Perscriptions

I couldn't care less about Mark anymore, but benzo love stays with you. I had never felt more comfortable than when I would swallow three or four of those tiny, yellow pills at a time: their neutral, chalky taste spreading on my tongue. Like I would a communion wafer from church, my little army of pastel ovals would stay in my mouth as long as they could, every part of them impatiently dissolving. The pills had tasted like the wafers, too: airy, thin, mild. The pills had tasted like nothing. I had a prescription for Klonopin before I had ever met Mark, but it didn't last very long. I had watched Factory Girls the week before I had my first appointment with my psychiatrist, and I suppose you could say I had been inspired. I didn't realize that it wasn't the 60s, nor was I Edie Sedgwick. I thought I could get away with asking for early refills simply by claiming I had lost the pills I had already bought. I could not. I don't think my prescription lasted the month. "Due to your recent behavior," my psychiatrist said, "We're going to go ahead and cancel your prescription." He looked at the blank wall behind me. "These particular pills are not a good fit for you." "But I'm really happy on them," I said. I thought that was the point. He laughed. "Everyone's happy on these." “<3” March 7th, 2011