. It will go away.” But after six months, the weasel voice of worry crept in and whispered,”This is you un-medicated. You’ll live like this the rest of your life.” Not only did I have to battle the symptoms of benzo withdrawal, now I had to battle the hopelessness that settled down around me.
The mornings were by far, the worst time of the day. I’d wake and feel decent for about 30 seconds, then the tingles started. Next someone poured lighter fluid down my spine and tossed a match to it. My teeth hurt. Back of head felt as if it would explode from internal pressure, my bones ached, muscles twitched, pulled, spasmed and burned, bugs crawled under my skin, bees stung me, jaw throbbed, I broke out in blisters, ears rang like screeching tea kettles, my eyes burned and looked like I as a junkie, my hands tingled and had too much energy in them they felt like they would explode, my belly inflated and throbbed, and I was dizzy, weak, woozy, and felt as if I was being pulled down. I had a constant sense of motion. And a few other things…
Hard to wake up day after day to that severe degree of illness. Not knowing when (if ever) it would end. At 6-12 months off I still had panic, the death obsession, strange fears, intense moments of terror that would wash over me, visual disturbances that were very creepy and auditory problems. I did drive on the freeway some, but the DR was scary. It made my depth perception very challenging. My life was very small. I traveled only a few blocks. Most days, walking more than half a block was too difficult. I was too dizzy and had too much head pressure. I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to give up. It was like trying to swim through wet cement.
What helped the most was TOTAL acceptance and TOTAL surrender. Those are not actions, they are not something that you DO, they are STATES. They are something that you FEEL. I also gardened. As if my life depended on it. (It did.) By now, if you’ve read a few of my posts, you know that my front yard garden became a haven for the neighborhood. I put out dog biscuits and water for the pooches being walked. I hung a tin framed chalk board and wrote inspirational statements. Soon people from all over were stopping by. I created an amazing, loving community. They all helped me hold on. I love them all so much.
In some ways, the journey of recovery TRULY began in those months. For that was when my withdrawal became REAL. (Trust me, it had been horrific all along, but now, the reality of it hit home.) I could no longer live in the fantasy or denial that I was going to be healed soon, or that I would escape the financial ruin withdrawal can create. I had to let go and let God. I was not in control. Clearly.
6-12 months out was the hardest for me in many ways. The severe cold turkey symptoms were gone, but in their place rushed in the pain, the ongoing head pressure, etc… and it stayed and stayed and stayed. (I woke at 4 a.m. this morning due to head pressure and body pain. It hasn’t left completely.) 6-12 months off was when I knew I had to put on my big girl panties and face life on life’s terms. There was no cocktail, no pill, no man, no money, no nothing, that was going to save me. There was just me and God, and ME was pretty fucked up, so basically, there was God. :) But being in withdrawal, God was a scary notion to me. So I FELT alone, even though I WAS NOT alone. I didn’t get over my fear of God and eternity until around 18+ months off.
By the 6-12 month mark, my family and friends were burnt out. Everyone was tired of benzo withdrawal. I needed a lot of support still, but people were too worn out to give me what I needed. It made the months very dark indeed. But I got up every day and faced whatever I had to face. I felt whatever scary thing I had to feel. I pushed myself out the door and into life. I retreated to my couch or bed when it got unbearable. I cried. I cursed. I laughed. I screamed. I kicked. I danced. I prayed. …. I just held on. Day after day after day after day after day.
That’s how you do it. That’s how you get to the other side and recover. You hold on. You don’t kill yourself. You don’t reinstate or add other meds (or booze) that hit GABA receptors. You swim through the cement as best as you can.
This is my 5th Mothers Day in recovery from benzo withdrawal. I am hopeful that next Mother’s Day I wont have even ONE symptom left. I guess I’ll find out next year. :)
Enjoy this beautiful day.