This moment of inner peace brought to you by the pharmaceutical industry

I've lived in California for 10 years, bushwhacking regularly. Two weeks ago, I got my first-ever case of poison oak. It is still progressing, claiming new areas of skin at the rate of square inches a day. Anything worth doing is worth overdoing, apparently.

I can't take prednisone for anything short of imminent death. I'm doing the nonmedical things I can, from Aveeno and Apis mel., to scalding showers and ice packs. I'm also taking outrageous amounts of Claritin (to reduce my allergic response) and Atarax (to calm the itching).

So I’m loaded up on dopey stuff to cope with this systemic inflammation.

But wait, there's more.

Despite inheriting depression from both sides of the family, I managed my mood without drugs until I'd been dealing with chronic pain for five years, when my neurochemistry finally threw in the towel. Fortunately for me, antidepressants also help control nerve pain, so I get a two-for-one deal with the right drug – and one day, I will find it. Meanwhile, my psychiatrist and I are juggling pills.

We doubled the dose of the Efexor I'm already on. I thought, if I had too much, I'd start buzzing like 5 cups of coffee. Should've been an interesting contrast to the dopey stuff.

I didn't buzz, but I didn't care. The produce was all eaten up, but I didn't care; there was plenty of bread. I itched a lot, and I sometimes cared about that, but that was about it. Christmas was coming, and I was getting fat, and I just didn't care.

I had a feeling it wasn't right, but the sense of inward peace was wonderful. I didn't even care to find out why I didn't care. No worries, mate. Even the constant pain faded away. No worries at all. It was heavenly.

Well, we've backed off on the Efexor (although I'm still a bit wiffled on Claritin and Atarax.) And the inward roil has started up about where it left off.

I like the satisfaction of getting things done. I like taking care of myself. I like having something to look forward to – like getting the medication optimized.

I just remember that unruffled peace, that living stillness at my center ... and I yearn. What on earth would it take to feel that, normally? The obvious answer – a lifetime of meditation – overlooks the harsh reality of the need to scratch for a living. Without that cocktail of brain-bending drugs, I don't know if I can live in that place again. Since I still remember it, though, I intend to find a way.

What a thing, to be so inwardly still. Maybe I'll start meditating anyway and see what happens.