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.

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Lexapro

Who will I be if I give you up?

I needed you at one point

Do I still?

I would have to give you up to know

Who will I be?

Will I still be the person I am today?

The person I want to be

If not, does that mean I’m dependent?

Dependent on you for happiness?

For energy?

Motivation?

I can’t just stop

I would have to wean myself

Even so, I’m scared

What if I go back to the person I was?

The person I don’t want to be

In the place I don’t want to be

You are just one weapon in my arsenal

Yet the one I choose most often to slay my demons

The one who prevents them from rising from the depths

If I lay you down, would the rest be enough?

I’m not sure I want to find out

And for what?

To prove therapy worked?

That I’m more patient?

More realistic when dealing with my emotions?

Is it worth it?

I don’t know

But it’s 10pm

Time to take my Lexapro