A day in the life of benzodiazepine withdrawal.

Mental Health
Written By
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Age: 20 Year: 2015

As I hang up the phone from my friend, tears rolling down my face, I turn to the clock on the wall. The red numbers are so bright I start to think they may actually be on fire. They wave about, seemingly trying to avoid being read. Finally they stop dancing long enough for me to see them. It is 1:45am, Friday 1st May 2015 and I haven't taken any temazepam or valium in 28 hours and 45 minutes, after having relied on them to get through the days and nights for the past 2 months straight. I have made it through another hour, and am reassured by my friend that it is possible to make it through this process, although now I am off the phone to him I am again not so sure. I try unsuccessfully to count the hours since 7am Wednesday, the last time I was asleep, and I realise that once again I am lying in a pool of sweat.

Lying there as the world spins, I am engulfed by a level of anxiety and fear I haven't experienced in a long time. Not only is my heart racing, breathing shallow, and chest as tight as ever, but I have this overwhelming sense of fear, although I'm not actually sure what of. Mentally, it is like I am in the first scene of a horror movie, unsure of what is about to unfold, on constant guard. Physically, It is like someone has plugged me into the wall socket and is slowly turning up the volts to see how much I can handle. I am at the point where my hair feels like it is being pulled from my skull by an unknown force, and every muscle in my body is twitching to a rhythm no one else can hear.

I stand up to try to go get changed and shower, but the dizziness slams me back to the bed as if I have just been king hit. On the third try, I make it up and to the bathroom and support myself with the basin as I stare into the mirror at my swollen, bloodshot eyes. Hands shaking, I turn on the shower, but as soon as I step under the water flow it feels like 1000 needles are simultaneously plunged into my skin. Screaming, I turn the tap off and slump against the wall, trying to catch my breath. The light is too bright, the walls too white, and I feel everything so acutely. Managing to put on a nightgown and cardigan, I press the call button.

Josh, one of the night nurses, comes to my aid and helps me out of my room to come be supervised in the common room by the nurses station. He asks when I last ate or drank, and I recall it must have been 5 pm Wednesday. I have been too nauseous since then, and the abdominal cramps that come in waves make period pain seem like a warm belly rub from a toddler.

Josh hands me a cup of water and sits with me, trying to distract me from my current reality. Between my random fits of crying and repeatedly asking if he's sure I can't have even half a temazepam to see if I can sleep, he talks about nursing, studying and running. I listen, appreciative of the company.

As his words flow through the air, the moment I am in is burned into my memory through the sheer torment my body is going through. I can't possibly sit still, yet it hurts to move. Every time I shut my eyes, obtrusive colours dance about beneath my eyelids and make my head hurt; but when my eyes are open the colours of the world are so bright I can't bear to look in one spot for more than a second. The objects and people around me go from being too in focus, to the point where I swear I can see Josh's veins pulsing, to so blurry that all I see is a spinning wall of light. I can feel every fibre of my cardigan pushing into my skin, and the floor beneath my feet as I pace about feels like it is covered in tiny prickles that bruise me with every step.

Slowly the rest of the world wakes up and I am raging in jealousy of their ability to sleep, and seeming ignorant bliss of just how much pain I am in. After 48 hours without sleep, nothing at all is making sense anymore. I am in a confused, hellish, daze. Just before his end of shift Josh takes me back to my room, helps me change the sweat soaked sheets, and ensures I am safe in bed with the call button only inches away. They are monitoring me closely, and apparently what I am experiencing is still at 'acceptable' levels. At least they are sure I'm not going to die.

The time passes with me experiencing every minute as if it was and hour. I am helplessly burning in flames no one else can see, but apparently with time they will subside. Apparently it gets better. Right now though, I'm not sure how much more I can take. I just want one of the pills to take it all away, and I know I would take a whole bottle right now if I had access to them.

As my anxiety and paranoia heighten, my tired body deteriorates. Closing my eyes and resting my head on the pillow, desperately trying to get a break, I vow that if I make it through this I will never touch these drugs again.

Above are screen captures from a video I sent to a friend asking for help on this night. I didn't know him well, but it was someone who had been through the same thing and he immediately called and was able to coach me through parts. Reaching out to him was the best thing I could have done.

In this I am up to my 43rd day in my hospital admission, and later that day had Electrocionvulsive Therapy for the first time. ECT requires not being on benzos and I was booked in to start ECT urgently only 3 days before this. That is why I had to undergo such a fast withdrawal process. The pros and cons were taken into account and I was very carefully monitored. It was not irresponsible on my doctors part as I was in the right place, but that didn't make it any easier. It was decided I needed ECT after a second opinion from another psychiatrist due to the severity of my depression, and having had another recent suicide attempt. They told me it would be bad, and one of the websites I looked up prior to doing this said "When you try to get off this, it's going to be like the most hellacious acid trip you've ever had, where you're … clutching the walls and your hair is blowing off your head and you can't believe you found yourself in this situation," (Lena Dunham). I don't have an acid trip to compare it to, but it sure sounds about right.

Benzodiazepines are powerful drugs that can work wonders to get people through tough times, but they do require careful monitoring due to risk of dependence and abuse. I never abused the drugs, as I only ever took them as prescribed, but due to the severity of my situation I was prescribed them long enough to become tolerant to smaller doses and need more. Then I become physically and mentally dependent on them. Again they are a tool I am thankful I had access to to help me through some tough times, but having been through withdrawal I do wish I had never become dependent. It was the toughest and scariest physical thing I have had to endure. The acute withdrawal process lasted approximately a week, but the after effects of prolonged insomnia and the return of the very symptoms the benzos are used to treat lasted for months. This is known as Protracted Withdrawal Syndrome.

I don't want to discourage anyone from following their doctors advice - that always comes above and beyond anything I write here. But again knowledge is power so educating yourself about the effects, the intended use and duration, and what is involved in including benzodiazepines in treatment goes a long way to making sure they are used safely and to their best benefit.

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Also, just a reminder that I am currently doing these posts daily to raise not only awareness for mental health, but vital funds for Headspace Australia who provide low or no cost services to Aussie youth. They are one of the most widespread and accessible organizations to those that need it most, and help save lives daily. My team and I have done 2115 Push-ups each in the last 15 days as part of their Push-Up Challenge (yes, my arms hurt, but being in the depths of mental illness without help hurts more). To donate please go to https://www.thepushupchallenge.com.au/team/the-power-to-push-on .

Still We Rise.

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The wondrous truth of Electroconvulsive Therapy.
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A journey through Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR).