i can’t peer inside my brain to check whether my neurotransmitters make the long jump or simply retreat back home. but the dizziness, nausea, and exhaustion tell me what i need to know. i want to live in the moment. i want to taste joy on my tongue, not oval-shaped white chalk, the clinical blandness of a waiting room. i want the uncontrollable racing of my heart and the shaking of my hands to happen when someone gives me butterflies in my stomach, not when the prescription isn’t strong enough. $28.35 and a few pitying looks are not a bad trade-off for all the answers. or so i thought. but this plastic bottle holds no answers, only the capsulated remains of who i failed to be. maybe i am my own inhibitor. is there someone who can tell me, before i swallow the next one down— where do i end? and where do the pills begin? are my thoughts even mine at all, anymore?