Set Me Free

Nick came over Tuesday night after I got home from work. He brought a bag filled with all kinds of cutting tools, large and small to remove my cast from my left arm. We spent a few minutes in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub, hacking through the plaster and setting my arm free. When he took the cast off, I was horrified by how pale and withered my arm looked – imagine the wrinkly white skin that occurs beneath a Band-Aid, and then multiply that effect to cover your entire arm below your elbow. It was pretty foul. I immediately took my wrinkled arm to the sink and gave it a good washing for the first time in weeks. The warm water felt good on the freshly-released skin.

My wrist had become incredibly stiff from being held in one place, and it hurt to move it. Nick pulled a flexible elastic brace from his bag and told me to wear that for additional support if it was too uncomfortable. I stuck the brace into my pocket and spent the rest of the night with my arm on a heating pad like an old arthritic woman, wriggling my wrist in circles, trying to overcome the stiffness and regain motion.

As was the plan for the evening, we decided to make use of the extraordinary television and surround sound setup to watch a movie. Missy was out for dinner with David, her graduate student teaching assistant that she had hooked up with at the party a few nights before, so we weren’t interfering with her plans by being in the living room. I still wasn’t comfortable calling the place my own, especially when she was around. I still felt like I was just a visitor in her home, and I rarely came out of my room without an invitation.

I had told Nick that I wanted to watch something funny and silly, and he brought “This is Spinal Tap” with him for our viewing pleasure. “There’s such a fine line between clever and stupid.” You can’t help but laugh at them, especially when they’re taking themselves so seriously.

When the movie ended, I slipped the DVD back into its case. I had been debating all night, and I finally decided to tell Nick about my plans.

“Can I talk to you about something?” I asked.

“Anything. Of course you can.” He leaned forward with such a look of sincerity. I wanted to just hug him and make him swear that he would stand by me through all the rough spots in life.

“I’ve made some decisions,” I said. “They’re decisions about my medications.”

He looked a bit concerned, and understandably so. “What kinds of decisions?”

“I don’t want to take them anymore.”

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He rattled off a handful of meds that I took. “And also Luvox,” I said. “Don’t forget the Luvox.”

“Do you understand the significance of what you’re doing?”

“Yes.”

”Do you realize that you could be sick as a dog for up to…” he did some math. “You could be sick as a dog for up to three weeks, and still not be fully normal for a month after that. And once you’re ‘normal’, how do you know that the depression won’t get you? It’s a huge risk.”

“I don’t know for sure,” I said. “I won’t know for sure. But I do know that I hate medicating myself. I want to get away from that. I want to feel again. I want to laugh and feel it deep inside me. I want to cry.”

“And I can appreciate that. I can. But I have some serious worries about what can happen when you come off even one of those medications, but all of them…” his voice trailed away. “All of them at once?”

“Yes,” I said. “I want my body to know what it feels like to be clean. Why go through six different phases of withdrawal? It’s like getting rid of your wisdom teeth: you can do them one at a time, or four at once. I prefer four so I don’t ever have to do it again.”

“As your friend, I understand. As a medical professional, I really have to advise against it.”

I was crushed. I wanted him to say he was proud of me for trying to be strong. I wanted him to say he would stand beside me and support me through this. There were a lot of things I wanted to hear. “I advise against it” was not one of them.

I curled into a tiny ball on the couch, pillow clutched to my belly, crushed by his lack of sympathy. I wanted him to leave. “If you’re not with me, you’re against me,” I said bitterly, meaning every word.

“That’s not true. I’m with you.”

“No, you’re not. I thought for a moment, and then stood. “I think it’s time for you to go home now.” He stood slowly and casually strolled through the condo for the front door.

“Listen to me,” he said. “I’m always there for you. You know that. He kissed me on the cheek and left his cell phone number on the table. “I think you’ll need it. Call me.” He started to walk away, and stopped. “Please tell Missy. She needs to know, in case something bad happens.”

I closed and locked the door behind him, and went straight to my room. I slept fitfully that night, constantly awakening to street noises or the sound of my cat purring like a motorcycle in my ear.

The next morning, before work, I lined them up very carefully on the counter, one pill after another, until they formed a line of tiny pharmaceutical soldiers. They seemed so inert when they sat there, which seemed like a startling contrast to the power they secretly held inside. Reaching forward with my right hand, I began to flick them, one by one, in the direction of the toilet. Ping! Ping! Sploosh! Ping! Ping! There were far more misses than hits, and I knelt on the floor, reaching behind the toilet for one that had bounced wildly, feeling the cold porcelain against my bare shoulder. I counted the remaining pills in her hand, one by one. Sixteen. I thought about lining them up again, but I’d grown bored with that game. I opted for dropping them into the toilet, one by one, just to watch them dissolve. I wondered how long it would take for each to break down in plain water, knowing that the process would be infinitely faster in the acidic environment of the stomach.

I watched the various colors release and melt in the toilet, colored patches on a white porcelain base. With a flush, they were gone, just a memory that may or may not have ever existed in reality. And what, exactly, is reality, especially when you’re that medicated? With a flick of the handle, the water swirled in and the pills were gone.

Now all that was left was the fear of the withdrawal. There was nothing that could be done but watch and wait. I left a note for Missy – “Stopped taking meds. Nick fears withdrawal symptoms. If I get sick, you’ll know why” – and went to work.