little white pill
"I have to learn.. to... let.... you..... crash...... down."
Fatigue overtakes me as I slip into my husband's dark brown Jimmi Hendrix t-shirt. Everyone's doing coke these days. I wonder at the abandon with which others consume a drug, while I agonize over mixing medications, timing, dosages, side effects. Twenty eight is too young to be adding another pill to my arsenal. I've been cut open, cut up, pieces removed. What good does it do to remove the organs if the disease stays? The pain stays, a most loyal and constant enemy.
Paranoia sets in when I realize this isn't some narcotic meant to numb me into submission. This little white pill is fucking with my brain functions, making me forget to sleep, forget to eat, forget my disease. Knots in my stomach like tangles in unkept hair. Liquid dreaming.
My eyes are heavy. I will be sleeping soon.
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