Stability By Pills

Voices
Voices strive for sympathy
For reassurance
They resonate
They resonate with theoretical certainty
But the hesitant tones
They suggest doubt

They say
“There is absolutely nothing wrong with it”
“It is not something to be ashamed of”
They want me to believe
This is my best and only option
“Compare it to other conditions”
They want me to create
A sense of familiarity
“When you have the flu, you take antibiotics”
They insist no one should sit
And wait for it to pass
“If you had a cold you would take an anti-inflammatory”
They want me to feel
As my condition is as easily treatable
As some simple inflammation
“And when you are suicidal, you take pills too”
They suggest no hope for me
No hope but the consumption
Of medications
Rolled up into a dainty little pill
“Mental illness,”
They say
“Not too different from physical illness”
“It’s treatable, so why suffer?”

Why suffer? There are pills.
Pills
There are pills
Little white pellets of medication
Inanimate balls of benefits
With entirely animate effects
Don’t forget side effects
Bottles and bottles
In stacks and stacks
Overtaking your cupboards
Some of them sprawled
Throughout containers labeling each day of the week
Just so you don’t forget
Just so you don’t fall apart
Stay on track and we’ll save you
We’ll regain and protect your sanity
With a treatment for each disorder
Additional treatments
For the unwanted secondary responses

Is it a lie?
One can’t help but question
Is my ability to function a lie?
It is not the result of my own willingness and perseverance
It’s merely an effect
An effect of what I gulped down in my morning routine
A pill
An illusion
As if I’m cheating reality
The meds are my threads
They stitch up my seams
If it weren’t for them I’d tumble apart
I’d tumble back into my dysfunctional self
Only more so than I was before
Due to the dependence
Due to what I’ve developed throughout this use
I’m hooked
Hooked by the promising effects
Anchored by their stability
Yet taunted
Taunted by the knowledge that this is not who I naturally am

If they were stripped away
Stripped away from me suddenly
Then what would be left?
The harsh reality
The harsh reality of myself
The harsh reality
Of what is not actually cognitive