Whispering Wyrd

While I try to write about uplifting or encouraging things, or at least end my posts that way, I have to admit something. I still struggle. There are days that are really hard to get through. It bothers me that sometimes, not often, but sometimes, even here at 16 months out, a thought crosses my mind, “A benzo would make this day a lot easier to get through.”

Sometimes I beat myself up that a thought like that even crosses my mind. Usually it happens on the days when I’m exhausted, my body hurts, my heart is acting up again, and I find myself feeling really down, really blue.

It’s well known that full recovery from benzodiazepines can take 18 months to two years, and sometimes longer. On days like that, especially here at 16 months out, I wonder if I’ll ever really completely heal. I wonder if those doctors who told me getting clean would be impossible after more than 20 years were right. I wonder if I’ll cave and seek more pills, or if my body will simply fail under the stress of trying to heal a nervous system that depended on the drug for so long. And then there is the ache for sleep that just refuses to come.

Those days are hard. They test everything in me. I had one of those days yesterday, and I’m still feeling the effects of it today.

The same things that carried me through acute withdrawal are the things that still carry me through right now. My family, my faith, the recovery community, and determination. Without my family, without faith, without people who understand this path, I know I wouldn’t be able to keep going.

I have far more good days than bad now. But the bad days still have teeth… sharp, tearing teeth.

The recovery community is vital for me. There is so much encouragement there. People who know exactly what I’m talking about because they have lived it too. On days like yesterday, it can be hard to talk with anybody who hasn’t experienced this. Not because they aren’t kind or helpful, but because sometimes you need to be seen by people who truly understand how hard this can be.

But I will keep going, even if it’s at a snail’s pace on the hardest days. As long as I stay clean and remember that no matter how rough it gets, I can’t go back. Ever. Even if a pill appeared in front of me, I know one would never be enough. One would lead to another, and another, and another.

So I talk to my wife. I ask for help from the recovery community. I say the Name. I keep going. Because this is what healing looks like sometimes, not like some shining strength, but weary faithfulness. Refusing to quit.

And that’s the hope. Not feeling great today, but knowing this hard day ain’t the whole story. I have survived every single bad day so far and I’m still here. I’m still moving forward. And one day, I hope, I’ll look back and realize these painful times were carrying me home.

Amituofo
~Buck