I Love You, Ambien

Maybe it’s the time zone jumping or the existential angst or the creeping effects of middle age. Whatever the reason, or reasons, over the last couple of years, sleep has become my enemy. There are many nights when I don’t sleep more than an hour or two, those few hours bracketed by endless hours of misery. Insomnia compounds itself, creating anxiety around bedtime about the act of sleep itself. One looks at the clock as it approaches eleven, then twelve, and the stomach clenches. Will I be able to sleep tonight? Or will I, as increasingly is the case, find myself flopping around in bed like a dying fish?

When I finally asked my doctor for help, she subscribed zolpidem tartare, the generic name for Ambien. Unlike store-brand cereals, off-brand Ambien is just as delicious as the real thing. “It’s not a good idea to take this every night,” she told me. “Because it’s so easy to get addicted.”

“That would be fine by me,” I told her.

“It wouldn’t be fine with me,” she said.

I wanted to call her a party-pooper, but I have learned over the years not to call your medical professional a party-pooper.

Yummy!

She’s not wrong, of course. Ambien is addictive. I’ve been addicted to it before. Not that I minded. The only downside to Ambien addiction is an inability to get Ambien. Yes, over time, one can develop problems with “digestive health, cardiovascular health, sensory systems, and respiratory processes.” Worth it.  I’m serious. I would trade the potential downsides for the very real upside of getting a good night’s sleep every night of the week.

It's nine o’clock in the morning as I type this and I just had my first good night of sleep in a good long while thanks to an assist from my friendly orange pill. I feel great. Or, at least as great as I ever feel, which, to be honest, probably isn’t that great. But I slept.

It used to be doctors would subscribe Ambien by the handful. Doctors used to keep bowls of it in their waiting rooms alongside bowls of lollipops. People would stuff their pockets it. That might be an exaggeration. But it is true that it used to be far easier to secure a prescription. Then the DEA scheduled it as a “schedule IV controlled substance,” which sounds more ominous than it is. Schedule IV controlled substances are defined as having a “low potential for abuse and low risk of dependence.” So what’s the problem? Why are we such prudes about helping people get to sleep?

And before you leave hectoring comments, yes, I’ve tried alternatives. I’ve tried melatonin and valerian root and lavender and going to bed earlier and going to bed later and reading before bed and “sleepy tea,” and every other non-pharmacological remedy you can think of. None of it works. You know what works? Ambien. Reliable, cheap, effective Ambien.

I’ve also tried edibles, which are definitely better than not taking anything but if I’m going to require help getting to sleep, I’d rather it come from a clean little pill I get from the pharmacy than a raspberry gummy called “Cat Piss OG” I buy from a white dude with dreadlocks who has trouble working the cash register.

There was also a time where it was fairly easy to get Ambien off the Dark Web, that scary shadow universe where you can also buy heroin, fake passports, or hire a hitman. My tastes for illicit adventures never ran that deep, but I did enjoy trading Bitcoin for boxes of Indian Ambien, which would come to my home in a fat padded envelope labeled “herbal remedy.” This is back in the days when Bitcoin could be purchased for ten bucks a pop. I remember buying ten or twenty Bitcoin at a time back then; of course, it never occurred to me that Bitcoin could also be an investment because I, as I have proven to myself time and time again over the years, am an idiot.

Again, that was years ago when I was young and took Ambien more or less recreationally. I just liked the way it made me feel. Floaty and light. Of course, my Ambien addiction also created a Hint of Lime Tostitos addiction, which created its own problems in terms of weight gain. But those days are behind me. Now I just want to sleep. I want to go to sleep free from sleep anxiety. I want to close my eyes and trust that the world will shut off for a few hours. I want to wake up when the sun is already up, and not, as is often the case these days, when it’s barely nudging the horizon. I want to fall asleep and stay asleep. Alas, sleep is yet another luxury of youth. One more reason to hate the young.

The morning feels brighter today because I slept. My appetite is better. My mood is elevated. I’m ready to tackle the world! (Sit on my couch and doom scroll social media.) Isn’t the small chance of getting the runs worth that? You bet. Big pharma might be an evil multi-headed hell hound, but they got this one just right. Zolpidem tartare. 5 mg per night. Eight hours of uninterrupted, wonderful, restorative sleep. Ambien, I love you.