ode

Oh, Seroquel.

Oh, Quetiapine. What times we had.

Or didn’t have, ’cause I was out cold.

Like remember that day? No, me either.

Oh, 400mg, each night before I sleep… what a sleep we had.

I mean, whoa, what a sleep we had! 11 hours, almost digit to digit, and rising like a defective monster stitched together by Frankie, that doctor down the street with all the spare parts lying around. No energy like lightning to get you awake, and this energy was so unlike lightning it might as well been magma: hot yes, but really, really fucking slow.

Remember that time, Seroquel, when I took you one night I was out with friends? The hour not even dark, but I thought it good to keep my rhythms intact, so I popped you thinking it wouldn’t be an issue; and then I almost fell asleep walking down the benighted street? And later while I was trying to dance? Yeah, baby, that was fun.

And hey, what about August? I took you once a little later than usual and slept until 7pm the next evening, and woke not knowing if it was twilight or dawn? Those were fun times, too.

Oh, drug of my mind, I’d start slurring my words half an hour after you passed my lips.

Oh, Seroquel. A quiet, suffocating blankness, you were. A long, dark, sleepy tea time for my twitchy, twitchy soul.

“Look how STABLE you make, Mr. Mudni,” Psychiatrist would say. “Look how CALM.”

Oh, yes, calm. So calm you could use me as a coffee table during an after-party for an Marilyn Manson concert: people could jump on me and shout. People cloud do lines off me. They could break bottles on my hard surfaces.

Hard like the inside of a drug-fueled slumber.

Baby, how I’ll miss you.

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~ by A Mundi on September 28, 2009.

2 Responses to “ode”

  1. There is bi-polar information on my blog that I wrote during hubby’s dance with his drugs trying to find the right mix. He is on the same pills – takes them every night before bed. It took us 10 months to find the right mix, and it seems to be working for him. Just go to the pages section of the blog and look for BiPolar observations.

  2. Thanks, Jeremy. I took a look, and read the whole thing. I’m not sure it’s the proper response, but it made me somewhat happier that I’ve lived through this whole business of medication alchemy over the past year without a life-partner to harass and harangue. Sister is down the road and has done an admirable job as both Blood Relative and Primary Support Mechanism, but she and I both get to go back to our own living spaces at the end of the day. For this, I am thankful.

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