We're all afraid to admit that we have to take some kind of prescription. We don't want to admit our dependence on something because we don't want people to see our weaknesses. No one wants to be looked down upon.
But I'm not afraid. I know I'm weak(more). But my prescription is different. It's not over the counter, or under the table. My prescription is out in the open for everyone to see. It's something anyone can find, but only I can have mine.
When I first met Paula, I told her I was probably crazy. She told me that crazy people rarely have the self-awareness to consider the possibility of their own insanity. "I meant crazy about you."
That was three weeks ago. We'd seen each other every day since. Her(more) other appointments, psychiatric patients, were getting jealous.
Today was no different than any other. I had a standing appointment. At half past three I waltzed past her secretary, who gave me a knowing look as she buzzed me in. Paula was waiting for me. Her clothes were on the ground within seconds. I almost regret that this, our final meeting, hadn't lasted longer.
After, her eyes bored into mine, probing for whatever secrets they might hold. I held no more secrets from her. I had bared them all in one passionate moment.
Her office would never smell the same. It didn't matter. We were both leaving the hospital for good.
I used her spare keycard to let myself out of the mental ward. On the way out, I stopped to wash her blood from the knife. Some lunatics are more self-aware than others. (less)
a man once told me
not to be sad
from african elephants
were once stars
(more) lining the dusk
by the same logic
shit is stardust too
it won't be what
illuminates the night
with its glow
can't be prescribed sunlight
and neither can people
which is why we try
to make our own
and put them
in little orange bottles
and while sunshine pellets
won't let you see
through the midnight sky
they may just be
what keeps you
from saying goodbye
to tomorrow morning
you can hear the pill rattling at the bottom of the bottle.
just one of the many prescriptions you have to shove down your throat every morning.
to remain sane.
(more) whatever the hell that is.
"there's a pill for that."
"there's a pill for that."
i have too much energy.
"there's a pill for that."
i can't sleep at night.
"there's a pill for that."
we're all meant to be one way. do the same thing.
be born, go to school, go to college, get a job, get married, have kids, watch them grow and have kids of their own, then die. rinse. repeat.
liberty is a funny thing, don't you think?(less)
Doctor and patient, diagnosis and prescription. That's always how it worked, and Crane knew that. He knew it well enough that being psychologist, psychiatrist, and pharmacist was better than being judge, jury, and execuioner. Judgement was insipid. Diagnosis was interesting. Death was boring. Drugs were exciting. Sharpenin(more)g a knife or cleaning a gun--cliché. But filling a homemade prescription, flicking the air bubbles out of a syringe, filling an aerosol contained with his latest and greatest?
But nothing, the yet-darker side of him protested, nothing was better than--nothing compared to--the old familiar sting of needle tearing a hole through his own skin, liquid pulsing through his veins, the stark clarity any number of his concoctions induced. Compared to the well-organized mental chaos Crane felt on a moment-to-moment basis, drugs were astounding.
Cocaine made him chatty, herion happy, pot placid, meth magnificent.
But nothing did the job better than his very own fear toxin. In his veins, in his heart, in his head--he was in control of his mind, cemented in his delusions. Where it made others hallucinate horrors or fall into uneasy nightmares, for Crane, it eased the ever-present headache of sights and sounds nonexistent. Withdrawal induced the normal effects of the drug in him, but it was his own particular mixture, after all--in his laboratory lair, unfettered, withdrawal was no problem.
Something once told him to stop, but he tried and found no clarity on the other end of the drugs. If Crane wanted over-the-phone medication, he was perfectly able to dose himself. Nothing he could buy, in the pharmacy or on the streets of Gotham, compared to what he made from himself at home.
So he drew liquid from its vial into his syringe and filled his prescription. (less)
The automatic doors opened in a flash as the woman and her walker slowly inched through them.
"Hello! Mr. Whythe? Are you there? I've come to retrieve my medicines....." the woman yelled as she entered. An young pimply employee with a stained Walgreens polo walked up to her(more).
"I'm sorry ma'am, can I help you?"
"No. Mr. Whythe should have my pills ready. He always does. It's Tuesday afterall. Where is he? Don't bother yourself, I'll find him." she said as she shoved him out of the way.
"Ma'am, Mr. Whythe isn't here. He had a heart attack at work yesterday and he's in the hospital." The kid looked away. He'd never broken news like that to anyone. Especially someone so old. "I'm gonna go run over to the pharmacy desk and have the pharmacist start preparing everything for you."
The woman needed to sit down. Everything was changing. First, The Walgreens had bought out McCallister's Pharmacy and now Mr. Whythe, who she had just started to trust was going to die like everyone else.
