Dear Ambien,

It was love at first sight.  I remember vividly (because there are pictures documenting it) the first time we met.  It was after a night of booze and shenanigans with Wendy, Tracy and Jessica.  I won't go into graphic detail but after sucking down two fishbowls of 7 different kind of liquors and throwing dollah bills at the girls at The Office (Medford, Oregons, Number 1 all-girls-all-nude-all-the-time strip club).  In our defense, we were there taking notes in preparation for the pole dancing class we were going to take the next day while guzzling vast quantities of Blue Hawaiians (there may or may not have been lap dancing involved), we headed on home to Wendy's house, drunker than drunk and ready to continue partay-ing.  


Since we had to be up and bright-eyed and bushy-tailed the following morning for our pole dancing class, which would be followed by a combination purse/jeans/Mary Kay/Tarot Reading party, Wendy decided we should all take an Ambien so that we would go right to sleep and wake up refreshed.  (Drunken logic is rarely sound, y'all... but it always seems like rocket science to other drunks.)


Ambien was passed around and the next thing I remember was waking up at 7:30 in the morning, not feeling as hideously hungover as I thought I would but still not terrific.  For some reason I had pink cupcake crumbs all over my shirt, I couldn't find my jammie bottoms, and I had frosting in my hair.  


Hmmmm.


I toodled out to the kitchen and noticed five dozen mini pink frosted cupcakes THAT WERE NOT THERE THE NIGHT BEFORE gracing the counter top.


Ponder, ponder...


Eventually, we all checked our cameras and cellphones, which contained picture after picture of Tracy, Wendy and I wildly and raucously frosting cupcakes, eating cupcakes, and wearing cupcakes while Jessica was photographed slumped and passed out on the kitchen floor.  Apparently, we neatly stepped over and around her while having ourselves a pre-dawn cupcake party.  


Good times, good times. 


Since I have been suffering from insomnia since I was a little girl (I was afraid to go to sleep because of the end of "Now I lay me down to sleep"... the "If I should die before I wake" part sent me into a nightly panic.  Once my mother figured it out, after 4 or 5  years of me refusing to fall asleep, we switched it immediately over to The Lord's Prayer, but the damage was done... Dani Doesn't Sleep) the idea of a good night sleep, every single night, was intriguing.  I slept so soundly after taking Ambien (alcohol may have played a part in that, but still... on the rare occasions that I drink myself stupid I'm usually wide awake and stupid, rather than passed out quietly like everyone else) that I really, really wanted to see if it would work for me.


I talked to my doctor and bless her heart, she wrote me my very own prescription and sent me home with it.  YAY!  I eagerly anticipated all the sleep I would be getting, finally, after 45 years of wakefulness.


It worked GREAT.  I would take it around 9:00 and be sleeping soundly by 10.  Perfection!


But then I started noticing little things, like popcorn spilled all over the couch, empty candy wrappers lying around the livingroom, shoes and purses that I didn't remember ordering coming in the mail, text messages and phone calls that I had absolutely ZERO recollection of...


Uh oh.


It got to the point where the first thing I would do in the morning is check my phone to make sure I hadn't called or texted anyone the night before.  


When a particularly ugly pair of black Uggs arrived in the mail, I started recognizing that there might be a teensy little problem. 


I started referring to these lapses as "Ambienesia."  The worst part of Ambienesia was the munchies.


On one particularly horrible occasion, I CUT MY OWN HAIR BEFORE GOING TO BED.  I got up in the morning and there were clippers, scissors, and clumps of hair all over the bathroom sink.  


But most often, I would go through every food item in the kitchen, like a cartoon version of a swarm of termites eating a house.  And not remember it.


Not good for a fat girl who's trying to watch her weight.  


I tell myself every night right after taking my Ambien, "Do NOT eat anything!!"  and I tell Dan, "Do NOT let me eat anything!!"  He always half-way listens to me and says, "Okay..." but I'm pretty sure he's never yanked a candy bar out of my mouth while I'm rummaging through the kitchen EVERY SINGLE NIGHT before I go to bed.  


Seriously, DUDE... !!!


So anyway, this morning I woke up and thought, "Whew... I didn't eat anything last night except a couple of plain Saltines."  I got up, toodled into the kitchen, and...


What.  The FUCK.  


???


An empty container of Dole peaches was sitting on the end table next to the loveseat.  The packaging for a microwavable brownie melt thingy that has been in the pantry in Crescent City and here for about a year was on the counter, with a spoon stuck to the side of the empty black bowl.  Two American cheese wrappers were on the stove.  


Shit.


Okay, message received:  Ambien is making me fat.  Ambien is making me stupid.  I have no place to be in the morning, insomnia is not going to kill me.


I think.


So anyway, Dear Ambien, I think we need to call it quits.  This has been the best, most well-rested three years of my life, but I think it's time to bid thee adieu.  


I'm dying a little inside as I write these words...


The hideous shoe and purse orders and damage to my bank account I can live with; the nightly piggery and potential for a shaved head, I cannot.


I will miss you soooooo...


Love,


Dani