To be quite frank, I believe in drugs. Just to be clear, I don’t smoke, snort, or inject anything. In fact I despise the use of drugs for the sake of “getting high”. What I do is pop pills, benzodiazepine’s to be exact. Being a nervous, depressed, distant, hypochondriac can bring about some very intense feelings. Mostly these feelings are doom, death, and pain.
Sitting in a chair, watching television, and feeling my chest tighten up, I think I’m having a heart attack and this is the end of my life… But wait a minute. I’m only 19 years old, how is this possible? Sure, I’m overweight and I suppose I could exercise more and eat better, but I highly doubt my heart has reached a potential for an attack on itself. But this tightness is intense and now I can’t catch my breath. I should call 911, run away, yell for help, and cry all at the same time.
I pause. Take a breath. Remember what the doctor said, “Depression can trigger panic. If you feel tightness in your chest, shortness of breath, or feeling of impending doom then take these pills”. I take out the prescription bottle he gave me and shake out a little white pill. I shamble my way to the kitchen and grab a bottle of water. I drink down the pill then take a deep breath. I cry as the panic subsides. I don’t know why I cry. Depression is hard to understand sometimes. Thankfully within moments I feel calm, relaxed, like myself.
These pills are my God, my religion, my Christ reincarnated. They bring me a feeling of happiness when I have an attack. They bring me security when I’m in public. Just simply knowing normalcy is a pill away is enough to keep me calm under any situation.
I’d be lying if I said I’m not dependent on these pills. I am. I truly, really, lovingly am. But trust me when I say that I am much better off with these pills than not. And so, with a smirk on my face, and pills in my pocket, I can truthfully say, “I believe in drugs”.
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