Withdrawal feels like facing down a formidable enemy, even as we pray for God's help to get through it. I never expected to be someone who experienced withdrawal and actually lived to tell the story.
I've taken numerous medications in my lifetime, each addressing issues like blood pressure, prostate, testosterone, and especially anxiety. The anxiety medication, when taken daily, calmed my racing mind and helped control the endless loop of anxious thoughts.
These anxiety medications come in many names, but all with the same promise of defeating the anxiety monsters that lie in wait for the one time you didn't get a refill, and the pharmacy is closed for an extended holiday weekend. The next four days are my story and mine alone as I prepare for the unknowns of withdrawal that's about to slap me in the face, laughing a sinister laugh from the deepest regions of my being.
Day one was doable with just some chills that came and went along with a decrease in food consumption and a creeping feeling that things were going to get worse, much worse. Day two, I found myself going from bed to couch and back again, dozing off for 15-minute intervals, but not resting my mind, which has begun playing a fast-forward version of my thoughts.
Day three, and the devil was fully awake. My skin felt like it had been turned inside out, and my every glance around the room found me looking at non-reality like dancing lamp cords and my dog's hair balls growing legs and scurrying past me seeking a place to hide. At this point, I was fairly certain I wouldn't make it through another day, and the devil would claim victory.
Day four arrived with my mind racing so fast my eyeballs rolled around in my head as I tried to focus on anything other than what was going on inside of me. All I had to do was get through until the mail arrived with my medication. Meanwhile, I became fixated on the wall clock in my living room, with a face that talked and arms and legs that did an Irish jig. I had enough sense left to know it was all in my head and gaining ground quickly, trying to take total control of all my thoughts.
Late on day four, I swallowed my medication finally and lay down on the couch for the devil to leave with his spiked tail dragging behind him in defeat. Not long after, I began to feel like I was once again in control of my thoughts as the medication flowed through my mind and body, and the picture show stopped moving fast forward.
Day five and I'm going about my daily routines as usual, checking out emails and maybe crafting a story for my blog, but within me lies a few remnants of the beast, who I suppose was taking a final bow and vanishing to another someone like me who may have forgotten to refill their meds.
There was nothing funny about what happened to me, and I wouldn't wish it on anybody. It's beyond darkness and without reason or understanding, and all you want is to keep your balance until you're stable again. I never thought at 72 years of age I'd be experiencing a skin worn inside out and the scariest visions I've tried to mask with meds. You can bank on the fact I'll never run out again without some sort of backup plan, like a handful of xnax hidden in a coffee can. And a conversation with my doctor, who's preaching to the choir because I've seen both sides, I'll never forget.
Mike 2026 
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