?

Again, I find myself woozy and out of sorts. The pill bottles are lining up again and they’re to calm me down, but I panic. I need support and I have it, but somehow my psyche doesn’t allow me to use it. I open all the lids, take everything down, and I don’t have any pride left. I’m staring at my fat bank account and map out it’s dwindling demise. I breathe in and gasp. I want another pill and another pillow. Instead, I’m off to work. I’m breathing, and I’m figuring it all out.

Thank God I have someone to pick me up if I’m too disheartened or too drugged to do it myself.