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elfsI’m starting to understand how people get hooked on benzodiazepines.
One thing I’ve been very candid about recently during my hospitalization is about my alters. They’re not real, they’re– grief, I really don’t want to call them “figments” because I actually hate that stupid purple dragon who promises that creativity is “easy” and “fun” when it’s nothing of the kind– they’re important to me. They give me foci for who I am in my different roles as writer, programmer, even husband and father.
The hospital is giving me a benzodiazepine for my nighttime weakness, because at night I’m alone with my fears and the pain and the unrelenting pressure of having so much medical gear shoved up my nose and down my throat. Before this incident, I could never understood why people got hooked on them. I understood perfectly well the wish to try stimulants, but aside from Adderall IR all of them make me nervous and unfocused, and that’s not what I want. I want capability, not recreation. I get satisfaction from accomplishment. My idea of recreation is spending the day on my bicycle, hiking the trails, or writing my own stories, rather than coding someone else's project for pay.
But now, I think I can understand it. People with only one voice in their heads, with no Council, no Stable, no inner friends, being lonely is hell. Being isolated is hell. And late at night, when my energy levels are near zero, and I can’t think, and I can’t regulate, I ask them for Ativan, and they bring it to me.
Ativan drops the number of voices to zero. Because when you have nothing left you can’t be lonely. You have no one to be lonely with, not even yourself.
I can’t wait to get out of here and go back to performing the Ritual of Coffee.
One of the nurses told me, “You’re unusual. Usually we’re either putting stuff in or taking it out, but you have both! That’s too much.”
One thing I’ve been very candid about recently during my hospitalization is about my alters. They’re not real, they’re– grief, I really don’t want to call them “figments” because I actually hate that stupid purple dragon who promises that creativity is “easy” and “fun” when it’s nothing of the kind– they’re important to me. They give me foci for who I am in my different roles as writer, programmer, even husband and father.
The hospital is giving me a benzodiazepine for my nighttime weakness, because at night I’m alone with my fears and the pain and the unrelenting pressure of having so much medical gear shoved up my nose and down my throat. Before this incident, I could never understood why people got hooked on them. I understood perfectly well the wish to try stimulants, but aside from Adderall IR all of them make me nervous and unfocused, and that’s not what I want. I want capability, not recreation. I get satisfaction from accomplishment. My idea of recreation is spending the day on my bicycle, hiking the trails, or writing my own stories, rather than coding someone else's project for pay.
When you have only one voice in your head, benzos drops that number to zero. When you have zero voices, you have no one to be lonely with, not even yourself.
But now, I think I can understand it. People with only one voice in their heads, with no Council, no Stable, no inner friends, being lonely is hell. Being isolated is hell. And late at night, when my energy levels are near zero, and I can’t think, and I can’t regulate, I ask them for Ativan, and they bring it to me.
Ativan drops the number of voices to zero. Because when you have nothing left you can’t be lonely. You have no one to be lonely with, not even yourself.
I can’t wait to get out of here and go back to performing the Ritual of Coffee.
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Date: 2022-10-17 01:47 am (UTC)