Same old same old here.....
The fatigue I have felt the last few days is sprinkled with terror. Wired but tired. And not just tired, this is bone crushing tired. This is I can't move tired and not that good feeling you get after a big workout. This tired extends to motivation too. The tiredness makes it hard to get out of the house. Fuck, this tired makes it hard to get up out of bed.
This tired makes it hard to talk or want to connect with anyone. This tired makes me agitated and angry. Despondent. This tired feels like it will last forever. It feels like my heart and lungs will stop working. It feels like my cells are being strangled and there is just no oxygen in any cell.
I've never felt this in my entire life pre- benzo or neurotoxicity. I have never felt like it's too much of an effort to see my children before this experience. That it feels like too much to make it home in time for their bedtime or make it in time to pick them up from school. That's the kind of tired I am talking about. When my tiredness trumps my ability to love or show up for my children or for anyone else for that matter... that's precisely how tired I feel. Despite this, I push through like a motherfucker and show up anyway. I have no choice.
And yet despite all of this I know it's better than fatigue's evil cousin Akathisia. "Akathisia, also known as the Dance of Death ( one person online just wrote so eloquently about this) is more horrific than words can describe.
And I saw recently a quote on someone's page from the writer David Foster Wallace who said with regards to Akathisia " when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It's not desiring the fall; its the terror of the flames". That sums it up perfectly.
Anyway, now back to bed. Back to lying on my back while piecing my life together.
I should be asleep right now.
I'm being kept awake by what is a simple little cold in the lives of normies.
A cold is annoying, but you know it will fade away in a matter of days.
My logical mind knows that this is still true.
Yet this chest pain and congestion has brought me down a deep mental rabbit hole.
I can't sleep for one.
And worse, I can't breathe.
The physical air hunger ( I am an asthmatic so this sensation is especially triggering) leads to a mental darkness.
Thoughts that circle around my mind-- I am never going to get better. This is going to last forever. I'm going to have to use an inhaler, and that will lead to acute withdrawal. I don't belong in this world. I have to fake it until I make it and I never will. Never ever ever never ever ever.....
There goes my cyclical doom and gloom brain.
The thing is I think this thinking altogether is a symptom of benzo withdrawal as well as PTSD for anyone that has had a chronic illness as I have had for nearly 30 years.
A friend of mine got frustrated with me tonight because I went into hiding today when I didn't feel well.
Rather than reaching out, rather than telling the truth of my experience, which was a shitty one I retreated. And cleaned.
Everything amps me. I need total calm and I need excitement all at once. I need distraction and I need reality. I need connection and I need isolation.
I am a walking paradox. I'm cycling through so much, so fast it's hard to get my bearings.
And my throat hurts. My chest feels like it's been shot by a hundred arrows.
I know today is just a shitty day that will pass.
I'm so pleased by the comments below from a fellow travelers who is now healed! So amazing to hear these stories and I am so grateful that he'd come on my page to let me know that it does and can get better.
I'm curious if people in your life actually want to really hear what you are thinking and feeling or if they just want you to be well.
I get the sense that people want me to be well, just as much as I want to be well. Even with those closest to me, I try to put on a brave face. I don't think this is a bad defense I just think sometimes you just need someone to see you,and bear witness to what is happening. Sometimes being in reality together is the hardest thing but important.
Someone who found themselves accidentally dependent and suffered an iatrogenic injury from medications that were prescribed. Sharing experience, strength and hope with others. This is written as a person on this winding path and NOT as a professional. Please contact a licensed professional for any medical/psychological care or advice. This is NOT a substitute for medical or psychological care. What is written here reflects my own personal experience ONLY.