My “Prescription”, My “Crutch”.

…It feels like life can be yanked from right beneath my feet.

“Hey Doc, I need to get my prescription — refilled.”

“I’m out of town this week, I’ll get my assistant to renew it for you.”

“…Doc, the pharmacist won’t accept your assistant’s prescription.”

This is all my fears coming to life, realising a tiny piece of paper with names of pills I need to function has more power over me than I do.

“inline assorted-color bottles” by JOSHUA COLEMAN on Unsplash

My doctor is dangling with my life.

My registered drug-dealer.

I make my way to the pharmacy, show them my historic records —

“Sir, I need to get my anxiety medication.”

“I’m sorry we’re out.”, he says — with a cold dead look in eyes.

“I know you’re not, I went to seven other pharmacies before I came here. They all said the same thing.”

“I told you we do not have any. Ask your doctor.”

“He’s out of town, Look just give me enough till my doctor gets back. I can put you on the phone with him.”

“We’re not allowed to talk to people over the phone. Cannot confirm it’s a legitimate doctor.”

“Man…give me enough to get through this day, I’ve shown you I’m not trying to take advantage here. I need these for my panic attacks.”

He looks at me, gives me a scan from top to bottom and walks over to talk to his manager.

They both whisper words to one another, as they take judgemental glances at me — is this my anxiety talking or are they discussing my behaviour?

I can’t stop shaking, ahh fuck I should’ve just gotten my prescription renewed in time.

How could I be so careless with my meds.

Finally the pharmacist emerges,

“My manager says I can only give you enough for two days. That’s Four Pills. Okay?”

“Yes…that’s fine. Thank you!”

I leave the pharmacy, take one — pocket the remaining three.

Make sure they don’t fall down the drain.

If you lose these tiny blue bills, you’re dead.

I walk to my car as though I’ve just robbed a liquor store.

God, the pill calms me down — I get my focus back.

I look down at my prescription, I want to burn you to bits.

“Doc, I think I need to taper off these meds. I can’t go through what I did again.”

“Don’t worry, it was a one time issue. You need these.”

“No…help me taper off.”

“You need to relax. Okay? Here I renewed your prescription.”

“Stop playing mind-games, doc!”

“You sound paranoid.”

“I am.”

“That’s why you need these medications.”

“Doctor, some time I don’t know if you get pleasure out of this. I’m not coming back here.”

“Where will you go? Find another doctor?”

“Why, are you all drug dealers?”

“Hey, I’m trying to help you.”

“Then help me taper off these…”

“We can do that…but just now not. Right now you continue to take these as prescribed.”

Fuck you, doc. I think to myself.

I’ll break free from the confinements of this little piece of paper and emerge back with more grace and humility. I’ll be in control of my life, and this piece of paper will just be a reminder someday that it has no control over me.

But for now, I’m just a slave to this piece of paper — my crutch for life.

I failed to learn the piano, so I decided I’d play the keyboard instead. //All aboard the Crazytrain.

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