One Last Miracle

Featured ~ morganshhi ~ Leave a comment
The last day of the year 2018 has been without a doubt the most terrifying and stressful, yet hopeful day of my life.

Earlier this morning I sat on my knees looking up at my popcorn ceiling asking God for a miracle or at least the strength to keep me here.

Later in the afternoon, I spoke with my father and he has officially given his full support to me in regaining my health by tapering off these psychotropic drugs.

This is something that up until a few months ago, I thought was impossible.

Knowing our family’s dynamics and the hell of the last 5 years, I believed I would be going this alone.

I began my tapering journey in 2016 without informing anyone. However, I hit the brick wall recently and knew I could no longer function without someones help.

I printed out and entire folder of material, along with a lengthly email with YouTube links explaining everything I will be going through. I want him to be completely aware before agreeing to help me.

He read everything and the first thing he said was, “This is not your fault.”

When I heard that I crumbled onto the floor and sobbed.

This is something I know I will never hear from my mother, my doctor, my psychiatrist, my therapist and the medical community.

The harm and damage done to my body and brain due to these psychotropic meds has been significant over the last 20 years and just to hear those very simple words mean a lot to me right now.

Like most people, I did not put myself here. We were led down this reality tunnel where we were told we had mental illnesses and physical illnesses and poly-drugged until we were forced dependent and made physically and mentally disabled.

Although I did not put myself here, I will be the one to get myself out.

I don’t know the journey that is ahead of me. I will be alone for the most part but knowing that I do have this small support (amidst everything else going on) is something of a miracle.

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Waste of Time

~ morganshhi

Today is day 28 of my benzodiazepine taper.

I spent the entire day in bed staring at the wall again. I feel like if it was just physical withdrawal I could get through this. It is the mental symptoms that are the hardest.

I lose 7 more pounds and there are bruises everywhere. My jaw hurts and has moved to a point where it no longer is aligned with my upper jaw.

I wrote letters to God today and tried to get my affairs in order. I don’t know if I will make it and I at least want my wishes to be written down.

This is stuff no one tells you you will have to go through when you start taking a benzodiazepine. No one tells you that you will be rendered disabled if you take it for longer than 2 weeks. No one tells you after 19 years on this drug daily, prescribed by my doctor that I would be writing letters of intentions to my mother and father.

They stood in the hallway today weeping. 75 year old adults. My parents, weeping like babies. So upset at what this drug did to their daughter and subsequently to them.

They want me to “hold on” and “you still have 30-40 years left of life.”

They don’t get it.

I have been in misery and agony since the moment they put me on these drugs. It has been 20 years full of pain.

I just want God to have mercy and take me home.

I found old journal entries as I was writing my goodbyes.

This was before I found out benzodiazepines caused iatrogenic brain injury and that they in fact were causing my issues, not any underlining mental illness.

Looking back, I went to therapist to therapist and not a single one figured out it was the benzodiazepine that cause phobias and once you hit tolerance the drug becomes paradoxical. Phobia after phobia.

I could not get safe. I could not return back to a time where I felt safe anywhere including in my own body. I miss those days of what it felt like to be safe inside of yourself. To be able to walk and be in a car.

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I wish I could go back and save myself years of anguish. Scream at myself, “WAKE UP!!! IT IS THE BENZO! THE BENZO HAS BEEN DOING THIS. IT IS NOT YOU.”

Maybe that me is still in me trying to say stop writing goodbye letters, this is the benzo, this isn’t you.

Today I was not able to bathe, or eat, or brush my teeth. Or open the curtains. Or even cry.

My cat stayed with me even though she could have spent the day in the sun, the last of the summer sun, having fun outside, she chose to stay by my side in this cold, dark, tiny room of hell.

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I wish I could feel love for her. I don’t want her to see me like this. I don’t want her to see me at all. She shouldn’t have to. Not my cat. Not my parents. No one.

Everything Changes

~ morganshhi ~ Leave a comment

And everything remains the same. At least while going through this it feels like that.

The leaves are beginning to change.

I know Fall is coming. Another season is arriving. It is my favorite time of year typically. But since entering Benzo Tolerance it doesn’t feel the same. Nothing feels the same.

My sister and I used to be so excited when Fall arrived. The birds sound differently. The air smells different. We would go back and forth about Halloween costume ideas. And even as adults we would book haunted house tours and go to movie events and Halloween concerts.

It was our holiday. Just for us.

I can’t remember the last Halloween we spent together before I developed benzo-induced phobias. Maybe 2011?

This time now reminds me of again how much I have lost. I miss my sister. Every day I miss her. She doesn’t understand what is happening to me or why I have been sick for 20 years. She doesn’t understand benzo withdrawal or iatrogenic brain injuries.

I wish I could make her understand. I just really miss her. Every year I wished she would show up for Halloween. We could watch the Worst Witch and eat our weight in Reese’s Buttercups.

She’s buying her first home now and I’m sad because it’s another thing I have to miss.

I missed her wedding and getting married

I missed her buying her first home

I know I won’t be healed by the time she starts having kids so I will miss that too.

I am so exhausted with missing things.

