Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Vellichor Aug 2020
It’s funny really
How I know the names of my poisons
Most people never know what they drank
Until it’s too late
But I take mine with food twice a day
Maybe that means I’m mad
I finally picked up my refill
And finally stopped running uphill.
I'd been out for days,
And was in a haze
That nothing could fix but my refill.

I finally refilled my meds, guys.
Last week I ran out of my supplies,
And I sunk like a brick
Into depression so thick
That it kept me from refilling my meds, guys.

At last I am back on my Adderall
And everything feels much more natural
I cleaned up the sink
And now I can think
About how good it is to have Adderall.
P.S. Sorry to everyone who took the brunt of my bs. Next time I have a breakdown about my *** life just tell me to refill my meds and leave me alone.
Emily Jun 2018
All the thoughts are still there
Every memory
Every emotion
Every feeling

The doctors watered it down
The pills melted like the ice in my tea

And I'm left here
Feeling lifeless and dull
Uncomfortably numb
little lion Jan 2018
Each morning she took two pills with her breakfast. Both were little capsules, the first one a nasty tan color and the second half white and half blue. They went down easy, followed by a glass of water before the bottles were placed back on the shelf for the next day.
One is for the anxiety, the other is for the depression. She takes them dutifully every day, for without them she is plagued with the kind of darkness that makes your blood run cold and the walls feel like they’re beginning to swallow you inside.
But with them, it is not much brighter. The words of her mother and the insults from her father follow her through the light, casting a shadow that trails behind her. The C- on her math test and the glares from her friends feed the darkness. Each step grows heavier as the shadow grows larger and stronger.
He climbs up onto her shoulders in order to reach the high expectations and the pressure that she stands under each day. They weigh him down, which weighs her down, which leaves her dragging her feet along the pavement while begging for the sweet relief that those stupid orange bottles swear they hold.
The shadow claims her in the night, pounding away at her walls, drawing whimpers and sobs from her lips. The pain is masked by the pleasure he brings her, which is masked by her relief when she wakes up alone the next morning, and then the guilt when she finds him awaiting her presence at the kitchen table.
Two pills, followed by a glass of water and the shadow each morning. Her begging and pleading for him to leave her shatters her resolve, and one cold morning she begins to cry. She throws herself at the world, asking them to please save her from this man, save her from the pain and the fear and the darkness that’s been plaguing her for so long.
One word. Two letters. He swallows her whole.
One glass of water. Two empty bottles. Three numbers bring four sirens.
One sound. One line.
Time of death: 06:04 AM
An assignment from creative writing a couple months back...
Christina Cox Dec 2015
I close my eyes and hope for peace.
Day dreaming of fake angels to save me.
Ready the mind and body for the day,
give into the exhaustion of the soul and stop.
Multitudes of medications to fix the brain
that stays sick no matter the physical exercise.
Prepare the body and mind for the night,
slip into a restless sleep, waking every hour.
Psychological thrillers in my dreams
taking away the peacefulness of sleep.
Wake to alarms screaming through the room
move to coffee and begin again.
Emma Clocks Jun 2015
1 Big blue and white one, 2 small oval yellow ones, and 1 small round blue one.
Take once a day with or without food.

At the young age of just 16 years old I take more medications than an elderly woman in an old age home. My mom even briefly considered getting me one of those pill boxes that have the days of the week printed on them... yeah... it's that bad.
Since I was a young kid I've been shoved into more therapist's offices than I can count and had more tests done on me than a lab rat.
ADD, ADHD, and an Anxiety Disorder are just a few of my many problems.
I take my meds every day. 365 days.
Seeing as though I am a teenager however, sometimes I forget to take these little pills. And my parents are the first ones to remind me of their importance and necessary role in my life.
When I'm off my meds I can never tell whether I'm more myself or if that volatile creature only appears in the absence of a medication that I take everyday.
In some ways I feel that my medications numb my humanity and force me to be predictable and emotionless. But I also know that I can't do a lot of the things I love to do without them.
So, my fellow poets, I ask you a question:
Is the tragedy of losing myself in a great abyss of nothingness worth being able to focus in class or stand in large groups of people without having a panic attack?
Jack R Fehlmann Jul 2014
My mood again a steady constant
still low, always low but constant
so I seek the solutions, search for normal
I approach and offer myself over
to those, the better minds, the doctors
they are wise and educated and have magic
in the form of pills that I consume
reporting back the basics, this didn't work
that isn't helping so they raise and lower doses
prescribing cures in pills and always asking questions
writing this and that factual results down
they see errors in my mind and I feel restless
again and again changing their minds
as I consume and return the effectiveness or lack therein
all I ;want is the sky that felt light and tasted fragrant
yet so goes my search for my cure as each is different
seeking that fabled equalibrium, that balance
aiming for the land of sunshine and
the state known once as happiness
again, always where life is
and emotions can be steady,  ups and downs
continuously changing in workable highs and lows
but alas, I am unable, and I continue only to try
the new, the stronger the most documented cure alls
of more pill to be taken with water day or night
forever dosing, hoping and trying to find my life
chasing that notion of what it is to feel alright

Jack Fehlmann

— The End —