Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Dear Ativan

How are you? I'm fine. Well, not really but whatever. I have something I want to get off my chest.

We've been seeing each other for a while now. I know you probably feel taken for granted, and I wish I could say that was all in your head but I'd be lying. I know I've taken you for granted. I mean, we cross paths almost every day and I just pop off your lip and throw one or two of you down my throat and wash you away with some grapefruit juice or iced tea, all the time assuming you'll make the little beast in my chest stop clawing at the back of my ribs. Never once do I take a moment to say thank you, or to show any sign of appreciation for what you do for me. In fact, I make jokes about it. One of them, most commonly, is that I don't take you for my protection, I take it for everyone else's. Yeah, funny, I know. But not to you.

The truth it, Ativan, that I love you. Which is conflicting, because I also hate you. No, hear me out. I don't hate you because of anything you did. I hate you because I need you. See, we're all taught that we should be able to manage everything life throws at us. And we do. Until we can't. Some of us have this thing inside us. It's so strange, really. I'm generally regarded as one of the more fearless of my friends and family. Always have been. Big things don't scare me a bit. Falling off a cliff, getting in a plane crash, dying in a fire, being shot...none of it bothers me that much. But stubbing my toe, bouncing a check, missing a bill, or getting a nasty phone call from a collection agency, those KILL me.

What the hell is up with that, Ativan? No, you tell me you're the expert.

It's completely irrational, and stupid. And I don't want my brain to be stupid or irrational. Brains are supposed to be smart. They are supposed to make sense. Why am I not the least bit afraid of getting in a car crash WHILE the car is spinning out of control, but terrified of a papercut? I can have a knife pointed directly at my throat by a guy who I know for a fact has no compunctions about taking human life, but the idea of filing a tax return reduces me to a quivering moron? Who the hell has a brain that works like this?

Well, apparently quite a few people because you seem to have a lot of friends. So, on behalf of them, let me just say thank you. For all that you do. I'm sure they hate you too. But don't take it personally. It isn't really YOU they hate, but rather the weakness inside them that taking you represents. I hope this helps.

Love,
StP

P.S. If you see Effexor, tell him I gave his ties to Goodwill. I got tired of waiting for him to come get them and Prozac kept asking questions about them.