Your Drug is My Love

This morning, I’ve achieved clarity, all with the help of two tiny blue pills.

I’m pausing to reflect — not because I feel a urge to stop being productive — but just to note my state of mind and then return to productivity.

For the past 27 years I have been a roller coaster of mood swings stemming from my lack of control. Control over my intentions and my actions. The fog which I live in. The way in which time seems to pass faster and faster as I daydream in a haze, terrified of tomorrow.

Today, a new life begins. Or so I hope. So I hope this isn’t only a sugar pill reaction. My mind convincing itself it can be saved. I don’t think it’s that. Too many people are helped by this drug. Too many Ivy Leaguers swear by its ability to help them focus for this to be created in my mind.

It was 10:48am 8 minutes ago. It is now 10:56. Yesterday, the same time would pass and it would be 12:30pm. I feel like seconds are seconds again. Minutes aren’t escaping to distraction, to anxiety, to a thousand thoughts in my head battling for attention, binge eating the clock until the sun goes down and it’s suddenly 4am.

What is this new life of mine? Can I really be this changed? Can I now face my fears of inadequacy from a level playing field? Only time will tell. Time that’s now mine.

The drug will wear off, I’ll grow numb, I won’t remember life without this clarity, or this new kind of fog. Somehow the anxiety is gone. Somehow I feel ok despite my mile-high to-do list.

And for years doctors have put me on anti-depressants, anxiety meds, all these things that just flung me further into the haze, made me feel like a tired zombie. “We have to combat the depression first,” they’d say. As if somehow my depression was caused by something other than my lack of attention. All these years… failing over and over again. And why? The clutter in my mind became the clutter in my life. A thousand songs playing at once.

Now, all I hear is the laundry machine, the birds chirping, the soft California winter air, and I’m only a tiny bit sad for all the lost years, now knowing what it’s like not to be lost. I can only hope this is real. I can only hope this feeling stays constant when it’s Monday, and I’m sitting at my office desk, with a thousand tasks and distractions, already so behind, in order to save my career, my life, and my mind.

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