This is not a chemical romance

Tonight is one of those nights where I wish I could just double my sleeping pill and check out until tomorrow afternoon (No, I will not do that). These nights come sometimes... less frequently in the last few weeks but arrive none-the-less. Always without warning. Always highly miserable. Nights where the chemicals take hold of my body and no breathing, no distraction can remove their effects. Nights that always bring me back six months to that room on the corner of the 9th floor.

My gut is rumbling an angry, medication-induced rumble, both unsettling and painful.

My heart is racing at a panicked clip but my mind is foggy. A drugged-up panic and fear.

There are tiny electric shocks rippling from my elbow to my wrist and from my knee to my ankle, then wrapping around to settle on the heels of my hands and the soles of my feet. Sometimes, not now (wood, go knock on some) they ignite my toes.

I've been having a hot flash every twenty minutes for the last four hours. Dripping in sweat. These alone come nightly, a reminder of my stolen fertility. There is no telling if this is real or temporary, you know what I mean.


Though the day was pleasant, tonight I am angry and uncomfortable.  These are side effects that are quite common, which infuriates me.  How many others are out there, laying in bed right now feeling this? These medications are brutal. Inhumane. Miracles. They preserve my life and I should feel thankful, but I do not. Not tonight. Not now. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week. Not in this moment. They play with my body, they disturb my dreams, bringing horrifying nightmares. I just want health and rest. I just want to cry.

Maybe if I do they will be washed more quickly from my battered system...