What's lost is gained...

I thought my post below was missing something, but as boring as it is, I thought "Heck,just skip it" Losing my virginity was The Best thing I'd ever lost my whole life.
Much more fun than when I'd lost my mind during Xanax withdrawal. Plus when I'd lost my mind I had to go searching for it. I thought about putting an ad in the Lost & Found. No one on earth would have any use for it. It didn't even serve me very well.
I think losing one's mind is not as painful as losing their soul and I have that intact, at least.
I don't have much faith in the relatively new science of psychiatry. I was diagnosed with clinical depression after the death of a close family member. The loss was deep and agonizing to me.
I couldn't bare the pain. My frail way of dealing with it was to NOT deal with it at all. Not coping at all, with the assistance of 10-15 mgs of Xanax and 100 mg of Limbitrol. I existed without suffering.
In a constant blurred, catatonic state, I kept track of my pill taking in a small note book I carried with me at all times. Because it was easy to pass out at any time, I scribbled the time and number of pills in my notes, (very illegibly, in case someone found me passed out and retrieved my pill info) I was (before this loss) stable enough never to abuse my meds. I was considered a responsible and reliable person. Now I went from doc to doc acquiring as much pills possible. Docs like playing it Their way. Some would deny the Xanax in favor of Valium, or with Paxil and Ativan, etc.... For about a year, I stumbled through the grieving period in a dense fog.
Apparently my keeping record of the pills was also impaired. I woke up a year later with tubes connected to all places on my body with tape holding them in place. I was in a coma for 3 days and unfortunately the psych docs found me very interesting and kept me 3 weeks as they rushed me through withdrawal from Xanax, Limbitrol and various other sedatives.
They seemed quite merciless, sadistic even as they watched people having seizures, biting their tongues and banging their heads on the floor. Watching someone having withdrawal seizures is just like watching a fish out of water. They flip and flop involuntarily at the same time getting themselves banged and bruised up.
It's a thing that's painful to watch and your first reaction is to put the fish back in the water. Such isn't the case by these psych docs. They prefer patients flopping on the floor and letting the cells of the brain weaken & wither away. I considered the entire process barbaric and cruel & unusual punishment. I've no respect whatsoever for such rushed means of taking chemically dependent people off their drugs. I was in a vegetative state, but can't forget the sight of people with the sides of their heads bruised and bleeding and the oral bleeding from tongue biting.
And yet, had I never experienced this game of "let's torture these guinea pigs" I'd never have gotten myself down to a dose of 2mg of Xanax a day! Something I'm very proud of having done.... and by myself too!
Slowly my brain's mechanism began restoring itself.
I would never again be at their mercy, I promised myself that much.
I'd accomplish this at my own pace.The prospect of going through that "professional," torturous ordeal again is way too threatening to me, even though I'm all too familiar with..pain.
I think, like the girl who couldn't keep her shirt on, that I really Needed to get this off my chest.
(no musical or visual accompaniment with this post, but I'd pick the song "Dirt" for this one after having been down so low)