The Infidelity Chain
“No more pills!
Except I promised William.
I hate them. Oh God, how I hate taking them. I can’t paint, I can’t think, I can’t feel.
It’s like a fog envelops my brain. I fumble for the right word, forget friends’ faces, pick up a corkscrew and can’t remember how to use it. Someone will tell me their mother’s just died, and I’ll stare at them in puzzlement, like an autistic child, not even knowing what my response should be. It’s like I’m trapped in a glass bubble: nothing can get in, ...and I can’t get out.
I unclench my fist. The pretty, brightly coloured drugs in my palm iron out the highs and lows and save me from the worst depression – but, oh, the price! No sadness, but no happiness either. No misery, and no joy. Who wants to experience a life without love, grief, fear, ecstasy? That’s not living, it’s existing.
I tip them into the sink and turn on the waste disposal.MoreLess
Except I promised William.
I hate them. Oh God, how I hate taking them. I can’t paint, I can’t think, I can’t feel.
It’s like a fog envelops my brain. I fumble for the right word, forget friends’ faces, pick up a corkscrew and can’t remember how to use it. Someone will tell me their mother’s just died, and I’ll stare at them in puzzlement, like an autistic child, not even knowing what my response should be. It’s like I’m trapped in a glass bubble: nothing can get in, ...and I can’t get out.
I unclench my fist. The pretty, brightly coloured drugs in my palm iron out the highs and lows and save me from the worst depression – but, oh, the price! No sadness, but no happiness either. No misery, and no joy. Who wants to experience a life without love, grief, fear, ecstasy? That’s not living, it’s existing.
I tip them into the sink and turn on the waste disposal.MoreLess
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