Yuck.

I woke up with all my clothes on and thought it was time to get ready to go get Arya until I realized that I went to bed shortly around 6 or 7pm. The last thing I remember was eating ice cream.

I do know that I have to get up early and get witch hazel for tomorrow's booth at Scout.

I couldn't handle the violent nausea and muscle spasming. I had a pretty intense panic attack on the highway on my way to pick up Rob. I took vistarel (sp?) an antinausea. I took an ativan around 2pm. Then, one before I left, I was crushing one between my teeth. Arya noticed and asked me if I was sick. "I am a little, baby." I hugged her and put her in the car and buckled her. I strapped Mark in and we took off. The nausea was getting more overwhelming. My bones hurt... My hands and feel felt like they had been drained of blood. My chest heavy, felt like I was crushing and I kept gasping or yawning to try to fill up my lungs with this life sustaining element. It wasn't working. I grabbed two more ativan and put them under my tongue thinking, "this is it. I'm fucking dying."

I didn't though.

But if guilt could kill you? I'd have not woken up an hour ago. I woke up terrified again and took minipress because I didn't want to reach for the ativan again. Not again.

I will never forget how bad benzo withdrawal was in 2008-2009. You can't forget an experience like that but somehow I thought I was more resilient now?

I'm not.