The stories you are about to read are true. No names have been changed to protect the innocent because, frankly, I'm about as guilty as they come.
Several posts ago I alluded to certain physical changes to which I was introduced when I met Ms. Menopause last year. One of her more nagging colleagues - by far the rudest house guest of all - was Mr. Insomnia. He has no regard for internal time clocks, or the next day's "to do" list or the fact that a body just needs time to relax and recharge. A very selfish fellow. It's like he'd taken over my brain, paying no mind to that my body was beyond the point of being able to stand upright. Stay up, stay up, stay up...it was a constant battle.
I decided to fight fire, not with fire, but with drugs. My doctor prescribed Ambien for me and casually mentioned that some people have incidences of eating things during the night that they don't remember the next day. "Fat chance that'll happen to me," I thought. I'm much too much of a food lover to not enjoy every single morsel I put into my mouth.
For several months, that little white pill worked wonders...I had found the solution to my sleeplessness and life was good. Mr. Insomnia had moved on.
Until one morning when I woke up and I noticed some bright red streaks on my forearm and on my nightgown. And on the sheets.
For a little more than half a second I thought I'd inflicted great harm to someone in my family (Ron). I couldn't find his body anywhere, so I looked for other clues.
Upon closer inspection I realized it was...red velvet cake batter. I found the evidence in a bowl on my nightstand.
Apparently, I got out of bed, went into the kitchen, found the cake mix (which I will blame on Tyler...he left that and a brownie mix in our pantry after he moved out), poured a little in a bowl, added some oil and water, cracked an egg and mixed it up. And just ate it straight from the bowl. There was a spoon in the bowl, but judging from the mess I created I'm not sure I even used it.
After I saw the evidence, I had a very, very vague recollection of doing it. I didn't tell anyone for weeks. I was horrified, mortified, terrified. But a little part of me was, "Cool. I'm one of those side effect statistics."
As unsettling as it was, it didn't stop me from taking my sweet dreams tablet every night. Things were swell for another couple of months.
Then...I woke up one morning to see a little snack bowl on the nightstand with an itty bitty spoon and the tell-tale remnants of chocolate something.
I'd done it again. This time it was the brownie mix. Damn it, Tyler! Same scenario. Made a tiny bit of the mix, even added walnuts. I have no memory of this episode at all. Nothing.
To make matters worse, several days later I was cleaning out the fridge and found a plastic container of my "leftovers." Hold the phone! (That's what my mom says when she needs time to process important information.) It was more than a bit unnerving. My children have threatened to get me fitted for a straight jacket and/or put locks on the bedroom door. I tell them they're not the boss of me and to pipe down.
Did I stop taking my Ambien? No. I just threw out the rest of the cake and brownie mix and called it good.
I'm determined to keep my dreams sweet-less from here on out. So far, so good.
(For the record, I've been taking Ambien for over a year and this black out eating has only happened these two times...unless I've gotten really good about hiding the evidence, which I don't think is possible because I'm not that crafty).
Next time: the blessing of friendship
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