"Dual Diagnosis"

My four month long residential treatment was specifically for addicts with mental problems. Hahahahahaha. So, they offered us drugs to help with our depression and anxiety.

Everyone was crazy! Lost the wife, kids, home, all the money. Cops on the look out.

I tried to avoid the drugs, except the Klonopin, and I got off that too, once.

Then the doctor was making her weekly visit ---November I think it was. I was getting S.A.D. ---so I asked for the works, and Jesus Christ on a bike, I couldn't believe this shit. It was almost purely for kicks. I got the Klonopin back and then started Ambiance, Seriquil, Busbar, Effexor, uppers downers bennies 'ludes. I asked for some Viagra too, I don't know why, a premonition, a pretty fair guess?

But it was the Seriquil that really fucked me up. And you have never heard anything like this before, believe me. (This was Seriquil on Me, and I'm unique.)

This pill was to help you sleep, but it also helped with weight gain and appetite. The first night I took it led me into a sort of a kalaiedescope of rut, and I'll tell you how now.

I became famished in thirty minutes. I made myself a cheeseburger, which struck me as unusually delicious. No, not delicious. Simply put, it was like the first cheeseburger in the world for me. It tasted so good I made another, and began to make crazy remarks to my housemate Gary, that I might be on to something here.

Meanwhile I was falling asleep fast. But I made myself some waffles. I had to be quick because I couldn't be sure if I was going to be awake much longer. Then I had a piece of cherry pie. I won't bother you with the superlatives.

I ate until I choked. I was asleep.
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For three months, on Seriquil, I could only eat once a day. And it had to be the same meal. And the cheeseburger was perfect everytime. The waffles and cherry pie, too.
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One night I took the pill and got to the kitchen fast, of course, not wanting to fall face forward into my plate. Had to have everything. As usual all the ingredients were there. Hamburger. Cheese. Salt. Bun. And the rest.

This night, no one was around. Maybe it was after everyones bedtime.

A young woman walked into the kitchen, I'd never seen before. This was surprising, to live in a house without meeting one of your housemates. She was fairly pretty, with slightly hypothyroid brown eyes and long, straight black hair unusually thick.

Six months pregnant. I gave my usual "well, hello, welcome !" and asked if I could help her find anything to eat. She asked in a very hushed voice for a glass of water, and seemed apologetic. I gave her some ice water, smiling, not being talkative to her.

That was that, but then two days passed and suddenly I remembered her. Who was that? I hadn't seen her since. Three days passed. It became a *shrug*, except that she had seemed nice and so quiet, I presumed innocent. Perhaps scared. Small town girl.

I asked everyone, (about ten people living there at the time), and even the staff. Nobody knew who I was talking about.

Then on Thanksgiving Day, when I refused to eat any of the feast because I didn't want to ruin the euphoria of my midnight cheeseburger, waffles, pie, THERE SHE WAS AGAIN.

Heather! Sweet-Pea! Joanie! Who is that girl?

Her name is Flora. She doesn't talk. She just sits there knitting. We try to get her to talk but she won't.

My gosh. How CHARMING! And at last, an addict who really WAS crazy. In this charming way, too, where she's obviously in some nesting mode. Probably has a big swollen heart like her belly, only she must be awfully sad being here. Oh my.

HEY I TOLD YOU GUYS SHE WASN'T MY IMAGINATION. SHE'S NO MAKE-BELIEVE, SHE'S SITTING RIGHT THERE.
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So, I was in some sort of love.

I began to pay close attention. And I'd make small talk. She was deaf apparently, despite what the staff told me. I didn't take it personally.

Then I told her she was my 'imaginary'. I nicknamed her. "Good Morning, Make-Believe!"

This was just as foolhardy as it is starting to sound. I blame the Seriquil, of course. Well, as I grow up a little, maybe not so much but still. That shit was sine qua non. A prerequisite, I mean. Maybe the Busbar, Effexor, uppers downers bennies 'ludes were too.

But! It was me. I know myself that well. It was still me after all. Alcoholics are fuck-sticks unless they're really really trying not to be, constantly, three AA meetings a day.

After a week I teasingly asked if she would sit by me in one of our meetings. She did. We sat on the couch, crowded together, and she put her head on my shoulder.

Next day, we were holding hands. We talked. I asked each day, how are you. She'd say, "I'm tired." That was it.

Staff spotted her leaning her head on my shoulder. There was a hullabaloo. Then later they caught us holding hands.

People warned me to knock it off. But I thought maybe if I hurt her feelings, her brain might release some chemical into her blood-stream that would make the baby meloncholy.
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All this time, the staff was trying to kick me out. I'd got a long list of misdeamenors after a regime change there, a month earlier. My counselor had to turn into a cop. I was put under house arrest for weeks at a time. No AA meetings, no church, no store.

Finally, I went AWOL for thirty minutes to go to an AA meeting, a block up the street. The director was waiting for that. They shut and locked all the doors. (Oh. I forgot to mention I was already kicked out but we were in a legal appeal process.)

It was snowing but I didn't mind. I was amused, standing out there waiting for my stuff.

Then I looked up and there was Flora looking out the window, unhappy I imagined. Maybe I'd convinced her that she didn't really exist if I wasn't around imagining her. And I felt like I was saying goodbye to my own Harvey The Six foot tall rabbit.

You know, a Pooka.

I thought: f'ing serequil, god damn that's some strange stuff!

See, I wasn't so far along in the 12 steps. Still supremely selfish, above all the rules, etc.

Anyway, this all led to a few months of moral conundrums, because I'm not very decisive and when I am mometarily aware of people's feelings, I don't want to hurt them.

I should get off the drugs anyway. But I gained 15 pounds just with that one same meal a day.

Or maybe I had a sympathy pregnancy going, due to some spell she cast on me.
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Maybe I'll continue this story later.
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I should have just nicknamed her "Pooka".

Cute, and it wouldn't have meant anything to her, I bet.
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Women, food, and drugs. Man Alive.