ghosts

I’ve been having trouble sleeping again. Almost every night, I wake between 3-4am, my body groggy but my mind ready to party. Exercise hasn’t helped. Neither has reading, nor writing, nor making the room extra cold to induce deeper sleep. It just leaves me, in chronological order: wildly energised, fully awake, fully awake and ever so slightly manic, with a sore throat the next day.

*

For a few years, I was on prescription meds for allergies. The doctor said it was perfectly safe, she had given it to kids as young as a year old, and since the adult meds hadn’t worked for me, maybe this would. There were minor side effects but the drug had existed for so long, don’t worry, perfectly safe.

On it I was immediately better. And almost immediately too, I began having these wild, vivid dreams. Nightmares — a listed side effect. Years later, it would be reported that the drug “caused extremely unsettled dreams, which led to exhaustion and depressed feelings” in adults.

The thing is, I loved all my dreams, even the nightmares. It was like disappearing into a different world each night. Once, I dreamt dinosaurs were on our street — the dream began with me waking up from a dream in my bedroom and fleeing out the window with my sister. I remember running barefoot down the main road. I remember the gravel cutting, my feet bleeding, and us breathless, running forever. I remember people around us screaming, panicked. We were trying to find the rest of our family, but we had left our phones charging in the room. 

When I woke up from that dream it was still dark out. My sister remained asleep in her bed. Our phones were where we had left them.

I stayed awake.

*

I phoned the clinic to tell them I was coming in to refill my prescription, but the receptionist told me she couldn’t do that anymore. “Change of rules,” she said, “Dr. Angela needs to assess you first.” 

I waited 50 minutes before it was my turn. When I was finally called in, Dr. Angela broke the news. Worldwide, more kids were reporting incidences of hallucinations. It was only after this consultation that I would do more research — in Singapore, an 11 year-old had become paranoid about being stabbed. She hallucinated about being pinched. She was constantly panicked about misplacing stationery, so she became obsessive about counting what she had. Reportedly, kids were showing signs of aggression and irrational behaviour the world over. They had night terrors. They became sullen, withdrawn. Adults too, doctors were now saying, could exhibit signs of depression on the drug.

Don’t worry, Dr. Angela said. You don’t have any of this right? We’ll just do a routine assessment. Answer a few questions and I can refill the prescription.

We began.

Do you have vivid dreams?
Yes.

Do you often have nightmares?
Yes.

Do you ever feel sad (and here she hedged), not normal sad, like depressed?
I hesitated. Yes, but depression runs in my family.

Yes, she said. That’s quite common. But have you ever felt depressed while on this drug?

*

What I wanted to say was: my grandmother was depressed for years because she lost a child. A cousin once removed remains committed in an institution somewhere. He had a breakdown in uni, and now he is my dad’s age. I only learned of him in my 20s. I was once more depressed than I’ve ever been on this drug, but not as depressed as others around me have been, and after so many years, I’m not even sure what I feel can be considered depression. What is normal people sadness anyway? I cry in the shower a lot but can still get out of bed. I remember a time I couldn’t.

Instead, I said: I don’t know.

As if it would help, I added: But I’m seeing a therapist now.

*

I was given a prescription for a 1-month refill, and after, Dr. Angela said, we would have to start on something new. At the counter, the receptionist told me the drug could no longer be dispensed at clinics. Go to Guardian, she said, the medicine will be there. When I spoke to the pharmacist at Guardian, she furrowed her brows. “We don’t have this here. You’ll need to go to the hospital to get it.” 

She checked her records. “Oh. Only 2 hospitals have it in stock. 3 boxes left.”

So it came to be: the drug that had helped me breathe more deeply than ever before was apparently also suspected of altering my mood. Dr. Angela had tried to explain it to me as gently as she could. “I believe the drug is safe. My patients have never had problems. But… since you have so many side effects… There are other drugs that can help you. Don’t worry, perfectly safe.”

I think my mistake was bringing up the therapist.

*

The drug I was on is now more tightly regulated after the UK, US, and Canada issued warnings of “serious mental health effects”. Here, a mother led the charge with a petition to get the drug removed, because ultimately, children couldn’t tell the difference between their dreams and this world. Their fears were bleeding into real life.

The kids won — as I know they should have.

But I sometimes wish they hadn’t. Is that wrong to say? I cannot explain this without sounding selfish. 

Let me try. All my dreams, all those nightmares, they were like life through the looking glass. I was funnier, faster. I once dreamt I learned how to fly a plane with teenage Josh Hartnett. I once had an unimpressed toucan with purple feet deliver a cryptic message about an upcoming project. Many times I was unprepared for math exams. Sometimes the entire dream would be about forgetting I even had an exam until it was over. I was always losing people, finding them, redoing my past. 

Even if the drug did make me sad, no matter what, I always woke up thankful to be alive. My nightmares bled into my life that way.