Free I Don't Want to Be Crazy by Samantha Schutz Page A

made promises to my friend,
so I need you to prescribe something to chill me out
because I know it is coming
and I need to be ready.”
    Lexomyl 6 mg
looks like a tiny row of teeth
and can be broken into four pieces.
I swallow one miniature tooth after another
until I can fall asleep.
    SAM-e 200 mg
is a supplement
and looks like a fat brown M&M.
    The doctor says it is all natural
and I don’t believe for a second that
it is going to make a difference.

iv.
    Rebecca and I are in Florence with Robyn.
We have two weeks of spring break ahead of us.
We are armed with Eurail passes,
giant backpacks, a list of hostels,
and a bottle of sedatives.
    First Florence, Venice, and Rome,
then a train from Rome to the south of France,
an overnight train from Nice to Barcelona,
and possibly south in Spain.
    Rebecca and I are a good team.
She doesn’t care enough to do research
and I’m a control freak.
I have our trip planned out.
Nearly every day is accounted for.
    I’m nervous to go
after what happened in Provence,
but we made all these plans
and there are so many places I want to see.
Knowing that I have pills in my backpack
makes me feel safer.
    On the way to Robyn’s favorite restaurant,
the panic hits and I start crying quiet, slow tears
because I do not have the strength to do this again.
We are walking up a cobblestone street
and I look over at Rebecca and shake my head,
hang it low.
    Some people love dusk—
the blue-gray cloud
that covers everything.
It makes my eyes roll back in my head,
makes my head swim.
It makes me cold.
    At the restaurant
we order the tasting menu.
Slowly, plate after plate,
the food comes.
I feel crushed by time.
I don’t see how I can make it
through all the courses
without screaming.
My stomach is cramped.
I am going to be sick.
    In the bathroom
I assume the familiar position—
chest pressed against my thighs,
staring at the tiles.
I take out the bottle of Lexomyl
and swallow a few little teeth
and shut my eyes.
    I imagine them making their way
down my throat,
into my stomach,
and dissolving
into my bloodstream
and traveling to my brain.
    Someone is outside, knocking,
waiting to get into the bathroom,
but I don’t think I can move.
I don’t think I can get off this seat
and go out there,
in the dark
with all those people
and all those courses.
Deep breaths.
Deep breaths.
    I get off the seat
and put a wet paper towel on the back of my neck.
I am not sure how long I’ve been in here,
but I am hoping that somehow
I have missed the rest of the courses
and Rebecca and Robyn are ready to leave.
    When I return to the table
it is set with the same course as when I left.
I am quiet and shaking,
waiting for the pills to hit.
When the shivering and shaking stops,
I know that I will be okay,
but my jaw is still tight
and my knees are knocking
and the only thing I can do is
stare at the candle flame
because it is constant.
    Hearing new languages
and walking strange and unfamiliar streets
makes my head spin.
I should be happy and calm and vacationing
but instead I am taking sedatives.
    It’s hard to be in such close quarters
with someone who doesn’t understand.
Robyn has never seen this side of me.
We met last semester
when things were good.
I’m afraid that Robyn thinks
I am being overly dramatic,
and that what is happening isn’t a big deal.
    “Claire, whatever that doctor gave me isn’t cutting it.
I need something else.
I’m in Italy, and I don’t know how
I’ll find a doctor who speaks English.
No, I’m on a pay phone, you can’t call me back.
Call your mom and ask her.
She’s a therapist and knows about drugs.
I’ll call you back in a little while.
I just need a name of a drug—
something she thinks would work,
so I can go in there and tell the doctor what I want,
what I need.”
    Xanax 1 mg
is like a roller coaster,
like whiplash.
I am okay for a little while
and then I snap back.
    In Venice, I try to swallow it.
I try to push it down
to the pit of my stomach,
under my feet.
I have