I Can See Clearly Now

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I see now that this place is beautiful.  After 18 years, I see.

I was so homesick when I moved here as a young bride.  I wanted my mom.  I wanted pine trees and yellow bells and buttercups.  I wanted lakes to swim in and hills to sled down.  I just wanted to go home.

The more trapped I felt, the uglier this place became.  Ugly and mean.  Smelly and dirty.  Poisonous.  My ruin.  My hatred magnified every crime, bad smell, or dusty wind a thousand-fold.  I loathed this place.  How many times did I say it?

This place was not my ruin.  My hatred for it was. Those dark ugly feelings about my home. The ground I walk on. The earth that feeds me.  I hated that which nourished my body and could have nourished my soul.  I hated it so much that my wish to leave became a desperation, a frenzy.  And when there were no jobs and the sale of our house fell through, when staying became the only option, I disintegrated.  I fell completely apart at the seams.  My grief for my old dream of that other home was profound.  Eighteen years of striving towards my jail break had come to nothing.

That’s what it took to bust the tough outer coating of my heart-seed so that it could put tender root tendrils down into this soil.  I knew only love could save me.  The hatred finally melted and a veil was lifted.  Finally, I could see:

The lilacs and apple blossoms are heavenly.  The water on the canal sparkles, jewel-like in the sun.  The mallards and the rabbits, the robins and the meadowlarks are enchanting. The smell of sage on a rainy day, how the light and shadows play on the distant hills, the smell of river trees in the summer, and the distant snowy peaks make this place beautiful.

None of God’s creation deserves to be hated.  I may hate what man does to it, but I cannot hate the ground, the grass, the birds, the water.  All nature is capable of healing, and there is beauty everywhere for those with eyes to see and a heart to understand.

Hills and Valleys

Photo by Kristin Kokkersvold via Flicker Creative Commons

Photo by Kristin Kokkersvold via Flicker Creative Commons

The rollercoaster ride that is my life just got a lot wilder. A week and a half ago I took the plunge. I finally stopped taking Temazepam, which I had tapered very slowly over the course of 2 years.  The dose of medication I was taking when I quit was miniscule: 1/4 of a milligram.  Some nights I’m sure that even though I dutifully took my dose, the drop of water I consumed actually contained no medication.  It was time to quit this nonsense.  You would think that after a two-year turtle-taper down to a tiny pinch of powder, finally coming off would be anticlimactic. That’s what I thought.  Apparently I was wrong.

My body knows something is missing.  My muscles tighten around my head and neck like they are trying to perform a facelift without surgery.  Sometimes I feel like my head is full of helium, that it’s about to launch itself into the stratosphere.  And with the helium-head comes a feeling of altered perception you would have to experience to understand.  Some people say it’s like a bad acid trip.  I wouldn’t know, as I’ve never taken acid.  It really bothers me, though, that I know how that feels.

And the pain!  In an earlier post I wrote that I felt that I had been abused and beaten in my benzo prison.  The pain is why.  Searing nerve pain that darts across my chest and makes me afraid to breath.  A tight ache in my jaw that never goes away.  And hatchet-head.  That’s my nickname for the migraines.

I don’t like revisiting these symptoms.  It scares me.

So, I cope with techniques that I learned long ago when I suffered much more than I do now.  I use the good old affirmations, the same ones that pulled me out of my darkness back then.  I stretch and walk and meditate.  I breath.  I stop the mosquito-like negative thoughts that threaten to pull me into a pit of mental suffering.  I love on my kids, my sweet pup, and my husband.  I write and write, sometimes fast and furious, sometimes slowly and thoughtfully.  I take deep gulps of lilac scented spring air.  Yes, I will be fine.

And sometimes I really am fine.  Sometimes I’m on the crest of a hill instead of in a dark valley.  Sometimes I can’t help but grin, tears of joy making tracks down my cheeks.  I’m free!  It’s Spring and I have my whole drug-free life ahead of me.  It will be a good one, I know.

My Story

How I Slew the Benzo Beast and What I Learned in the Process

Metamorphosis

 

 

 

Metamorphosis

Free to Fly by Sid Mosdell via Flickr Creative Commons

Free to Fly by Sid Mosdell via Flickr Creative Commons

So much of my identity used to hang on the fact that I did everything gently, naturally.  I prevented health problems, I did not medicate them.

It was quite a slap in the face, then, to find myself on addictive medications – twice.  The first time they were prescribed, I was desperate and ignorant.  The last time I was desperate, but not ignorant.  I nevertheless did not want to take those pills; I was forced.  I feel violated.  I can never be the same person I was before the benzos.  They took things from me – my innocence, my reputation, relationships and my health.

I am so happy to finally be free.  But I feel like I was just let out of prison where I was raped and beaten.  Where they played games with my mind to drive me crazy.  Where they tortured me with sleep deprivation and isolation.  But because it was an invisible prison, nobody understands that that is why I’ve changed.  That is what caused the crying and the rages, the outrageous fears and the crushing exhaustion.  That was why.

I will never be the same person again.  But I can’t say that I want to be.  I’ve grown.  I’ve learned things that I might not have been able to learn any other way.  This is what suffering has taught me:

*God really does love me.

*There are some things worse than death.

*Quick relief comes with a hefty price tag.

*My mind is incredibly powerful, and I am stronger than I thought.

*Be grateful for all my blessings, both small and great.

*Being right and being understood is not as important as being a friend.

*As long as I concern myself first with what God thinks, it does not matter what people think.

*Never be afraid to share my gifts.  Maybe God gave them to me for a reason.

 

If I can remember those lessons, I believe there are amazing things ahead.  I’m a butterfly just emerged from its chrysalis, wings still shriveled and wet.  Soon, I will fly.

 

My Story

How I Slew the Benzo Beast and What I Learned in the Process

Gratitude Heals

Self Betrayal