I am lounging on my couch, a lazy foggy San Fran morning. Listening to old songs, memories waft in and out of my heart. Part of me wants to get up, break the spell and ignore these old feelings. But, instead, I turn towards them, lean into them. And of course, the tears start.
I ache for tender things long ago forgotten; the smell of my babies soft hair, the chocolate-brown of my ex-husbands eyes. I ache with terror from memories I have run from for decades; laying on a work bench in a neighbors garage when I was six. (You can fill in the blanks..) It is all there, the shame, the love, the joy, the fears. It is all there, for it is all my one, wild, precious life.
I have been frozen for so long. Klonopin is not a selective drug. It did not target only my anxiety. It numbed out other emotions. Now, they crowd back in, wanting to be a part of the tapestry of my life. I feel like the prodigal son, returning. Only I am returning to myself.
I am not just recovering from benzo withdrawal. I am recovering from the slings and arrows of life I was not able to cope with so many years ago.
I am finally, healing. In every sense of the word.
I hope you will embrace your memories and feelings in withdrawal. Easy does it. You don’t have to flood yourself. But good to feel the feelings all the way to your marrow. Reclaim yourself.