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.
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.
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.