Because of psych meds I missed so much.

Prom

High school graduation

Living on my own

Dating

Engagements

Sisters Weddings

Best friends Funeral

Best friends wedding

Best friends graduation

Anniversaries

HS Reunion

Christmas 2018

Thanksgiving 2018

So many birthdays I’ve lost count

Still stuck in this room. Still mourning all this loss. Still have years of brain damage to repair. Years to go. And I know there are hundreds and thousands of people suffering just like me, their bodies and brains injured in the same exact way by these drugs. I know I’m not alone but I feel that way.

I know I’m going to have to lose the person I was in order to make it out of this.

I’ve already lost the person I was. And strangely, I’m okay with this. I have no idea what I’m becoming but I know walking through this I’ve become stronger. I would rather be this person now than the old me. The old me would have continued to keep swallowing these drugs, continued getting sicker and sicker and continued to believe they were mentally ill when they weren’t.

I never want to be that me again.

It has begun…

~ morganshhi ~ Leave a comment

I began tapering my Klonopin. It’s difficult to write and form sentences. I knew this was going to happen and expected it. Also words are hard to think of and speak. Again, I knew this was going to happen. I don’t know if I was prepared enough. I don’t think anything can really prepare you for some things. I knew I had to jump in and get this started. Now, I at least feel like I’m doing something and heading in some direction. It is better than being stuck in that place where you’re sick but can’t do anything about it. At least now I’m doing something about it.

It’s going to be a long journey. I get it. I get it.

I don’t know if I accept it, but I “get it.”

I was thinking of deleting old posts. The posts where I’m horribly hopeless and suicidal but have decided not to.

This has all been a part of this. The pits of hopelessness and despair. They happened. I’m sure they will happen even as I continue to walk this road. I’m not okay with it but I’m learning to go with certain things.

Today my sister bought a house. She bought a very big house and drives a very expensive car. She got to marry and live life.

I didn’t get to live life.

I’m angry at this. I see what she has and it’s not fair. None of this is fair.

I wish I could be with her picking out stuff for her new home. These drugs robbed so much of my life. 20 years gone. I never even got to watch her get married.

I didn’t get to experience much in life. It’s not something I think I can even put into writing.

I’m so angry.

I sit here in this tiny room. This prison cell. Sentenced to life for a crime I didn’t commit.

Same food everyday. Same uniform.

Thrown into the mental health system when you aren’t mentally ill should be a crime.

I think of every doctor, therapist and person who could have helped but didn’t.

I sit here. Alone. Isolated. Day after day.

I can’t change it. No.

But I want to remember it. For so long it has been one giant mess. I started tapering in 2016 and it’s been me trying to put back all the puzzle pieces in the right places.

All the issues over the last 20 years; in and out of the hospital with mysterious illnesses, in and out of doctors office, all of it was psych meds.

The weird symptoms, the sicknesses no doctor could diagnose — it was always the drugs.

Specialist after specialist running countless tests to tell me everything “seemed fine.”

Psych meds.

All of the unnecessary surgeries. My god. The money wasted on surgeries and doctors who swore they knew how to “fix” me. Not a single one could figure it out.

Psych meds.

I have a right to be angry. I have a right to scream at the top of my lungs to every single person I meet about what happened to me and what these drugs really do.

They haven’t saved a single soul.

They haven’t cured a single person.

I may not be able to fight right now. I have to focus on tapering and going through this withdrawal but I’m not giving up. I’m on pause but I’m still preparing.

~ morganshhi ~ Leave a comment

I loath this bit of sun trying to poke its way through. I don’t want to see sunlight. I don’t want to see the sky or people walking, people living. It’s the last thing I want to be reminded of. Them living. Me not living. No control over what is happening. There are times where I feel like I’ve made peace. They are short but sweet moments. I made peace with the suffering and my time here. I don’t think I’m gonna make it out. I don’t think I’m going to be apart of the living again. I reject it all. I want peace. A little peace. A little joy. To feel that again would be a miracle.

~ morganshhi ~ Leave a comment

I no longer have any idea what I should do next. I’m just collapsing at this point. It’s heartbreaking for my father to watch. But I can’t fight any longer. I fought as much as I could. I called and emailed and begged health care professionals to help me.

Doors are constantly being closed and my dad and sister want me to keep going, keep holding on and living and they don’t understand how tired I am.

Not just tired physically in my bones but in my soul.

The walls lay bare. Everything taken down.

I’ve had no control or say over my mind or my body for 36 years. I, at least, want this choice to be mine.

I’ve been stuck in this hole, this box for 7 years since hitting benzodiazepine tolerance for the second time. But in reality, I’ve been stuck in this room since 1984.

I can’t do it anymore. The isolation alone is indescribable.

24 hours a day watching the same wall.

I miss living. I miss so much. That loss is again, indescribable. I went through all the books I’ve bought over the years. It’s the same over and over again. “This is all in your head, just take control.” They have no idea. These authors have absolutely no idea what it is like to be housebound and have lost everything. Lost 20 years to pseudoscience. Lost a sane mind to an ill one. Lost kids you can never have. Lost a partner you will never have. Lost a house and career you never got the chance to have. Regression. When I say I have lost everything I mean I have lost everything. License, car, job, friends, family, ability to drive, ability to be alone, thousands and thousands of dollars wasted on quake doctors and therapists who have done nothing but made things worse.

