Withdrawals

The patient attendant from the hospital called me to remind me that I had an appointment with the psychiatrist, as psych had been on board since that night in the hospital.

I was anxious to see her because I’ve had ADHD my entire life, and I was hoping to finally get that diagnosed as well as get to the root of the problem, my mental state.

I was at that appointment with her, the psychiatrist, and I was beyond vulnerable. I was being truthful with her, and she just sat there with her legs crossed, swinging her foot up and down, judging me. She told me that I should stop drinking and that I needed to go back to work.

I’m not even fucking there! I am there physically, but I’m not there in my brain at all, my eyes are completely glazed over and this person—a fucking psychiatrist at that—can’t even tell that I’m all fucked up! She was hurrying me along with this “go back to work” bullshit with zero fucking knowledge of what went down at WORK or my business. She had to have known what happened in the hospital that night, though?! That shit would’ve been documented, wouldn’t it have?! As that's what led me to her in the first place!

I’m only approximately six weeks post-surgery. It takes three months for the sternum to fully bond back together, another three months to get to the next level of healing and then ultimately a full year for “most” to fully heal from open heart surgery and this bitch told me to go back to work and that’s the answer to all my problems!

I was seeking help for my mental state, I had two full on mental fucking breakdowns and this doctor is telling me in the most insensitive way to stop drinking and go back to work. As fucked up as I was, I knew this bitch was fucked up too—not interested in helping me at all! I was on Zoloft, she increased the dosage that day and prescribed me Zopiclone, a sleeping pill, because I couldn’t even sit still, let alone sleep. The most sleep I was getting was at nap time.

I left that appointment completely discouraged and in tears. Nothing happened. Nothing good came out of it. Nothing made me feel better or like I was gonna get any help either.

The words from my cardiologist as well as my family doctor kept banging in my head: “Get off the meds as soon as possible.” The opiates and the benzos. I honed in on that, and ironically enough, the pain in my chest wasn’t as bad as you would think it was. I had a breast augmentation 18 years ago, and that shit hurt 10 times worse than having my sternum cracked in two, if you can believe that!

I was trying to get rid of the drugs, or at least some because I’m all fucked up! This delirium was like a severe LSD trip gone wrong that never fucking ended!

So, I stopped cold turkey with the Clonazepam and the Hydromorphone in my attempt to get “normal.”

My daily.

I had no fucking idea that I was supposed to wean off these pills! I am not a pill head. I don’t really fuck with pills. This is my first stretch of messing with benzos and opiates. I am not a fan of opiates in the first place. They make me puke for one and I just don’t like what they do. Not my jam. I cut them both out around 6 weeks in. Now, I am even more fucked up! I was sweating bullets all the fucking time! I couldn't sleep at all and nap time was long gone!

I was constantly agitated, with myself, for fucks sake and at the littlest shit. I was absolutely bat shit crazy! I couldn’t fucking sit still I was wayyy worse than I was before and this shit went on for two weeks at least.

I had an appointment with my family doctor sometime after that. These days are crazy fuzzy still, but I remember telling her that I wasn’t taking those drugs anymore, that I had stopped and how I was feeling. She looked at me and said “sounds like withdrawals.” I was like huh!? I had no fucking clue I was going through withdrawals or even that I would. All I knew was that I was supposed to stop taking these drugs as soon as possible.

There was no further instruction. I had no idea that I was supposed to wean off this medication so I went cold turkey and fucked myself up even more.

This part of the whole delirium experience for me was by far the deepest and the fucking darkest. No more naps, no more nurse.

I got these two drugs off my list of 10 and I was now only on 8 different prescribed medications. I started out with 12 but those two were the heavies.

I was actually quite proud of myself, even though I went through that shit! I was trying to be normal. I was acting like I was normal or I thought I was and taking my meds down to 8 from 10 felt like an accomplishment to me because I had found out, that those two weeks that I went through hell, were extra fucked up because I was going through withdrawals and somehow I managed to have made it through that part too!

The heavies were gone, or so I thought!

The psychiatrist’s words definitely weren’t encouraging me to stop drinking. If anything her words, her attitude and total disregard for me, made me want to drink more!

Back at the bar!