I stood on the cold bathroom tiles and picked up the small canister. I popped up the lid and slid a single pill out in between my forefinger and thumb. The four-millimetre white pill rolled between my shaking fingers as I felt temptation rush across my skin. The urge to place the pill in my mouth sent chills down my spine. Whether they were chills of anticipation or horror I do not know. My tongue craved its bitter metallic taste that brought a calm, happy fog. I was delusional in thinking I wanted it in a time of peace.
I gasped in shock at what had overcome me. I was perfectly serene with no panic in sight yet I felt the tantalising desire to take the tranquillizing pill. A realisation of the potential addiction that could control me rattled me to my core as a violent shiver erupted across my body.
I had come to flush the pill away, yet here I was holding it up in potential disuse. I had come to rid myself of the very thing I hated taking, yet I here I was wanting it. I had come to shake off it’s sluggish and disarming effects that lured me into a place of loopy, hazy, unguarded confusion; yet here I was entertaining it for the few seconds that were years.
I shook my head and quickly before my hands could catch themselves I threw the pill into the swirling water. I took a shuddering breath and closed my eyes as the whoosh of its departure filled the cool air. I knew I couldn’t take it again even if the most violent of panic attacks beset me.
I can’t think clearly with its strains in my system.
Do I really want it when reality is breaking on me? Lord, do I really want to thrust my trust upon it instead of you. Do I really want to lust after it? No, I do not. Dear Lord, I repent of my reliance on it. Forgive me. It scares me that it tried to have me, or I, it. In panic I will choose to throw myself into the peace and hold of your arms instead.
So I turned around and I walked away.