Posted by Phil on December 24, 2003, at 20:27:17
'Twas the night before Christmas; I sprang from my bed,
Hideous visions aflame in my head.
Was I dead? Overfed? Wherefore this dread?
Then it hit me like lead: I'd not taken my meds!
Away to the window I flew like a flash
Ere recalling that I of course kept my stash
Near my bed in a tray divided by days.
I pried Wednesday open, then felt myself sway --
It was empty! Ye gods! I hadn't refilled!
Would the panic of Christmases Past now rebuild?
The sobbing at Saks, the crying at carols?
The ill-chosen gifts? The parties? The peril?
The scorching of chestnuts, the gulping of nog?
The tantrum that comes from a wet Presto log?
The messy obsessing with all things morose?
Could I do that again? No, no! I'd be toast.
Quick! Call the druggist! (I said to myself),
And I did, but instead of the pharmacy elf,
I heard a man say in a proud, twangy voice:
"Our nation's depressed have new cause to rejoice!
I've expanded our war! (the one against drugs)
To wipe out all evil, including the thugs
Peddlin' them psychopharmaceuticals!
The Depressed can use faith! Like I do! It's beautiful!"
Then there was silence. I thought: It's a hoax.
A crop circle con job; the worst of all jokes.
With trazodone gone, I'd do no more sleeping;
Sans Paxil I'd go back to whining and weeping,
Not to mention seeing the Man in the Hall:
("Your negative animus!" had been my shrink's call.
"Animus schnanimus!" had been my response.
"I just want him gone!" "Drive him out with your thoughts,"
He'd suggested. "Be strong. Quit your groanin'."
And I did once my brain had been fed serotonin!)
But now all these lifesaving drugs had been banned
So the free and the brave could reclaim the land?
But the brave, I'd found out, didn't have special talents;
Their brains were just blessed with chemical balance!
In withdrawal already, I thought I could see
My pre-med affliction flying toward me --
'Twas my negative animus driving a sleigh;
Eight twinkling iguanas pulled it this way!
"I'm not home!" I screamed out, but closer they came
Till I swear I could hear him call them by name:
"Now, Prozac! now, Xanax! now, Paxil, now Zoloft!
Onward, Wellbutrin! On, Vodka and Rudolph!"
Who was my bad animus? St. Nick? A pusher?
Part of a trap set up by some Busher?
Mister Rush Limbaugh? Mister Bill Bennett?
The ghost of Strom Thurmond returned to the Senate?
Unable to bear it, I jumped back in bed,
Dived under the covers and feigned being dead
Till this darkness had passed and on came the dawn.
My animus and his iguanas were gone,
And my Wednesday meds were still in their slot.
('Twas Tuesday I'd checked, while my judgment was shot.)
I swallowed them quickly and tried to put right
The lingering fright from my harrowing night:
Such a nightmare I'd had! It was worthy of Freud!
And poor Kafka too: It was that paranoid!
A Jungian rerun! So very regressive
To dream Bush would steal the rights of depressives!
Had he not, after all, used drugs himself?
(Albeit none that had come from a pharmacy shelf?)
Still, the man had compassion; ditto the season!
(I kept telling myself, searching for reason.)
But try as I might I could not feel secure
Till I phoned up my druggist and made really sure
That I'd dreamed it all up, and had I? You bet.
Nothing that crazy could happen. (Not yet.)
Jean Gonick
poster:Phil
thread:293236
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/2000/20031122/msgs/293236.html