Yes I know benzodiazepines cause suicidal ideation. Yes I know it causes phobias like agoraphobia and monophobia.

It still won. No one believes me.

At least now I can donate my clothes and shoes and throw away my stuff. That choice is still mine. I was taught to be invisible. Be as tiny as possible so no one will ever notice you. Now I just want to have my stuff go to people who can leave their houses and people who can function. They deserve it.

This thing didn’t just win by isolating me, it takes your identity. It stripes you of everything that means to be a human being in this world. You no longer are on human-level. You are crawling on the floor as I have many time over the last 7 years. My hair hasn’t been combed in months, let alone cut. I try and eat enough to get by and try and brush my teeth every day but at this point, I am waving the white flag. I fought to find doctors and therapists and anyone who could help me. I fought for years and years and years. I fought.

I’m proud of myself for sanding the deck these last few months, though. That deck saved me while I was going through acute Depakote withdrawal. It was easy to replace the pain I felt withdrawing from the Depakote with 8 hour days and a single sander in my hand. Exhausted and unable to move by the end of the day. It helped me not think. Just focus on a project. I didn’t want it to end. I had a purpose.

Then my birthday happened and the trauma anniversary came around. No one believed me. Still, they think this is some drama I’m putting on for show. She can’t possible have PTSD, she is just a whack job. Thanks Mom.

I am the only person on this earth who is housebound agoraphobic and monophobic.

It feels that way at least.

I miss humans and seeing them. I miss being one.

Dear Old Me

~ morganshhi ~ Leave a comment

Going through my phone is upsetting. I see the dates and the last 6 years have been a blur. I can only go by what was saved in my phone and put the puzzle pieces together.

I was praying constantly. Praying for miracles and answers. Asking God what happened to me? I was being put on and taken off so many meds. I remember March of 2015 the monophobia officially hit me. I had no clue at the time it was caused by the benzodiazepine. I had no clue my agoraphobia was benzo related either. I just knew I was getting sicker and sicker and terrified. The thoughts terrorized me. I couldn’t listen to music, I couldn’t watch tv or movies. Just listening to the radio or hearing my phone ring was too much stimulation. I had no idea what to do but pray: I was taught when everything is good you pray, when everything is bad you pray. Pray pray pray.

I was being left home alone though on occasion. My parents were going on together and I would still need reassurance because I was home scared.

These are from Dec 21, 2015. I believe my father took my mother to a Christmas part at her friends house and I was obviously unable to go but he was texting me to try and comfort me. He would tell me stories of angels who were making me strong. I would humor him but not really believe it. Maybe he was right after all. Maybe it took 5 years for me to see how strong I had to become

I don’t know why I kept these but I want to look back and not be sad but remind myself how far I’ve come. That kid had no clue her psych meds were doing this to her. I feel sorry for her. She was weak. I was. I had to go through this to get stronger. I still have a long journey ahead of me. Some is unknown which is scary but I am certain I will heal. I am. And I’m certain these drugs are what caused me to be sick for over 20 years. I wish I could go back and tell 2015 Morgan everything she is going to go through. Just to give her a heads up. Prepare. Tell her to be brave. But she did get through. Even as I write this I started my Klonopin taper, my brain is wonky. I’ve been having harm thoughts all day and my skin feels like it’s pulling away from my bones. I don’t know if 2015 Morgan could have even handled that if I told her. But I’m still here and I’m going to make it through. And I will continue to tell as many people as I can about what these drugs really do in hopes that others avoid this suffering.

992 days ago…

~ morganshhi ~ Leave a comment

20 years destroyed by #prescribedharm .
Yes, I could go on and on. But it’s comforting to find others who have been harmed in this way. It’s sad, yes, but so many of us are out there.
So many of us have been told the same lies.
So many of us believed and trusted our doctors.
It’s been 992 days ago since I started tapering my psych meds for good.
In those 992 days I have learned so much about how I got roped into this world.
At 16, it obviously was not my choice. But how did I end up staying in this nightmarish merry-go-round for so long?

I was told by my parents and men in white lab coats that they knew what was best for me and that I should trust them inexplicably and never go against their orders. They were keeping me alive, after all.

 

I’m almost 36 now and see things so obvious now that it physically pains me that I was so dumb to not see it for myself. I spent years beating myself up but someone once said “how were you to know?” Someone said I should have asked for a test when I was told I was serotonine deficient.  Those doctors weren’t saving my life. They were harming it. They weren’t keeping me alive, they were making sure I stayed in this system. Whenever I protested and questioned them on my symptoms and what was going on with me, I was told I was getting sicker and I needed more drugs. “Your mental illness is more severe than we originally thought.”
“This is your depression peeking through so we will supplement with another drug.”
“Your not getting better because your imbalance is getting worse. This is probably due to bipolar disorder. Some people get worse during the summer.”

None of these statements make any sense to me now.
But as a teen and a young adult, I believed them.