“This first Friday in June, all I know is I am doing my best. My very damnedest. And it looks like this…”

I felt like this today.

You don’t need to hear about the numbness, excruciating pain, overwhelming anxiety, residual anxiety, paranoia, dizziness  or that I prayed to whomever was listening to just end it. Fucking end the ridiculous, relentless, ad nauseam, non-sensical hours that consume my days. Frankly it’s wearing me down, ripping me to shreds and fucking exhausting fighting invisible monsters.

Yes, I know I’m sick. Yes, I understand tapering off benzos is worse than hell it’s maggot filled shit. Yes, my empathetic, cool therapist talks it out. Reassuring me I am indeed strong enough.

Resilient enough. Tough enough. However. Makes me wonder.

Where in the hell am I going to replenish precious missing elements when the planet is currently fluctuating between earthquakes, tornadoes and drought? In a constant state of chaos, flux. How to replenish when I can’t remember pieces of yesterday. Blurred and hazed memories clog and pollute the brain.

Where? How? Why? Great questions. With zero answers.

I said NO anyway. For shits and giggles, ya’ know.

I don’t feel like shit, I feel eradicated, violated and obliterated.

I go to the hairdresser’s armed with my peppermint and lavender doused washcloth unsure I can make it through the hour-long dye process without flipping the fuck out.

Home. I want, need, have a deep desire to be home.

Grey roots and I have a larger more burning desire to feel pretty, alive, and validated.

Breathe, just breathe. You are safe. You are fine. You’ve been through this before. You are safe, breathe.

Your stylist is your dear friend who knows and loves you well she will take you home if necessary.

FUCK YOU anxiety, fuck off, go fuck up someone else’s day/ existence.

It’s sitting there threatening strangling my neck, throat, cramped shoulders, tingling extremities and limbs. Sitting patient, greedily waiting to pounce.

I apply eyeliner (Armani #02 pencil my fav.) and concealer to brighten my shiteous, difficult existence and in spite.

Tomorrow will come with or without me, isn’t that the cliché? What they say? Whoever the hell they are, Martians maybe. Fuck if I know, can’t be sure.

This first Friday in June, all I know is I am doing my best.

My very damnedest.

And it looks like this… on the outside

“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view… Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.” – Harper Lee

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shhhh, my brain is healing

Benzo withdrawal and the excruciating road to recovery is well worse than the lowest, hottest depths of hell.

Actually if there was a hell, I’d probably choose to go there.

Okay, I understand prescribing a XaniBar for a short time because it is necessary to quash

the extreme anxiety tentacles vice gripping the brain.

I am Manic Depressive (not BiPolar, I despise the modernized, sensationalized term).

I understand that my illness is precarious, and all the uncertainty that is attached.

I understand that Lithium, the ‘gold standard’ drug is my best bet to stay alive.

I take it faithfully, like a daily chore you do not because you like it but simply because it’s part of your routine.

Everyday for the last 13 years I swallow my pride.

I’m not sure when Xanax became the necessity, after a traumatic event, suicidal tendencies, or the full-blown psychotic breakdown.

Does it even matter? I needed it to survive. Trouble is, it wasn’t enough. I needed more, to raise the dose to function, get through the day without doing something drastic.

I admit it, suicide is never far from my broken, tortured, chaotic mind. I am not sure why I’m still here, it’s a crapshoot.

Back to the Benzos.

How could I know back then what Benzo addiction and eventual withdrawal would do to my already damaged mind?

I am an addict. Not by choice, not by my hands.

I have lost a year or more (who’s counting) clawing my way out, chills, hallucinations, tremors, blurred vision, extreme temperature fluctuations, 94 degrees is a scary place to be trapped inside, nausea, headaches, dizziness, muscle aches, pain I have never experienced. Seasick waves, hyper sensitivity.

If you touch me I might punch you out.

I am at the benzo taper half-mark. I’ve missed so much. Trips to Cali, the beach, NY, hell just being present. Some days a trip to the nature trail with the dog is a huge accomplishment.

I am resilient. I am determined. I am not afraid to admit I’m paralyzed by fear. I blame the doctors, God, whomever is in close proximity. There is no blame, really. Bad shit happens.

I fill my arsenal with things that help with my recovery. Essential oils, strict diet, exercise, epsom salt baths, writing, watching movies, my dog. I try hard not to beat myself up. Rest, when necessary.

If your doctor writes a script for Xanax to ‘take the edge off,’ tell him to shove it and go for a walk, seek alternative treatment, try if you can to SPRINT in the other direction. If you can.

My brain is healing. I catch a glimpse of my old, new and improved self. GABA is my new favorite word.

To everyone out there fighting, dealing with impossible challenges, breathe in 7 seconds and then breathe out 10.

Do it, again and again until your skin doesn’t crawl.

Educate yourself.

And if you meet someone who’s a little off-color, be kind.

You don’t know what hoops they’re jumping through.

Benzo Withdrawal LINKS:

http://www.psychmedaware.org/recovery_tips.html

http://benzowithdrawalhelp.com

http://www.benzobuddies.org