Xanax saves lives.
In my crazy manic-depressive itinerant life, Xanax has got me across many a bad night.*
Doctors (law-abiding doctors) are necessarily stingy with Xanax (trade name for the tranquilizer alprazolam), a controlled substance enforced by a 1970 federal law that limits the number of pills per month. That number can vary, depending on the patient and the doctor. At the clinic I go to it’s 30 a month.
But some doctors are more generous than others. When I lived in Miami in the 1980s, a doctor prescribed Xanax for me readily and freely. He’d get me 200 full-strength Xanax whenever I asked.
I’d go to his office as manic as a Jack Russell Terrier and he’d just say, “I’ve never seen a man more in need of a Xanax.”
Even when I was out of town, New York, Montreal, L.A., I would call his office and he’d phone in a prescription to the local drug store.
Once I was in Alberta, Canada and I called him from the curiously and in this case appropriately named city of Medicine Hat.**
He phoned in the prescription to the local Rexall Pharmacy. No problemo.
These days in America, it’s easier to buy a gun than get a Xanax refill. And a gun won’t get you across many a bad night. All a gun will do is blast you to kingdom come.
* The thought of suicide is a great source of comfort: with it a calm passage is to be made across many a bad night. — Friedrich Nietzsche ‘Beyond Good and Evil’
** The name Medicine Hat derives from the Indian word Saamis (sa-mus), the Blackfoot word for the eagle tail feather headdress worn by medicine men.