The day escalated into that horrid terror feeling. In my chest/throat. Complete head pressure like it's a lit up bulb blazing and blazing ready to fucking explode. That's what my nervous system feels like. Sometimes the bulb gets hotter and other times it cools off a bit. But it's always a very HOT fucking bulb pulsing and burning like a mother fucker.
So, my neighbor and wonderful friend said, look, when you feel like that do some jumping jacks, come over, shift the energy, do something, anything different just don't stay alone with it. I listened. She's wise. She has common sense. I went over to her house and bitched and moaned. Ate some crackers and cheese. Felt the terror. Oh it was still there, yup. When it comes on it's not about willpower or deep belly breaths or any other kind of coping tools I have in my tool box. Nope. It's just fucking ON FIRE. period. And it usually stays that way for hours, if not the entire day. It's a load of fucking BENZO FUN. Fuck this shit already.
I pushed myself to go to a recovery meeting. I didn't want to go. I am in a room full of mostly hardcore addicts. And not to compare suffering or anything but I have to say, I am physically suffering the MOST of all of the people in there. Even those fresh out of rehab for hard drugs or alcohol. Their fucking GABA isn't jacked up or maybe it is but they process it much differently. How can that be?! When I told the group members that they are tanks and hardcore, one guy just looked at me and said "what you are going through is hardcore--you are hardcore in your own way". Okay, I guess that's true.
The GABA are the BREAKS in your system , the thing that settles you, the thing that allows you to take naps and doze off, yeah, the thing that allows you to sit down, sit still, focus, settle. Yeah, that shit is GONE. I meditated because that is a part of this meeting. Buddhism and recovery. It's a neat meeting and a neat concept. Except that damn terror was with me the whole time. I could barely focus.
I wasn't terrified of ANYTHING specific in my environment, I was safe and if I could exit my body I could enjoy every moment, every share, the tears and laughter. But the terror is a beast. It's preoccupying. I wanted to make it my friend. Hi, terror. I see you, I feel you, I am not scared of you. You are just like an annoying itch, that's all I won't give you more power. I just won't.
I shared and broke down hysterically. Embarrassed. Like I said, me, the accidental addict, the lightweight, I am the biggest fucking basket case in there. My chemistry has gone awry. It feels that way. The no brakes is a terrible terrible sensation. But, it's my friend, oh I forgot.
So, I shared. I cried. I shook. People listened. They empathized. But what I really want is just relief. Terror didn't leave my side but I stood up to it today. I said fuck you and spit in terrors vicious face.
I shared with a friend, in a meeting, I cleaned the house, I picked my son up from school (god that was hard acting like a normal mom). Again, I look normal. I know I do. Now that the neurontin is on board it's covering the storm of stinging burning pain and horror. But it hurts. It hurts deep deep inside. Like a burning bulb that won't turn off. Burning and fierce. Inner torment that is very very difficult to express or describe in words unless you have felt it yourself. Then you say, Ah, I know that burning terror, yes. I know it. And I promise it will fade away one day. I promise this isn't permanent is what they all say.....this too shall pass... this is temporary (if it doesn't kill you).
A man came up to me after the meeting. He shook my hand and told me his name. He said, "Listen, I am going to be back in several weeks but I wanted to give you an affirmation to keep saying to yourself". I am open. Like I said, I am ready to do a fucking black magic ceremony and stand on my goddamn head for the next year while eating dog food everyday. Just. Make. This. Pain. Go. Away. Now.
So, my affirmation was this---- "I am safe and I am immortal".
He said, "keep saying that until I see you the next time".
Will do my friend. Will do.
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.