I went from having three simultaneous benzodiazepine scrips to, in December 2013, losing them all. I tapered off with just diazepam, and had no ill effects save shakiness, insomnia, and two panic attacks, but I am left with a deep and slowly burning nostalgia. Yesterday, a friend halved a 5mg diazepam with me. The resultant serenity was all placebo, I knew it, but I let it take me. In a tribute to the old days.
There’s bitterness, too, and not the good kind – had I never been admitted to a psychiatric hospital in which the doctors happened not to be fond of benzodiazepines, I would still have my scrips. I would still be sleeping soundly, something which I’ve never been able to do on anything but temazepam. I would still be clear-headed, or at least that sort of blissful misty which one can pretend means clear-headed if one really wants.
Many people hold that benzodiazepines are a purely, basely therapeutic drug, but I am one of those lucky people who have been ushered into the soaring halls at the apogee of euphoria by them. I miss them sorely, especially temazepam. I shall miss them always.