(Disclaimer: this personal post that I have been reluctant to share may contain subject matter that may startle some as it details the struggle with adapting to new medications and certain questions they pose.)
I place my head in my hands as a lie face down on my bed. It’s dark. The lights are off. The colors shift and bleed morphing into one another for as long as I keep my eyes open. But I close them tightly each time as the pain shifts from my eyes across and over my head. The pills are wearing off and the high is crashing quickly. But I still can’t sleep. The hours pass and I endure it. Just to be able to do it all over again tomorrow.
Sometimes I sneak outside to grasp a peek at the sky. What kind is it tonight? The stars aren’t clearly visible as the sky is blanketed by thick clouds. The cold air enters my nostrils as I try to breathe in peace, I take it deep. Then exhale through my mouth, the daily worry and pain into the night air. As time passes it grows ever colder, but I love the feeling. I wonder about where I am in life and how I got to where I stand. Did I just wander this whole time without direction, or did I subconsciously plan this. Are my decisions my own or are they the construct of these pills?
I want more just so I can focus again and gain clarity for a moment on how I really feel. Or at least fall for the illusions they have been giving me. I hate this part as the crash fills me with a flood of emotions. I have to control myself from not feeling too deeply. I know that more of the pills will help, but that’s a long time from now. How much sleep will I get this time? An hour. Perhaps two. I never feel fully rested. But then the time finally comes for my first dose of the day and all of the details I suffered with over night just fade away.
For a few hours I can think and feel clear again as the pills take hold of the day. Then again and again until quitting time. Where I deal with the crash once again. The unrest. The longing for another dose. I’m addicted, aren’t I? Again I grasp my head in my hands as I lay uncomfortably on my bed. I try hiding beneath the sheets. It’s never dark enough to simply drift away. The hours crawl as I reminisce on the circumstances of my life like clockwork.
Im a slave to them. The pills. The drug. Just as I’m a slave to the life I’ve come to live so casually by them. I wonder. What will the sky be like tonight? Another cloudy evening. I take deep breaths as I consider the fact that I’m alone just trying to cope. With no one to turn to. After all. I don’t want to disappoint them. I have to show that I’m strong enough and normal enough to live in their world. But how long can I keep this up? I guess for as long as I have more pills to look forward to. As long as the drug remains, I can continue to play the long game.
I tell myself to stay strong. But the depression remains critical and clinical. The pain is a permanent factor of the lifetime of traumas I’ve experienced. Alone, I’ll eventually succumb to the sadness. But for now the pills take away the pain and I value the times in between the anguish. I’ve come to admire though starting to fear the power of something so small being able to affect me so greatly. But is this me? Is this how it’s supposed to be forever? Are the pills really helping me, or are they just killing me in a different way?