I was crazy one day

I went crazy one day. I stood there and I watched things that just weren't so, happening right in front of me. Sophie was laughing and showing me a dance and I saw blood and it was pouring from a gash in her neck that wasn't really there.

"Well", thought I, "that's a new one".

I could see both things. I could see the not real thing and I could see myself see it and knew it wasn't real.

I wondered if finally I have had Enough. I wondered if I had finally slipped my cog. I wondered if it was true what I have always feared- deep down inside I am crazy. Not just a little bit crazy but stark raving mad, the kind of wacko that sees blood that isn't there.

So I went to bed because 9 out of 10 times that is the thing to do. More problems would solve themselves if we just went to bed. I layed there very still, trying hard not to believe the crazy and wondering what I could expect in my new life as a nut job. Would it all be blood and terrifying injuries and the crippling fear that I had caused them? Or would I see the occasional unicorn or maybe a giant talking rabbit? There is so much to ponder when embarking on a new life.

I woke up and carefully considered the evenings events, both the actual and the lunatic. It occurred to me that something was not right. It occurred to me that maybe I did not want to see things that were not so and feel fear without a reason and smile and talk to children while I could feel my brain wiggling. This left me with a conundrum. Who do you tell? What do you say?

It took a while to think it through. It occurred to me that someone as medicated as me might be having a reaction. I decided to entertain that thought. I decided that my meds were finally killing me and I would have to go off the steroids and my lungs would slam shut and I would die a crazy breathless woman and the whole world would traipse over to look at my house and criticize as I lay dead on the floor.

But I called the doctor anyway. It turns out that I am a genius. And an idiot. After carefully explaining to the doctor that I was having a psychotic reaction to steroids and was either going to go crazy or suffocate I sat waiting for the straight jacket and the shocked look. I told him about the blood and waited for him to call the police and have my children moved to a secret location far away from the loony. I told him about the wiggling darkness that crept up at night and circled my face while I held very still. I told him I ate 5 tacos and forgot.

He said, "When did this start?"

"Last week," I said.

"Uh," he paused flipping through the chart, "how long have you been taking Ambien?"

"Since...last week."

It turns out that for the vast majority of people, Ambien causes deep and restful sleep. And for a little tiny sliver it causes buckets of imaginary blood and wiggling wells of darkness to fall into all night long. I came home and flushed the Ambien down the toilet. I can go back to not sleeping. At least insomnia induces giggling silly nuttiness. I'll save the buckets of blood for my vampire movies.

I wondered how often I have sat there thinking the world was ending or believing there was something wrong with me because I just didn't want to say what was happening. I wonder how many of the things that I am terrified of are so simple that a question will make them go.

I have a new resolve. Next time I go crazy, I am just saying something right away. Maybe I am the problem. But maybe I am not. Maybe I can just flush the crazy down the toilet and take a nap. That's worth asking an embarrassing question.