two
Pills.
They covered my bedside table and the shelf in the bathroom. All of them different colours, like a rainbow, and all of them did different things. I don't even need to take them with water now.
According to the doctors, I need them to keep me sane.
According to me, I don't need pills to keep me sane.
They don't work, anyway. They numb the pain for an hour at the most. But it's not pain I'm feeling - it's grief.
According to my doctors, anyway.
I'm insane. I'm a nutcase. I flirted with death and then dumped him. I suffer from migraines and severe forms of depression. I get angry and upset but people let me get away with it, because I take pills and have a doctors appointment every two weeks.
But my problems do not define me. I will not let myself be defined by them. I do not want sympathy, but I like to tell my story. Once upon a time I didn't have a story, now I do.
I don't know if I like having a story, entirely.
