I did my intake for counseling in mid-late June. I will finally see a counselor (whom I’ve worked with before) on Monday. I feel like I’m on a bit of a count-down to make it (not go bat-shit crazy like I have before) until then. I’m managing, barely. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I waver between tears and anger and angst. This is so exhausting. And lonely. By my choice. No one should have to deal with someone detoxing off opiates and benzodiazapenes. It is miserable. I would wish this on no one, not even my worst abuser
I’ve thought long and hard over the last weeks and came to the realization that my Nurse Practitioner never offered me any type of help except pills. Not physical therapy, not imaging unless I pressed (which I just had a MRI of lower and upper back…and it’s a huge mess), nothing. Just pills. I tried so hard over the last 5 years to be healthy and consciencious of what I am doing, but getting dependent on opiates and benzodiazepines happens under the radar. This is the usual for Western Medicine covered by Obamacare.
The are allowed. They are prescribed. I did not abuse my medications. I took them as prescribed. Yet, I got dependent on them and now have to pay the price to get off them. So similar to gambling. So subtle. So under the radar. So accepted by the general populace. But for some, like myself, it can become very dangerous. The amounts of medications I was on made it very hard to get off them. Nearly 2 years it’s taken me to taper off everything.
Personally, I think I’ve done a damned good job in the interim. I have worked to keep myself from being on the streets, I have suffered numerous rejections and life challenges that I didn’t have skills for while dealing with my “drug” problem. I’ve stayed above board. But I have paid a very dear price.
I’ve let go of countless people because I could not handle their issues as well as my own. Being a helper person has made that a challenge in itself for me. Yet, I am really trying to only have people in my life that don’t treat me as an option. I’ve been that since the day I was conceived. My mother was only 16. I could have easily had my life snuffed out back in those days…or ended up a foster child or someone who got adopted. But I lived. For some reason I continue to exist.
Just like I lived through the tractor accident. Just like I lived the time I took an overdose of Xanax because I was contemplating stealing from my Grammy and it was killing me inside. Just like I raised my kids mostly by myself and never with stable support. I have lived through it all, even when I haven’t wanted to, for a reason.
I still don’t know that reason…but it’s enough to get me out to water the plants or pick the peaches or weed around the beets. It’s enough to make sure that Shasta and Hidey Cat Hazel have food. It’s enough for me to still write.
Today, I am alive for a reason I don’t know. That is all I know for a fact at this moment. I am here, because I am supposed to be. No matter how uncomfortable, how challenging, how miserable…I am here for a reason.
ps For those in #detox or #withdrawal #sideeffects #insomnia #RLS #increasedanxiety #diarrhea #urinaryincontinence #rage #tears #anxietyoverdrive contact me. Long history of #recovery #gambling #noopiates #nobenzos #medicalcannibis