There are some days that you just can’t get up. You are awake, more or less – well, you can’t go back to sleep anyway, but you’re awake, and you lay there. Its worse when there are other people in the house, walking around, opening and closing doors, running the water, flushing the toilet, walking circuits around the apartment, around your bedroom door, until they march, slam, shuck-click the door and drive away into their day. Its especially bad when people are there, but even when they’re gone, you want to wake up and walk around in the space that stretches just to the edge of other people -- a world that is just short everyone else and comfortably so. It would be so easy to let the day go, let the world slide by, let the sun drift away without being intruded upon, without being imposed upon.
Some people would say that I need medicine for this. I want to disagree with them, but I know that if I do, it will only serve to make them seem right. I want to disagree and argue, and throw things across the room, and smear shit on the walls and draw blood and scream until my face explodes. But then they will only be right, and I do my best only to disagree and argue, and, when worse comes to worst, throw things only halfway across the room.
I don’t need medicine. I am difficult. I am selfish, and I’m lazy, and I’m frustrated because I haven’t yet figured out who I am and what in the world I am supposed to be doing. Everything in my head is trying to claw its way out of my skull, and everything in my spirit is trying to break out of wherever it is spirits are kept – beating, bulging heart, lungs, chest, between the ribs, the marrow of arm and leg bones, glowing with spirit attempting escape like light through an x-ray. I don’t need medicine.
medicine shouldn’t make me want to get up: my days should be better than they are, my life should be better than it is. I should be looking forward to days of full of…something. I don’t know. It should all be better than this. It should make more sense. I shouldn’t be living in the basement, like some bastard son of my parents. Medicine won’t make my life better. This is a displacement of soul and no drug can fix it. It must fix itself – I must fix it. But I am the first to admit, I don’t know how. Medicine is not the answer. 200 grams of wellbutrin a day won’t straighten my life out; won’t get me work, won’t make me like you, won’t make me do the dishes, won’t make me come home to my basement room, trampled by the clamor of my parent’s clumsy feet and help me think that everything is fine, because I’ll secretly know that it isn’t. and if it can make me think everything is fine when it isn’t, why should anyone want me to take it? Why would I ever want to do that to myself, ingest a lie in pill form?
I don’t need medicine.
Not to get up. Not to face the world. Its just that some days, you have strong days – you can have strong days for weeks at a time. And some days you have weak days, and life really is that bad, and there really is no reason to get up in the morning while the inconsiderate world keeps turning. Sometimes you get fired, you get kicked out of your house; you get kicked in the stomach, and what else can you do but stay down?
You stay down. Under the covers. Under your roof. In your pajamas and unshowered. You face the world in the next round. Pills will fix this? No. pills will "fix"
me. But only I can fix me. Someday, I will be all right. I will be close to ‘there,’ and it won’t be because of pills. I will have repaved the path of my life; it will one day be less crushed. Pills will take away any chance I have for a future of my own.
How is there a drug for this? I’ll tell you how…someone said, "start getting them to take pills, and I don’t care how you do it. Tell them they’re sick, and once they believe they are, give them pills to make them better. Cram them full of medicine, and get them used to it so that when we tell them that 100% of the population should be on pills, we can slip them anything we want, to make them do anything we want, and finally, we will have control of the masses – the mob will be at our beck and call, the masses will be our army. They will be our tank and we will steer them with pills. And then we will rule the world. "
Are you willing to hand over the world so easily?
Granted, this world sucks. But no one will take my piece of it away…not with force, not with pills. No one will take away my covers, my bedroom, my late morning, my skipped class, my pajamas, my unshaven, unshowered head. That is all mine.
Try to take it from me.
You and your army.
I dare you.
I will disagree. I will argue. I will throw things across the room, and smear shit on the walls and draw blood and scream until my face explodes.
I don’t need pills.
