On pharmaceuticals, up yours
Since babyhood, I have always been sickly. I had both
chicken pox and German Measles before I could walk. Every year I got
tonsillitis, and bronchitis. Every year, next year they would take out my
tonsils, 103 is high for a fever for a little person and here drink this. The
drink this was a “Doctor Whipple Special” (yes, my pediatrician’s name was
really Dr. Whipple. He was tall. With
gray hair). In later years I realized
the Dr. Whipple special I started drinking at maybe 5 years old was, in
actuality, a hot toddy. But that’s another story for another day. Suffice to say I was weaned off the Dr.
Whipple specials when the majority of the special was whiskey, not honey and
lemon.
In high school I remember one month where I was sick with a
different version of the flu every weekend. Seriously. Who gets sick like that? Constantly? Whatever illness I got, it would
manifest itself in bizarre ways. Like
the time I had 50 canker sores (no lie) in my mouth at the same time. That was the most horrible experience. One of
the meds I had to swish around in my mouth. THAT SUCKED. The other was percoset
– which had me staring out the window in the cafeteria and missing all my
classes for a week. (And my brother bitching that I was prescribed good drugs
for everything and he was in a car accident and given iboprofin. What can you do, I guess my doctors always
took pity on my poor sickly self.) I had
taken prescribed pills one other time, which was when I probably discovered how
much fun they were, especially mixed with booze. And since I had already taken whatever pills
anyone had handed me for years? bonus
that I had a whole bottle with my name on it, right?
What I have learned is as much as I’ve always been an avid
enjoyer of recreational pharmaceuticals over the years, they honestly have
never really sat well with me. Especially when prescribed. An occasional xanax
or valium is one thing – a full bottle of hydrocodone? Forget it. I thought perhaps it was psychosomatic – only
liked my drugs illegally procured. I rarely make a whole lot of sense so that
wouldn’t be a stretch in any way, shape or form.
And narcotics? Make me super grumpy. Especially opiates
(although I sure did love opium and could see myself in a gold rush opium den
easily). I had major surgery and was sent home on 4 doses of morphine as well
as anesthetics and whatever else they put in my system, with orders to pick up
my pain pills on the way home and take one immediately. That was a hazy, grumpy few days. Granted, I
felt no pain, but it was ugly ugly ugly.
There was the part where I started calling everyone to tell them I was
out of surgery (a few still have the messages saved, years later, as I was
STELLAR). And the part where I had no patience to wait for lunch so crawled my
way down the horrid outside wall of the fast food wall joint in the hood to see
where my food was. THEN there was that incident where every CD was knocked off
my CD shelf while I attempted to change my shirt. There was also the part where
I kept showing everyone my wound – (breast biopsy, fyi) so it wasn’t all
bad. Regardless – I would be a terrible
heroin addict. Maybe that’s why I stuck to cocaine.
Every time I’ve taken antibiotics over the last 20 years,
it’s been a disaster. From welts to projectile vomit, to living on pedialyte
for days, I depend on herbal remedies when I’m sick now. I’m even sensitive to those. It’s gotta be a
toss up as to whether it’s the sheer number of different pills I’ve been prescribed
over the years with my multiple illnesses or just genetics. My mom used to hallucinate on half an allergy
pill. I have to problem with allergy meds – I have lived on those since I
stopped getting bronchitis and started having sinus issues. Fortunately,
allergy meds are over the counter, for the most part.
When I developed a full time lovely case of insomnia, I
discovered even hard core sleeping pills don’t work properly for me. When I
borrowed an occasional ambien from a friend, it was like Heaven. Now? I’m either
I am up every 2 hours, or don’t sleep or do sleep but have horrific dreams.
Regardless the next day I hope nobody crossed my path because I am not pleasant
to be around. AT ALL. Lately I’ve taken sleeping pills just so I can see how
many hours they work. It’s become a game. A sick, twisted, sad exhausting
game. It is super fun to write while the
pills take effect, though. And reread what you’ve written the next day. Or in
two hours when you’re back up for the night.
So what in the hell made me think it was time to try anti
depressants? Desperation maybe? Lack of forethought? Resignation to my fate? I’ve been depressed my whole life and have
managed it fine. I let my life catch up with me in a big bad way, to the point
where I had myself convinced I couldn’t dig myself out. And HAD TO DO
SOMETHING. So I gave in. to something I have NEVER wanted. EVER. I am not into
pills for necessity, maybe? I don’t like putting manufactured poisons into my
body, prescribed. Maybe if they weren’t prescribed I would love them. Doubtful
but who knows…
So, 6 months ago or so, I went to the doctor. Sat on the
prescription for a few days, and finally filled it. Almost immediately I felt
so much better. It was uncanny. The unexpected appetite suppressant?? Nice side
effect for those of us with body dysmorphic issues. But I still couldn’t sleep. And still felt a
little off. (this last depression was a doozy). SOOO, as is always the way with
physicians that are run by pharmaceutical companies, my doctor raised my
dosage. She also prescribed sleeping pills that are not covered by insurance,
after me telling her I was broke, but that is another story for another day.
The higher dose of my auntie’s little helper was a little
unfortunate for myself and everyone around me. I immediately went on a drinking
bender to shut up the screaming in my head that started as soon as the pills
were upped. And became a black out drunk.
I’ve never been a black out drunk. Well, not in 20 years. About once every 5 years it happens. One
afternoon I was blacked out at 4pm. Woke up with only a shirt on after a
several hour pass out, having no clue where my friends went or what I had done.
Apparently I went to the store and bought more booze. Then there was that night, I invited a guy I
was interested in over while shit-faced – we had yet to go on a date. Needless
to say, after a night of casual, blacked out sex, we have yet to go on a date.
Everything was fine until I texted him exceedingly drunk a few more times in
the same week. Needless to say I haven’t heard from him since. Hurrah me.
I am aware of the warning label about drinking on this type
of medication, however it was the only way I could shut up the screaming in my
skull. Vicious cycle of drinking to ease the pain caused by drinking to ease
the pain caused by drinking to ease the pain caused by insomnia…so drink more.
Then skip to take more pills. So I can sleep. But I can’t
sleep. So take more pills. Yeah this is not the life I want to live. EVER.
Fast forward, rewind pause and reset. Better living through
chemical. And the pharmecuetical companies will stay in business. And we will
all be addicted. And think we have ADHD and PCOS and PTSD and PMS and schizophrenia.
And take more pills. And drink more booze to counteract the pills. Remember the good old days when weed was the
answer, to everything? Yeah, me neither. Maybe rehab isn’t such a bad idea
after all, Amy.
