Goddamn I hate these pills

Well so I’m taking Paxil, two bright white pills popped from silver into my palm each morning. The crackling noise as I spill them onto my hand. Their slightly bitter taste. I wash them down with water, and hope beyond hope they reorder this inner world of mine, make it cogent and sensible, instead of this pale washed out place I have to spend my days.

In addition, my sister (I will hitherto call her ‘the healthnut’) has got me on a whole range of crazy powders and elixirs all intended to balance my chakras and ground my electro magnetic field and alkalise me into some kind of wellness.

If the truth be told, I look good on all this well meant herbal love. I mean my zits have gone, my teeth are white, my pallor is healthy enough for someone with the inner temperature of a glacier. One of my colleagues even told me I was looking ‘perky’ the other day, which is a phrase I frankly didn’t know anyone actually said anymore, but there you go I guess they do. I looked at her and simply marvelled at the chasm between what people see and what is the truth. The gap between perky and hysterical, between her well meant observation of my appearance and my own self-perception of a meaningless void.

In that gap, we all make our days….