(Thank you Paul Reubens)
Shit. Where do I start. Let’s see. Well everyone, it’s funny, I was going through my email a few weeks ago and I saw a strange message from an exiled Nigerian prince, he needed a Facebook account. So being a good samaritan, I gave him mine. So yeah, I mean, I got it back though, but like, I’m sure that wacky Nigerian posted some strange stuff…..
I sure wish I were that stupid. Because that’s a level of stupid only slightly inferior to my own. I don’t sleep well. No shit right? Well, since I returned from my wacky oriental adventures, it hadn’t improved and that massive time differential wasn’t helping matters either. So I decided I needed help. Professional, Grade A doctor help. Looked up a guy, made an appointment, bam. Done. Nice enough fellow, I vaguely recall posting something about him looking like Harold Ramis before I shit all over social media. I told him my story, and added that I’ve been pretty stressed about sorting out my shit since my return, and all that was getting me worked up during the day and keeping me up all night.
Egon looked me over, sat down at his little desk, and started typing.
“Okay, I’m going to give you Klonopin for during the day. You feel stressed, that should take care of it, 1 0.5mg tab, twice a day. For sleep, I’m giving you Ambien. Take 1 10mg tab about a half hour before bedtime.
Now folks, I won’t play dumb here. I know a bit about Klonopin, and I knew I had to be careful with it. Ambien though, was a whole new animal. But I figured, worse comes to worse, it doesn’t work out, I try something else. I want to go back to that moment and punch myself to sleep in the face, really hard.
I got home in the early evening. Took a Klonopin. Feels Goodman. Gets to be about 11pm, and although I’m relaxed, I’m nowhere near sleepy. Ambien. Problem solved. So I took the Ambien, and passed out. I felt pretty weird when I woke up.
Five days later. Strapped to a bed like a fucking lunatic.
Yes. You read that last part right. The strange part was, nobody was acting funny about me being passed out for five days. And why was I strapped down?? Well, let’s start with the five days. See, I had no idea five days had elapsed since I ‘went to sleep’. I ‘woke up’ thinking it was still Tuesday. Well that explains being hospitalized, but straps? And why were my wrists bloody and sore? Yup. You guessed it ladies and gentlemen, I never ‘fell asleep’ at all.
It slowly dawned on me that no one around me had any idea this was something other than a severe nervous breakdown of some sort. They spoke of things I had no recollection of. I said things, did things, and generally acted like a batshit insane idiot. But the key thing here is, I didn’t act like that ALL the time. I apparently had lucid moments. Long enough where I would converse in a seemingly normal fashion, shave my face, update my Facebook… UPDATE MY FACEBOOK. Yes, what I am telling you is, I have no recollection of anything I said, did, spoke about, or posted about during that time. None. At first I was mortified, thinking only of my impending social disaster. Facebook needs a breathalyzer for a log in under the best of circumstances. But this was no drunken rampage. You get bits and pieces back of those. People remind you, and you groan, because NOW you remember, you fucking idiot.
I had nothing. Not one single moment where I could reflect and suddenly be filled with foolish and humiliating memories of good drink gone bad. You would think it’s better not to remember, but it isn’t. With drunk, you are still you. Sure, a drunken, awesomer version of yourself, but you. You can connect with that inner buffoon and rationalize him to yourself and others. You can explain, however lamely, those previously mentioned bits and pieces of the comedy/tragedy that was you the night before. And it was the night before. Drunk doesn’t afford a whole lot of time before the body says, ‘goodnight charlie’ and shuts up shop for the night, or more often, morning. I finally confessed to my parents and sister what I am saying now perhaps a week after my initial hospitalization.
They listened, nodded, and carried on exactly as if I should know what they’re talking about. It was impossible for anyone to tell that there was no one at the wheel. My skin crawls thinking about it now. Suddenly it dawned on me after my father helpfully reminded me of how I had been screaming for ‘my lawyer’. F. Lee. Bailey. I could have done anything. “Gotta go get some flapjacks in jersey, be back later.” See ya. Vroom. I could have walked into a bus. I could have stabbed myself in the face. You see where I’m going with this. I could have fucking killed people. I would have had no clue and no recollection. So now I was mortified, and terrified.
It was explained to me like this. Ambien is a hypnotic. Some people don’t react well to hypnotics. Sleepwalking episodes are apparently somewhat common with this ridiculously dangerous medicine. However, my case was special. I’m fucking special. See, Klonopin and Ambien are buddies. They like to hang out, get drunk with the boys, kick back, and turn human beings into zombies. There really isn’t a better word for it. You are mindless, and without functional memory. Even the ‘before’ is hazy now, and full recognition of ‘me’ came slowly. There have been no ‘sudden realizations’. And from what I’m told, there won’t be any.
I was kept under observation for a week following my initial week there, and my subsequent return to self. Some of you are probably saying right now, ‘wait, ONE Klonopin, and ONE Ambien a few hours later did all THAT?’ That’s a fantastic question with a horrifying answer. No. One of each didn’t do all that. It just got the party started. Apparently during my ‘away’ time, I took a few more. And by a few, I mean a dozen more of each over (approximately) a one and a half day span. I’ve been down on myself a bit. Things didn’t work out as I would have liked in China. I’m trying to figure out what direction to go in. Life is a bit challenging. But I’m not suicidal. I’ve actually been nervous like I said, but in kind of a good way. I know new things are coming, because they have to be. Circumstances have forced it. That’s going to be really interesting at the very least. This wasn’t some angsty teenage behavior. This was a fucking tiger trap while I was walking around getting my bearings in this new jungle that is my life.
I spent that week of observation reading, writing, and thinking. In a way, it was a positive experience, in that, one, I learned a valuable lesson without having killed myself or someone else in the process, and two, I had no distractions. Did it feel like torture at times? It sure did. But I made the best of it, I think. I am still contemplating what to do. I had a trusted friend deactivate my Facebook account while I was there. I shudder to think what it will look like when I return to it. In the meantime. I will tell some tales here and leave a quote from Frankenstein. I never actually got around to reading the entire original tale before now, and I am glad for it, because it provided me with hours of entertainment, and not just a little inspiration.
“But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has entered my soul; and I felt then that should I survive to exhibit, what I shall soon cease to be – a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, pitible to others, and intolerable to myself.”
Oh. I made Dean’s List again for my scholastic performance last semester. Did I mention that? (golf clap) That’s interesting news to get when you’re feeling like an utter reject.
Live it, Love it, (But for fucks sake, don’t take it)