Tuesday, November 3, 2009

I don't want to take my pills.

I just want to get in bed like a normal person (whatever that might be) without having to worry about this chore. How often have I snuggled beneath the covers soft and warm, and even begun to drift off, only to realize I must rouse and trudge on into the kitchen to get something to drink, and then pull out all the bottles, and go through all the process and hope that tonight I don't choke on anything...

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't, you know, forever. If they didn't have their side-effects. If they weren't so expensive. If they weren't so likely to grow in number as the years pass. If I actually felt healthy for taking them. If they themselves didn't make me sick. If they weren't the most glaring symbol in my life: you are sick, you will always be sick, and if you don't do this every night you might not get up tomorrow morning.

The dependence makes me angry. I've tried, oh how I've tried, to get away from them. I take the fewest number possible, turn them down at every opportunity from numerous doctors. But on so many fronts now they're all that's standing between me and being functionally disabled... so I take the effing pills. Because it's the lesser of two evils, the "better" of two awful choices.

Of course, a hundred years ago society would have just let me die, or at least kept me locked in an attic somewhere. So I guess there's always a bright side.

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