D is for Drug Addiction

Ironic as I start this post Weezer is playing "We are all on drugs" on Pandora.

We are though aren't we? This post isn't inspired by the fact that I had a marijuana-dealing roommate my freshman year of college. Or because I watched Half-Baked one too many times last night.

Jim Breuer:"Get some sour cream and onion chips with some dip, man, some beef jerky, some peanut butter. Get some Häagen-Dazs ice cream bars, a whole lot, make sure chocolate, gotta have chocolate, man. Some popcorn, red popcorn, graham crackers, graham crackers with marshmallows, the little marshmallows and little chocolate bars and we can make s'mores, man. Also, celery, grape jelly, Cap'n Crunch with the little Crunch berries, pizzas. We need two big pizzas, man, everything on 'em, with water, whole lotta water, and funyuns. Yeah, funyuns."

That last part was for you Erik. Not because you smoke weed. But for movie quote insertion. I'll keep thinking of more.

Anyway, back to drugs. The inspiration for this post came from my routine swallowing of four quarter inch white circular circumference tablets every 12 hours. Tablets that keep me from losing my sanity. Tablets that if I didn't have washing down my system I would lose total control, and begin drooling out of the left corner of my mouth. Tablets that I MUST have in order to keep my day going just right. Yes, I am a drug addict.

Not just any drugs do I depend on. I am referring to Carbamazepine CAS Number: 298-46-4 85756-57-6. Oh just listen to that roll off of the tongue of my keyboard. It sounds so melodic, so intoxicating, so exquisitely picturesque. Carbamazepine is one of my many Achilles heels. It is my sanctuary that keeps me buzzing for a dozen hours while my body fights off the urges to lose consciousness and bladder control shaking softly into complex partial euphoric shock.

Am I wrong for admitting that I have an addiction to these small circular carbamazepine satisfactions? Is it terrible for me to blather on about my narcissistic necessities? Just feeling the quartet of 200 mg. anticonvulsants slither down my throat is a bittersweet symphony in my own mind.

Bittersweet because they take the pain away. They make sure that I don't start shaking uncontrollably and wander non-cognizant into small lakes as I have done in the past. They keep me from falling unaware that I am flooring my girlfriends Nissan Altima and totaling it on the side of the road. They make it so I don't lift up the entire stack of diplomas at my collegiate graduation and throw them on the ground while the President of the school is in mid-sentence. They also leave my mind and body in a sub-conscious state of stabilized sodium channels that allow my neurons to slow down their productive firing. They make me tired at 2 in the afternoon while I'm kicking back my fifth Mt. Dew. They make it so random bones hollow out and need replacement.

These drugs are on both sides of my shoulder. They are my most loyal comrade, and my most despised rival. Carbamazepine is the name of my lifetime companion. One who I will love and hate, cherish and despise until the end of my days. And so I will keep taking these drugs. I will be an addict for the rest of my life.