All of this is to say that I sat by Sophie on her bed tonight and looked out the window as the sun went down. It's day fourteen of a benzo wean, and things are hard. Not as hard as they were in the past, before the cannabis, but they're still hard. Sophie is drooling a lot, and she doesn't want to eat very much. When she does eat, she chews so slowly, if at all, that I feel a frisson of fear that she's developing another round of ESES (and because I don't want to exacerbate this fear, I'm not going to type it as you can do a search on the internets or this old blog and find out plenty). Then I decide that it's the benzo wean, and I feel rage. I've read all the bad things happening to good people stuff, God is beside you, with you, around you, within you. If prayer is breath, the in and the out can tamp down rage, but it's my experience that Jesus doesn't come and take it. So, ye of faith, I don't feel like a good person when I feed Sophie during these times. She holds food in her mouth and slowly, agonizingly moves it around. She lets it fall out. I have to pour liquid down her throat. I am impatient and maybe even mean in my thoughts. There's despair and ruination, and I'm certain Sophie knows this. Maybe not certain, but there's that air that I'm breathing out. It can't be good for her.
Here are the symptoms of withdrawal of benzodiazepines that I took from the website of the NYU Comprehensive Medical Center last night: