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I haven’t been taking my medication. At first, it was forgetfulness, now it’s  just plain stubbornness. Like a scorned woman berating her cheating lover as she walks out the door to their apartment, I say to myself, I don’t need you in my life. I’m fine without you. I’m a better person not having you around me. The liberation is powerful. I don’t need some overpaid doctor telling me I need medication to help make my brain function, thankyouverymuch. I was a happy kid; why can’t I be a happy adult?

I empty my medicine cabinet of all the brain chemicals. I take a sick, demented joy as I swipe my hand across the shelves and watch the plastic bottles bounce and tumble around the porcelain sink, spiraling into a heap by the drain. I pick up each bottle, unscrew the cap, and ceremoniously dump the contents into the toilet, the white and blue pills float on the surface. After each bottle is empty, I salute the contents of the bowl, and pull the handle to flush them into the sewer. I think for a moment of where the water ends up and some poor, unsuspecting deer taking a drink from the stream and suddenly being pumped full of selective serotonin re-uptake inhibitors and I chuckle. Maybe Bambi won’t be so sad about his mother dying now.

I gather all the empty pill bottles and dump them into the garbage can, proud of my new-found freedom. I stand in front of the bathroom mirror and stare at myself intensely. I grab the edge of the mirror and lean in close, my nose almost touching the smooth, cool surface.

“You’re going to be all right. Fuck the medicine. You. Are. Going. To. Be. All. Right.”

I give myself another hard look, knit my eyebrows together, clench my jaw, and nod. I lean back away from the mirror and then flash a toothy grin.

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