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.
4 thoughts on “A man and his Xanax”
The psychotropic chemical world would not be complete without any realization of real world anxiety to contrast the mitigation of reality while under the effect. Vicious cycle and no real adaptation to the real or imagined. Facing fear and flight with no where to run but regression to cowering and occupying time with mundane pleasures or food or channel surfing internet sporatic search for situations or experiences more grave or vicariously uplifting to pinpoint your location on the suffering scale. No shackles only but the arena prison of the subconscious mind. So without plan or escape you go buy a gun. Never learn to use it; just know it’s there if you need it…to blow your own brains out or compelling at least to tempt yourself too. And you will. Hoping somebody invades your privacy. Invades your sanctuary of your dance with depression and remorse it could have been worse. Can’t get Xanax? But a gun the myth of the gun. Your image Inate object. Until it’s not devoid of hope for a time.
You may be right.
Guns don’t kill people Xanax and Hindu God of War Cannabis Sativa Hashish assassins smoking up Reefer Madness Mal-adjusted yutes do! OMG I sound like my Father or an old family friend, Father Ellwood Keiser TV show Insight
Now you’ve lost me.