I feared the fix more than the pain

Drowning

A poem on mental health and the stigma surrounding medication

Photo by on

You whisper medication —
and I begin drowning —
a tidal wave fills my lungs,
swirling relentlessly.

Friend turned thief,
rummaging through my pockets,
searching for shallow treasures
I thought were tucked deeper.

I begin drowning —
the façade floats to the surface,
exposing what I thought
was buried beneath.

But I am unready, unsteady,
reaching through these ruthless waters
for the air we both know I need.

Desperate to prove I’m anchored,
I plant my feet
firmly on rooted soil —
or is it rotted?

I fall through the cracks;
nothing holds steady here.

But you say medication,
and the tears that follow drown me.
I fear to admit
I was drowning
long before
you said medication.