Ambien is some wild stuff. One time I took Ambien and was moving furniture around the house at 3am in my underwear. My dad woke up and had a whole conversation with me. I don't remember that, but he said I seemed completely normal.jrmy wrote:I have a good friend who's done some hilarious stuff on Ambien. Like once he bought a clear lucite Flying V on eBay and didn't remember until he received notification that he'd won the auction.
Another time he was sketching ideas for guitars, which he showed me the next day - sketch by sketch, they got more and more abstract/expressionist, until the last picture which was just a mass of dots and lines on the page, in a vaguely guitar-ish shape.
All I know is I woke up and there was a desk in my room that had been in the other room the night before.Oh, and another night I wrote this (I had to write a micro-writing for some informal short-story competition):
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[u]Mourning After Pills[/u]
Johnny awoke abruptly. His body felt heavy and he could hardly move his head. The room was dim. The only light was filtering through the window shades from the outside. An alarm clock, an empty highball glass, and a half-empty bottle of sleeping pills sat on the night stand. The clock was blinking "12:00."
It took all of his strength to get out of bed, but as soon as both feet were on the ground, the room was spinning. He threw open the door, took a hurried ten paces, and vomited into the toilet. When he had finished, Johnny wiped his face with the sheet of paper he suddenly realized he had been clutching in his left hand. On his way to the bathroom, he had inadvertently pulled it off the outside of his bedroom door where it had been taped the night before. Now covered in half-digested whisky and kung-pow chicken, he could hardly make out what he had written on it. All that Johnny, in a semi-paralysis on the floor, could recognize were a few names: Marco, Caroline, his parents, the rest was illegible. He didn't quite remember all the words, but he knew the purpose of that note when he made those violent, addled strokes across the page the night before. And now it was moot as he'd be the only one to see that paper as he flushed it down the toilet.
After an hour in the bathtub, he made his way onto the couch. From there, Johnny could reach his phone in order to check his voicemail. Both messages were from earlier in the day:
The First Message: "Hey Johnny! It's Marco. I'm sorry, after the power went out, I couldn't make it out last night to help with, uh, what did you say you needed help with? Something about moving boxes of Caroline's stuff, but that I should check your room first. You were kinda slurring when we talked last night. Are you ok, man? I'm sure this whole thing sucks for you. Call me back when you get this."
The Second Message: "Johnny. It's Caroline, calling to remind you that I'll be coming with Rick to get the rest of my stuff today. We'll be there right at three. I still have the key and Rick's with me, so you don't even need to be there."
Johnny looked around the room. Three large boxes and one smaller box occupied an entire corner of the small apartment room. "Those are hers and the rest is mine," he thought, "I don't even need to be here." His watch said two o'clock as he walked down onto the street. He decided to give Marco a call. His whole body hated him, but his mind was screaming for a beer.Benzos are good though. Probably the best thing.
I don't have experience with zzzquil, but I'd stay away from OTC antihistamines. Those tend to induce restless leg syndrome really badly. Basicall they make you feel like your bones are trying to jump out of your body and you have no option but to convulse for hours.
