I need medication. This much has been clear since I was little.
As much as I need them, just the idea of gulping down pills like my mother, makes me break down.
I worry that I'll be different, or just not myself. It's not like "myself" is a good person though...
My own family suggested putting me in a mental institute. It felt like I had been dragged away kicking and yelling. At first I begged them not to. But now I feel like I should be put in one.
I know medication of some kind would help me. But I can't stand the idea of taking pills simply because I always feel sick and want to die.
Any therapist I go to will suggest some kind of medication. That's obvious.
I hate the idea of meds, but I can't help but want to randomly swallow all the random "pain-killers" my mom has in the medicine cabinet. Just to find out what they did to me.
YOU ARE READING
Poems From the Mind of an Extremely Anxious Person
PoesiaThese are poems I've written in the past year about my emotions and how I feel in general. This was just a way for me to vent and feel better so don't expect anything amazing. These are just copied from my notebook so there might be a few mistakes. ...
