XII: Two Years Riding the Middle

Sometimes, medication works very, very well.

I spent several years on a wonder drug called Risperdal. It’s just an atypical anti-psychotic but as far as I’m concerned it’s heaven. For someone who frequently goes through periods where they live moment in and moment out in a state of emotional turmoil, the calm that Risperdal brings cannot be equaled. Cannot be equaled by benzodiazepines. Cannot be equaled by alcohol. Cannot be equaled by Ferris wheel rides at county fairs on hot summer nights with a fistful of pink cotton candy on a white cardboard stick.

Risperdal is also the subject of a number of lawsuits right now. It was, to make a long and complicated story short, prescribed to boys before it was approved for children and some of those boys developed breast tissue. Around town there is a billboard that says: Harmed by Risperdal? Call 1-800-BAD-DRUG. I totally get why this is a problem for boys, but as far as I understand it, if you already have breasts you’re pretty much in the clear. (Snakelady is doing just fine, thank you very much.)

I spent several years calm and content on this medication. Even-keeled and sleeping lusciously well. I had the temperament that you’d expect of those delightful, rolly-polly Panda bears that spend all day playing like super-sized kittens at the National Zoo. I had the disposition of Donna Reed. I was tranquil like you get after a weekend Firefly marathon with only pizza, single-serving Haagan Dass ice cream pints and break-apart Toll House cookies used as segues from one episode to another. I felt a deep sense of internal satisfaction with my life and my choices. I was beyond happy. I had reached Zen about shit choices and was bordering on radical acceptance of my option set. My work didn’t suffer. My marriage didn’t suffer. Maybe I didn’t write glittering public essays under a secret moniker but that, I find, while truly a good thing, is not strictly a necessary thing.

My doctor said I was boring on Risperdal. No sparkle. No famous Snakelady spirit. And if you look over on the right side of this blog you’ll see that I didn’t post here for a full two years. A lot of my creativity during that period fizzled out, although I’ve been off the drug for a year now. Another of those messy “medical” situations interfered. My periods stopped and it took me two years to admit that to a doctor. Once my secret was in the open, multiple doctors examined me in a parade of white coats and the conclusion was that long-term use of this drug would result in osteoporosis and “female trouble” for me. My doctor just wanted the Snakelady back at full strength.

But boy oh boy do I miss that Risperdal during the rough patches.