I’d been on two painkillers and an anti-depressant for over a year, but the pain and depression had improved very little. I asked the doctor for an alternative. “Let’s just increase the dosage” he said. Great, another doctor eager to saturate my veins with mind-altering chemicals. It was like clockwork. I’d show up at a new doctor’s office, fill out the paperwork, wait for an eternity, and then tell my story. About how I’d survived a traumatic accident, but was stuck with the anxiety and pain of Fibromyalgia. About how the drugs were barely helping, and I was looking for something better. Every time, they’d throw more drugs at the problem and have me on my way. Why? Did they really feel sentencing a kid to a life on drugs was practical? Or, were they trying to hit the quota that would earn them a Hawaii vacation from Big Pharma?

I knew a drugged life was unsustainable, I just didn’t know where else to turn. I was hit by a car in college, and wide-spread chronic pain followed. Deep pain. Heavy pain. Pain that made my bed the happiest place in the world. I was desperate for anything that would help, and drugs seemed like the best option. After a couple months on them, it started to feel like I was floating. Like happiness and misery were far below me. My energy was suppressed, but so was the pain. Seemed like a decent trade-off.

It didn’t take long for me to forget what life without drugs felt like. Soon, I was so accustomed to them that I didn’t notice what effect they were actually having. Something I did notice were the withdrawals that would come without them. Floodgates would open, and anxiety and vertigo would rush in until I shut the gates with a handful of pills. The thought of coming off them was terrifying, inconceivable even.

Like any great loss, the loss of my former self had shaken me to my core. My soul’s pendulum swung so far out into the dark that I lost sight of the light. Endless tears, sleepless nights, suicidal thoughts; I felt everything I never expected to feel.

Shards of a shattered life surrounded me, threatening to cut me if I ignored them. Instead, I picked them up and put them back together. Time passed, and I learned to embrace the pain instead of running from it. Soon, I felt absolute pride in my struggle. I even realized that pain is a shortcut to meditation unlike any other. It locks the mind in a deeply visceral sensory awareness, giving great weight to sounds, colors, and all the waves of the world. Certainly not something to dread.

Harnessing my pain as a source of strength became second nature. Eventually, I could look at the trials behind me and feel content. No desperate yearning for my old body, only appreciation for the power I’d gained. Sadly, the intense awareness of environment was an affliction in the grayscale office I’d resigned myself to. The old me thought anything more than sitting at a desk would cause too much harm. The new me craved a life of constant motion and gratifying challenges. So, I became a teacher, and spun my life into gold.

At the end of each day, my body would burn with pain that had amplified since the morning. I didn’t care. The satisfaction of purpose the day brought lifted me high above it. Still, there was something keeping the pendulum from falling back into the light. No doubt, it was the drugs.

As enlightened as I’d become, I felt removed from myself. My intelligence was stifled, my sexuality was buried, true expression eluded me, and my anger had a quick trigger. The drugs had taken my mind hostage, and I had to take it back.

As 2015 came to a close, I weaned off all of them. For about two months, I felt like I was suffocating. But, I took my last dose in February, and the withdrawals have been eclipsed by profound levity. For far too long, I’d been like a bird with a broken wing, the wind beneath me a fading memory. But now, I’m flying high over mountains and rivers, soaring towards horizons I’d forgotten existed.

Despite my great height, I’m completely grounded. My minds’ currents are flowing through the proper channels, fortifying my connection with the inner and outer world like never before. My nerves burn hotter, but that’s not a problem. I love the pain. I love the courage I draw from it, and the new growth it brings every day. I love it for all its silver linings, and I accept it for the limitations it brings. The pendulum swung so far into the dark I thought it would never return. I was wrong. That’s the magic of pain. It takes us to darker places than we know, daring us to give up hope. But, if we keep moving forward, the warmth of the light will find us again.