I remember the first time I was given a benzodiazepine — the first time I put that sweet little tablet on my tongue and felt it dissolve together with the awful, debilitating anxiety, which had consumed me since my mom’s suicide.
It was the first time I’d felt any kind of peace in what seemed like forever. It was around two months since that dreadful day.
First, in the immediate aftermath, I felt my heart break, and then later, I felt my mind literally split in two as it struggled to process the reality of what had happened.
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