In the cold, dark, lonely hours of the night, I used to call out to Jesus. “Heal me! Let me touch the hem of your robe! You don’t even have to say anything to me, or even look at me. I won’t bother you but for a brief second. Please!” Sometimes, I would pretend that my linen bedsheet was His precious garment. I’d stroke the linen longingly, praying for a miracle. I was exhausted from the daily nightmare of symptoms that plagued my body, mind and soul in benzo withdrawal.
I would close my eyes and think of the pool of Bethesda. It was near the Sheep Gate in Jerusalem. The disabled hoped for healing in the waters. Jesus was on His way to a religious festival when He stopped by the pool. He saw a crippled man who had been unable to walk for 38 years. Jesus asked him, “Do you want to get well?” The man replied that indeed he did, however, there wasn’t anyone to help him into the pool when the water was stirred up. Someone always got there before him. Jesus said eight words to him: “Get up, pick up your mat, and walk.” The man did! At night, when I felt I couldn’t go on suffering another minute, I’d imagined myself resting on a mat by Bethesda, waiting for Jesus. “Don’t pass me by Lord!” I’d call out to Him. To be honest, I felt incredible jealousy rush through my veins when I thought of the man Jesus healed. Why wasn’t Jesus healing me with a few words? I often felt abandoned, unseen and unknown. It was as if God had forgotten all about me.
The words in Isaiah reminded me: “Can a mother forget her nursing child? Can she feel no love for the child she has borne? But even if that were possible, I would not forget you! See, I have written your name on the palms of my hands.” If Jesus hadn’t forgotten me, what was going on? Why was I suffering?
Suffering is part of humanity. Jesus even told us that. “You will have suffering in this world.” (John 16:33) My suffering was simply part of my human existence. To think that I was special and exempt from suffering was rather foolish and pompous. Instead of spending my energy daydreaming about the pool at Bethesda, waiting for Jesus to work a miracle in my life, I could change my perspective of my situation. That is what I did. Instead of seeing myself as a victim of the medical and pharmaceutical community, I viewed my situation as a way for God to work His good in my life. Romans 8:28 promises: “And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.” Could it be that benzo withdrawal was part of God’s plan for me? Could He use it to better me? Of course, He could (and He did)!
Once I accepted that time was the only thing that would heal my brain, and God *probably* wasn’t going to miraculously heal me in the blink of an eye, I stopped suffering as much. I was able to take the withdrawal symptoms more in stride. I trusted that God loved me more than a mother loves her newborn baby. I reminded myself that God wrote my name on His palms. Not because He is forgetful, but because He holds me with His gracious and loving hands. He’s got my entire life, from the time I was seed within my father and mother, to conception, to life, to death, to eternity. God knows who I am, for He created me!
Did I wait beside Bethesda in vain in my dreams? Of course not. It’s true that God didn’t heal me quickly. (But then again, neither did He heal the lame man “quickly” for he was lame for 38 years!) God used my suffering to draw me closer to Him. He used the time it took my brain to heal to polish me into a much better human being. Had Jesus allowed me to simply reach out and touch His hem, or had He spoke eight simple words like He did at Bethesda, I’m most certain I would not have become who I am today. I would have remained lost in my pride, ego and fears. I read John chapter 9, the account of why a blind man that Jesus encountered was born that way. It wasn’t due to sin or punishment. He was born blind so that people could see God’s glorious works through him. Jesus spit on the dirt, made a paste, and wiped the mud on the man’s eyes. His vision was restored! My benzo withdrawal, with all of its nightmare suffering, was so that God could make His work manifest through my experience. If I only remained focused on my suffering, I wasn’t focusing on God’s will and plan for me. When I shifted my focus over to God and gave my life to Him, I felt so much better.
Acceptance of my withdrawal crisis allowed me to lean into God’s divine plan for my life. I was able to “pick up my mat” and go. God did heal me, in His own way and in His own time. For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. (Jeremiah 29:11) Indeed, I am in God’s hands. I trust that God is using my benzo withdrawal suffering to bring others closer to Him. I am grateful for that. I am grateful for all of my blessings, and one is benzo withdrawal. Yup, you read it right. It was a blessing. I can see that now.
I talk to Jesus the way you did but instead of getting better I have such intense nerve pain and am now housebound and barely walk with 24/7muscle spasms all over but especially in feet .You can look back now and see he was always near but you didn’t feel that in the middle of this horrendous unbelievable suffering I really hope Jesus will give some relief soon even just stop symptoms getting worse and worse God Bless and Thank you for you blog over the years You are a very good and kind person Carmel
I got worse too! I stopped praying for specific things and prayed for strength to get through the days. You are correct that I didn’t feel that the withdrawal was a blessing when I was in the middle of it. Didn’t even feel that way towards the ending of the mental horrors. But once free and clear of that crap, I could look back and see how withdrawal had profoundly changed me for the better. My comment in the post wasn’t to admonish anyone in withdrawal to jump suddenly for joy for their suffering. It was meant to give hope. At the end of this nightmare is something amazing. If you keep an open heart and don’t allow hate and regret to tarnish you when this is over, you’ll feel so much love and gratitude. You too may view this dark time in your life as a blessing.
AMEN Jennifer!! Amen. N yes these sxs do lessen but in the midst its hard 2 c..as i still have..but less..Time is the only reward..eating right helps it along. GOD is all 2 me n more thru this. Thank u n prayers 4 Carmel n all:)
Jenn, Thank you for your post. I sent you two or three emails in the past week asking how I can access the free d/l of the coping tips you used in recovery. The way it’s set up on your website it does not work. All it does is accept my email address, and then nothing happens. I see you are replying to posts on your blog, so I am a bit confused as to why my emails are not being answered. Could you please contact me, and tell me how I can access the coping tips info. Thanks in advance for any help you can offer. Maureen.
Hello, I just emailed you through the email address here on the comment page. I am so sorry that you have been emailing with no response. I haven’t been getting the emails. I answer everyone who reaches out. I was unaware that the free report page wasn’t working. I’ll look into the links and see what has happened to them. I emailed you a report from my desk. Hope you get it and that it helps! Thanks for letting me know there is a problem.
I just checked all of the links and the report is going out properly now. Please check your spam box to make sure that it wasn’t sent there. That happens sometimes. Thanks again. Jennifer
Jenn, Thank you so much for replying. I received the info in my email a few minutes ago. I never saw the email address being used to contact you, as I just filled out the contact form directly from your website under the “Contact” section and sent the emails from there. The form where you have to add numbers, and answer that question before sending. Perhaps there was something wrong there as well? Anyway, thanks again for sending that on to me. I will read it now. Very appreciated. Maureen.