The little blue pills made me mean.
My focus was on point and I wasn’t so bizarre.
I sat still and was quiet.
But still, those little blue pills made me mean.
I had a fire burning, fueled by inadequacies and songs singing you’re not good enough.
Already, they played in my head on repeat.
I could never turn them off.
The songs played louder with those little blue pills.
They sang in my office and while I struggled with my clients.
The voices sang as I drove, cooked, loved and cried.
They echoed in my heavy skull, adding more tension within my burning brain.
I began to believe them and wanted to stop hearing them, wanted to stop believing them.
I smashed glass and lashed out inwardly.
The bruises and cuts weren’t enough and the tears were a laughing matter.
There was no reprieve to be recovered, only placid painted faces and worried eyes enveloped me.
I was their monster who was never good enough before and grew into a more detestable creature day by day.
I laughed less and shouted more.
I isolated myself, planting a garden of brick around myself.
Living within, nothing could touch me but it still hurt.
The crying, the bruises, the shattered glass and the aching in my head and heart.
I was their monster they pitied and turned away from.
Their worried eyes repulsed and rendered me terrified.
Their burdened hearts and lengthy conversations opened my mind to the truth with time and trust.
They never considered me to be their monster.
They hadn’t realized their words had stuck deep cords.
I came of age and knew what I had to do.
I had to decompose, dispose of this monstrosity I’ve adapted.
Stopping those little blue pills, ending my negative focus.
Writing words on paper until my fingers throbbed and exercising until out of breath, letting the anger die and the monster breathing fire to retire.
Dawning Creations 
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