Why I’m Medicated
I don’t think about why I’m taking my medicine anymore.
In the beginning, I knew each pill was a step in the right direction, perfectly calibrated to make life more bearable and help me work through my depression. Turn my baseline anxiety from an 8 to a 3, which keeps me from reaching a 10 and tracing door frames with my eyes in stressful situations.
Tonight was the first time in a long time I noticed the bottle in my hand as I fished a pill. Maybe because my bottle was in the living room instead of the bedroom. It made me remember why I fill my prescription every month. I don’t want to forget to breathe when I’m anxious, or to replace negative thoughts with positive thoughts, or reminding myself that no task is as important as being in a good mental space. Because without working on myself, the medication won’t work.
What’s the weather like in your home?
I never thought it could rain inside
Until I was so sad my tears wet the carpet
Tornadoes destroy homes from the outside
So I thought
Until my anger had me spinning through the house
Demolishing everything I touched
Thunder is just a distant noise
Until pain is booming in your chest
There is no time between the thunder and the lightning
Boom flash boom flash
Flash boom flash boom
I Used to Run
Denying help in the depths of a bottomless well.
How can something so severe be denied
An open wound ignored
Until it’s reflected on another
To deny help in the depths of a bottomless well
Ignoring the rope swinging toward you
For better or worse