It's 10:00 at night and it's been at least a half hour since you've eaten something. You make your way to the kitchen, empty bowl in hand. You place the bowl with the ***** dishes and the world slows down as you turn to see the small container with your name on it...
I hate it.
You grab a glass of juice and stare at the container down. As if the black that so neatly stamps your name could stare back. You open the kid proof cap and pour out half its contents into your dominant hand.
Just to feel the weight of death in you dominant hand. "Take 2 twice daily." They said.
The half orange, half yellow capsules still in my palm. Feeling the plastic-like coating I feel like I could crush in 2 seconds flat.
Freeze.
Time stops.
This, is when the protagonist eats as many pills as her body will allow, when she gives in, when she dies. This movie is almost over...
Nobody else is awake, it's just you and your handful of pills.
No.
This movie goes on, the protagonist will live.
You-- are not built on a mountain of clichés and stereotypical archetypes.
You.
Are.
Here.
And still alive!
You pour the pills back into the container, with 4 still left in you hand. You take 2 but you still feel like it's stuck in your throat, so you eat something small to force it down. Even though these pills are supposed to be take on an empty stomach...
You get a glass of water, and set that aside with the 2 remaining pills for tomorrow morning.
Now go to sleep, make sure this protagonist lives to take the Hollywood medication tomorrow.
Back when I suffered from intense ****** dermatitis, these pills were not the solution I asked for. So no, even if they did seem awful, they would not **** me.
