This weekend has been challenging.

I intended to write about my experience in hell detox, but it’s just too painful.
Before I started this blog, I had pretty much filed the whole experience away under “T for TRAUMA.” Pulling it to the surface has set off all sorts of triggers for me. I know I need to work through it. I choose to work it through. I want to forgive the unsympathetic and ignorant hospital staff. As wise people say, “If they knew better, they’d do better…”

More importantly, I want to forgive myself for voluntarily subjecting myself to such medieval medical practices.

Maybe if I could just take an extra Xanax to get over this hump?
Oh, wait. I flushed every single last one. Deep sigh. Yeah! What about that? It’s been over one week since I’ve held my Valium dose steady after that little hiccup. Even though it’s been a week, I still have this feeling of what I call “Anxious Chest.” It’s the same feeling I would get (multiple times a day) in between pills (back when I would take a million a day without hesitation). It feels so familiar.
I hate it. I feel this constriction in my sternum area like there’s an elephant sitting on my chest. It’s hard to catch my breath.

I’m not exactly clear about the significance of my third chakra, but I know it can’t be good to suffocate it! So, when I finally crossed over to Valium and stopped taking Xanax regularly, this Third Chakra Constipation really decreased. It’s been amazing at times! But I had to go and kill the good feeling by up-dosing. Boy, am I now paying for it.

My husband tries to talk to me, but I can’t focus on what he’s saying. If he says more than 5 words, I’m lost. He tries to hug me, I cringe. He reminds me it’s benzo withdrawal, and that it will pass with time. I tell him he just doesn’t get it, maybe I am bipolar after all. So there! Maybe I do need medication after all. Take that! When he tells me to go read my blog and the blogs of other bloggers going through what I am, well, that’s the last straw. I don’t feel like being rational now. I hurt. I am shaking and agitated. I do feel sorry for him. This need to isolate is so not his fault. But how can he believe me, even when I tell him? He’s so good to me. I wish he knew just how much I really do want to hold him. It’s just that I can’t. My body is tense and unforgiving. “Honey, please hang in there with me. I love you. I’ll be better soon…”

My body’s so sensitive now that I finally realized my one measly cup of coffee in the morning (well, noonish — my morning) is causing my heart to race. Oh, man. I remember the day I’d smoke two packs of reds and drink coffee all day and night. I was never so easily affected by stimulants. Or wait, maybe I was? I was taking a lot of medication then. The Klonopin and Xanax must have dampened my jitters. I do remember laughing under my breath at those people who thought changing their diet and cutting out caffeine really mattered. “You’re just overreacting,” I’d whisper, rolling my eyes. What wimps!

Today, however, I see I was wrong. Here and now, I officially offer an open apology to all falsely judged wimps. Again, with so many drugs in my system, how could I possible feel the affects of a little caffeine?

My mom just called. She was talking to me, and, as hard as I tried, I could not complete my sentences. I feel impaired. The day I took my first Xanax was certainly the beginning of a very long and painful journey.

Oh, if just one person reads this post decides not to start taking benzos. Just one person! This person could be spared daily suffering, daily withdraws symptoms, and a consistent degradation of his or her psychological, physical, and spiritual wellness.

I am so not exaggerating.

Friday afternoon, I had to go to Urgent Care because it takes 8 weeks to book a regular appointment with my family physician. I had this nagging earache for about 5 days. I resisted going. I seriously resisted going.

First, I hate medical environments, medical issues. They’ve traditionally been huge triggers for my panic attacks.
Second, I have no extra just-in-case pills.
Third, I had to go alone. My husband offered to go with me, but all I needed was to feel guilty for making him miss work on top of feeling weak for needing someone to go with me.

I went, and I was the only person in the office, well for the first 3 minutes. Suddenly, there was an army of people lining up behind me to check in. I felt the panic wave surge through me. Here it comes… I wanted to sit down immediately, but the receptionist must have just taken up “mindfulness training.” She almost moved in reverse. I could feel all eyes on me. My hands were trembling and sweaty. It was nearly impossible to sign the credit card receipt.

Finally, I could sit down. I sprayed some Bach’s Rescue Remedy on my tongue.
Now, people are sure to focus on me panicking over here.

Not a single person noticed.

Someone came in with a bloody, smashed hand, and the little girl next to me kept telling her mother she was going to puke. Talk about triggers! They were a dime a dozen!

I tried so hard to figure out what were the “What ifs” racing around my head. What was fueling the panic? These days, I try to embrace such lovely experiences as opportunities to understand the method to my madness, so to speak. Bottom line: I just kept thinking, “What if I make a scene?” If I had been with my husband, I would have felt less anxious. He’s not my safe person (I am my safe person), but what good am I as a safe person if I can’t speak because I’m incapacitated?

Honestly, the panic attacks are worse, but, hey, I don’t have those heavy duty drugs on board anymore either. Also, I’m doing stuff on my own sometimes. I clearly remember not being able to go to the doctor in any case, with or without meds or a “safe person.”

Yes, on second thought, I have come far!

Now, if these withdrawals would just stabilize, I could make my next cut. Of course, with each decrease in med there is a guaranteed increase in symptoms. I wish I could just remember it always ends. It always gets better.

Oh, by the way, my uber-painful earache? I had a pimple in my ear. I went through such drama and self-reflection for a common zit.

The irony amuses me.