Clonazepam

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴:
“Sex, Drugs, Etc. – Beach Weather” ★
01:22 ━━━━●───── 04:16
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I wouldn’t consider myself to be a pathological liar; they lie all the time, I only lie half of the time. And even then, most of my lies are half truths, except for when they’re flat out lies. I saw a  video on TikTok not too long ago that stated that you should lie to your psychiatrist and not your therapist. Which is funny because I always thought it should be the other way around… none of my psychiatrists have ever tried to send me to the hospital for being honest. Plus I could never lie to my old therapist–he was hot.

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When I got out of the psych ward I had to find a doctor in Arkansas since I wasn’t going back to school for a while. My dad recommended Dr. Lee since she was black and apparently white doctors couldn’t understand how a black person’s brain works ergo they overmedicate them. I tried to explain to him that this was the same exact rhetoric used in the 1800’s when doctors claimed that black women didn’t experience pain, but he wouldn’t listen. Dr. Lee gave me the only non-human solution to my problems: Clonazepam.

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One-fourth of a tablet is all I need for all my problems to fade away. Literally. My thoughts, my worry, my panic–gone.  I didn’t necessarily lie to get it, I told a half truth. I was honest about my panic attacks, just not the cause; I said my overdose was giving me PTSD, when really I was suffering from a case of MMBD (Missing Michael Bad Disorder). I cried my heart out my first night back in my own bed, I questioned if the world around me was even real. I counted the days until Michael was supposed to be released from rehab, but he never reached out. 

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I took five tablets of clonazepam that day and spent the rest of the week moving around the house like a zombie.

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My body really just doesn’t want to die.

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