in which ‘rock is bottom and hard place is a pill

day 276 _____ as medication

i need you to understand i know i have a hard pill to swallow, and swallow it i will. i know it’s supposed to hurt, so you don’t need to tell me that ripping the bandage off is supposed to uproot hair from its follicle and maybe a few layers of skin but to show blood is to prove you’re alive, and what a miracle this is. sure, show me where you put the anger, yeah i know my (white hot-dying star-black hole-death of a universe) anger. no, you may not see it, but let me cut you a deal- i’ll show you the anger when you tell me how to hold it without my knuckles turning white, the anger that coats the lining of my stomach in cyanide and poisons my soul, or whatever, and comes up like bile, like black blood, you should see a doctor for that. no, doctors don’t accept metaphors do you understand? okay, so show me where you hide the grief also known as blunt force trauma to the chest that broke my sternum before CPR even had the chance to and the penetrating wound to each and every intercostal space, listen, i don’t wear my heart on my sleeve because it was shoved into my throat and got stuck when i was trying to empty it the first time, do you understand? i understand but no you don’t, you see, there is no algorithm for healing, now let me swallow the pill on my own. i write this so you know i’m trying, do you understand? i am trying to get better, i am trying, i am, i am, i am.