Whispering Wyrd

One year off benzos today.

Honestly, I didn’t think I would ever see this day. I was told, flat out, by doctors and pharmacists that I wouldn’t. That after more than twenty years, at high doses, this drug would always own a part of my life.

Yet here I am.

This has been the most difficult thing I’ve ever done in my almost sixty years of life. And as I write this, I’m realizing there isn’t just one emotion that fits something like this, there are many, all coming at once.

I feel overwhelming gratitude. Gratitude for my wife and my sons, who stood by me when I was at my worst and never stopped believing I could survive this. Gratitude that I am alive to write these words. Gratitude that I am free from a drug that took so much from me.

And there is grief too.

Grief for the years lost. For the moments dulled, missed, or lived through a fog I didn’t even realize I was in at the time. That grief is real, and I’m letting myself feel it without letting it erase what this moment truly is.

There is anxiety also. Starting over at almost sixty is no small thing. Learning how to live in a body and mind that are no longer chemically propped up is requiring courage. It requires patience. It requires relearning trust, especially trust in myself.

But there is also excitement.

An excitement that feels more real than anything I’ve known in decades. For the first time in a very long time, I am not a slave to a substance. My thoughts are clear. My curiosity has returned. My ability to learn, to feel deeply, to be present, these things are coming back.

Living here in the mountains of New Mexico with my amazing wife already feels like a blessing beyond words. And now, free of benzos, I feel a pull toward the things I once dreamed of and set aside. There are martial arts I still want to study. Skills I want to refine, like working with raw leather. Books I want to read and actually remember. Languages I want to learn. Paths of study and creativity that finally feel possible again.

I never expected the emotional roller-coaster that would come with the one-year mark. But looking back, how could it be otherwise? Getting here wasn’t just hard. It was hell.

And I walked through it.

One of the most important things I want to do moving forward is help others who are still in withdrawal or who are standing at the edge, terrified of what it might take to step away from these drugs. This journey is brutal, and too many people walk it feeling unseen, dismissed, or alone. I couldn’t have done this without support and encouragement, and I know there are people out there who don’t have that.

If I can offer even a small measure of hope, if I can help someone believe that survival is possible, then I want to do that. I want to pay forward the help that was given to me.

To everyone who offered a kind word, encouragement, patience, or understanding… thank you. Truly. This has been a long and painful journey, but I made it.

One year free.

And for the first time in decades, the future feels open.

Amituofo
 ~Buck