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It’s D-day. After 9 months of trying to get off Ativan, several months to reassemble my shatterd self, I’m trying again. This time with a cadre of experts. Well, an expert. Maybe the only one in the state, but I found him and he’s gonna help me get off these benzos. God love him.

I left the house tonight after saying goodnight to my 2-and -a -half year old daughter. We played airplane, but my legs gave out. I couldn’t eat dinner because of the stomach cramps. This will be my world until I get off. 5-10 months is the projected time. Not like heroin. Not like alcohol. You go slow, because if you don’t, you can cause damage to the brain that will not leave things pretty. Cognitive disfunction. Fog, constant fog. And anxiety, which had not really existed before. I don’t want fog. I will not submit to fog.

I will submit to the battle of illness. Illness brought on by pharmaceuticals, but an illness nonetheless. I have no choice. I will puke, curl into a ball and shiver, shove my head into cold water, sob and sob and sob, walk with the relentless muscle aches. Whatever it takes.

I’ve had a song that hits me somewhere subterranean and has for the past year. It’s Frou Frou‘s Beauty in the Breakdown. I was reminded of it by a new friend. It gets to the core. It lets me fall apart so I can heal and find myself again.

An excerpt:

drink up baby doll
Are you in or are you out?
Leave your things behind
‘Cause it’s all going off without you….

So, let go, let go
Jump in
Oh well, what you waiting for?
It’s all right
‘Cause there’s beauty in the breakdown
So, let go, let go
Just get in
Oh, it’s so amazing here
It’s all right
’cause there’s beauty in the breakdown…

So, here goes. I drop tonight. Everything will be taken apart.

I’ll send notes from Siberia.