Medicated

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I’ve been telling myself all night that tonight isn’t the best time to write. I’ve run out of my medication and I can feel the difference. When I’m feeling this way can I really trust the words to come out right? Is there really any way for them to come out wrong? I write because I have to. I write because I sat in bed and tried to read a chapter or two in a book I downloaded and I kept glancing back to my journal. I write because I tried to distract myself by playing a game on my phone and yet, the bright pink cover of my journal kept calling to me. I hate the way I feel when the medication starts to wear off- paranoid, nauseous, irritable, sad. It was a misunderstanding- having run out of my medication I mean. And now I’m feeling disconnected, yet suspicious. Restless, yet fatigued. These are the moments in which I feel as though my words come out exactly as they should. I don’t overthink them, they write themselves. It’s like watching a film, frames flipping by faster than I can comprehend them. They make no sense and it really doesn’t even matter because at the end they’ll make perfect sense. Writing used to be my drug, the only fix for aches and pains, and then something changed. Life changed. Maybe. I’m not sure. Writing is what will keep the illness from taking over. Writing is what will keep me free even if I say the same thing for days on end, I convince myself that writing is the only thing that helps.

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