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

 

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I’m in the Fog

Photo by Armando Sotoca

Photo by Armando Sotoca

I’ve struggled all week with an absolute inability to write.  Well, not exactly absolute.  I can always journal.  But for every blog post I’ve written that was well received, I feel a need to up the ante and write something better.  I’ve reached critical mass now and seem to have overloaded my brain circuits, which is not hard to do given the fact that I’m still recovering from benzodiazepine addiction and chemical sensitivity.  So I figured, why not write about it?

I know some of my readers know just what I’m talking about.  So many illnesses result in this terrible, foggy feeling in the head.  This inability to grasp simple things or to express any complex thought our emotion in words.  This lack of inspiration.

It’s a tragic symptom.  What is more terrible than to lose the ability to think clearly?  What makes us us?  Is it not, in part, our thoughts and how we express them?

I used to be smart.  My thoughts were crystal clear and seemed lightning fast.  Now I feel that my mind plods along like an aging donkey.   It’s terribly ironic that I would have begun publishing my writing to a blog just at the time in my life when my mental faculties are at their weakest.  It’s the syndrome that’s eating at my brain that made me want to do it.  It gave me a terrible need to express myself, to find others like me.  I just wish that both the impulse to tell my story and the ability to think clearly enough to do it had coincided.

I know that sometime in the near future, I will get my brain back and this blog will bloom.  But until then, forgive my occasional lapses into profound states of mental stasis.

 

Photo Under Creative Commons License