Pills for everything. Everything but what she needed most. (less)
Sometimes when the going gets tough,
I’ve failed too many times,
disappointed too many people.
and I couldn’t possibly hate myself more
I close my eyes and remember that
there is a little bottle
full of tiny white pills
that can make all this pain go away
and numb me
until I can’t feel
There are some illnesses that just don't have prescriptions. There are so many things you can't fix. Flaws. Weaknesses. How did they become illnesses anyway? Who had the guts to pull out a list and tell people when something was wrong, to call people broken?
(more) Maybe humanity needs a dose of reality. Something to make it better than what it is, to strip away the delusions and the pretentious attitude. When did one man's surviving suddenly become failing? When did people decide that everyone must be perfect? When did perfect become defined?
Sometimes that person you call broken (ill because the person doesn't fit the standards) is stronger than you can ever hope to be. (less)
My eyes snapped open as the pounding headache throbbed violently at my temples. With my hands shaking, I reach out for the small bottle of prescription pills I have on my bedside table. Not surprisingly enough, they were empty.
WHAT ARE(more) YOU WAITING FOR.
GET OUT OF HERE.
The voices were so loud in my head they might as well be real people shouting in my ears with a megaphone. But the little bit of sanity I have left told me that these voices weren't real.
So why do they feel so close?
I staggered down the stairs, the voices still shouting in my head. "Stop it," I chanted and moaned to myself. I had to find the pills that stopped the voices. They were getting louder and more aggressive. I had to -
"RARGHHH!!!" I broke into a run. RUN. RUN. I burst through the door and out of the house. GET OUT OF HERE. I ran aimlessly, taking where my legs could carry me. IT'S NOT SAFE HERE. Everywhere's not safe. Where would I go?
YES. RUN. I'm running. The voices are laughing with me now. AWAY FROM PEOPLE YOU ARE SAFE. Am I, though? OF COURSE YOU ARE. YOU'LL HURT OTHERS. I started sobbing, thinking of my good friend in the hospital after the Art Room incident. YOU DO REMEMBER NOW. IT'S BEST IF YOU STAY AWAY FROM PEOPLE. Yes, that's probably the best choice.
Jade shields her eyes from the glaring sun above as she traverses the thick wilderness. Despite the thick populace of krait and even worse, she would not falter in her path, for what she was seeking was too important to afford hesitation. Eventually, her long journey reaches its finale(more) when she comes upon a small shack, which supposedly houses a master Hylek apothecary who could provide her with what she requires to help her ailing companion.
However, when she knocks on the door, a hoarse voice croaks through the shack's rubbish pores.
Despite this, she stands her ground and replies with seething determination, "Please, can't you just help me? I need a certain mix of herbs prepared...I have the gold necessary."
The voice's already-irritated tone grows as two sickly green eyes glow in the shallow darkness.
"Why should I help you? I could care less about your petty coins... Just more metal to tarnish in the swamp."
Jade clenches her teeth as she slams her fists onto the door in desperation.
"Please...whatever you want..."
The burly figure lightly chuckles as he opens the creaky shack door and tosses out a small, potent-smelling sack.
"I assume that this is what you want. After all, someone whose intents are so true must be trustworthy enough to be worth giving these herbs. I hope that whoever you got these for pulls through, miss."
With tears of joy in her eyes, Jade bows lightly as she picks up the sack and races away to administer the medication before it is too late.(less)
My doctor handed me the little white slip of paper. I squinted at his scrawl as he explained how to get to the pharmacy down the street and what the drug should look like. I was only half-listening as I tried to remember what this prescription was even for.(more) Anxiety? Back pain? My crushing sense of loneliness?
Finally he stopped talking and I left the office. I contemplated not even filling the prescription but then realized that the doctor would have some way of knowing. Clutching the paper, I turned to cross the street. A couple of cars passed without seeing me until one slowed to let me pass. It didn't actually stop, just slowed and sped up again when I had passed its bumper.
The lady at the pharmacy was chewing gum and rolled her eyes when I pushed open the door. I quietly handed her the prescription and stared at the toes of my shoes. Where had that scuff come from? It definitely wasn't there this morning.
I was vaguely aware of the woman going into a back room with the paper in her hand and bringing out a black cardboard box covered in dust. It had a brand name that I didn't recognize. She raised her eyebrows and rechecked the paper before shrugging and handing the box to me. With an air of practiced ease, she balled up the prescription and tossed it into the wastebasket.
The first few pills didn't have much of an affect on me, but the third one had me seeing flitting shapes out of the corners of my eyes. The fourth pill made me stay home in bed all day, due to ghost-like figures walking around outside. I took the fifth pill today and the bloody ghost dragged me into the darkness.(less)