Why do i have to take this?
This is my final short story. We had to write it about a social issue, and I picked the legalization of medical marijuana. Because I didn't want to be straight forward with the whole "My character is smoking pot" thing, so I changed the drug to something else. Doing this, I feel like I opened the window to just a drug that can truly help but is outlawed. Not being specific on just marijuana.
whydoihavetotakethis.odt | |
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File Type: | odt |
Why Do I Have To Take This?
“So, you think the medication isn't working?” Doctor Scott asked as he wrote in his folder.
“I feel worse than before. I mean, I feel fine, I guess. I don't, emotionally, feel anything. I feel sick and dizzy and light headed, not sad or anxious or happy. I don't like it. I've lost my appetite, and lost weight. That doesn't sound like the medication is working.” I sat on a soft brown couch in a chilly office and explained why I wanted different medication, and Doctor Scott listened, and wrote in his folder. “I don't dream anymore, I just fall asleep and wake up the next day.” I added and Doctor Scott continued writing. “I'm just really tired of this back and forth, constantly feeling like shit, thing. Is there anything I can do that won't make me feel this way?” The doctor stopped writing, and looked at me, his lips twitched at the edges.
“We just haven't found the right mix yet. Your problem is chemical, and you need medications to fix it.” Our cession continued on like usual, asking about my week and exploring my childhood. Doctor Scott seemed to be trying to find some sort of traumatic childhood story, but I didn't have one. My childhood was very normal, though, I've always been an anxious person. Some things just make me that way, there is no reason for it. That's just how it is, that's how it has been.
Every week, after therapy, I spend the whole night playing video games with my roommate Jack. This has become a routine thing for us. We talk about my therapy, and shoot each other in war settings. Jack is my last childhood friend, because like usual, people go off to college and never come back. I've grown apart from most of my friends, but Jack and I have stayed together. We go to the same college in town, so we room together, splitting rent. Luckily for me, he knows my routines and “quirks” and abides by them. He is always standing, ready, at the door for me when I come home. He knows to be ready for me so that I am not outside alone for too long. He knows to check the doors before we go to bed, even though I check again behind him. He knows what makes me anxious, and he doesn't seem to care too much. Living with him, I don't have to worry about too much.
Of course, when I get home, he is in the doorway waiting for me. We share a smile as I lock my car door and rush to him. My therapy cessions are in the late afternoon, so it's always dark when I come home on these days. Still, I can always count on him to be standing there, waiting for me. He keeps the light on and walks me in. Our greeting is always the same, he opens the door for me, places his hand on the small of my back, walks me inside, closes and locks the door, and asks, “How was therapy?” and our night goes on from there.
“Like usual,” I always say to him, “he gave me a new batch of medications.” and hand him my bag.
“What do you have this time?” he opens it and looks inside.
“Three different pills for the day. I take all three in the morning, then, this one for lunch and dinner.” I reached out and pulled up the bottle, “This one is for my anxiety.” Jack takes it from me, and reads the name.
“Hmm, I've that this one is very brutal. My friend Seth was on this, and said it was the worst he has had.” he frowned, feeling bad, then tossed the pill bottle away. “I'm going to kick your ass tonight.” the bag was placed on the counter, and he pulled me to the couch. “Here,” he said as he handed me the controller, “game on.” he smiled at me and turned the game system on. I always win in these kinds of games. I beat him seven times before a normal conversation started up. “So, you know how your medications cause all these problems? Well, I know this guy who apparently sells this drug that can help with what's going on with you. I mean, it's illegal, but apparently it works. It's not that expensive, and you don't really have any side effects.” I stopped what I was doing, and looked at him. “I don't like seeing you sick,” he continued, “and I know this isn't your thing, but it could help. You should really try it.” he looked at me, hopeful.
“That sounds nice, amazing. No dizziness? No loss of appetite? No emptiness? No sickness? I don't care if it's illegal, I want to try it.”
He set up a meeting for me, and it wasn't as weird as I thought it would be. I just went over to the guy's house, and Jack came with me. He sat with me as I talked to the guy. His home was clean, and smelled like pizza. It looked like maybe he had inherited his home from his grandmother. We sat together, Jack and I, and held hands.
“You see, this is a bit weird, but I need you to help me. I'm not interested in drugs, well, not really. Jack says you can get me something to help with my mental illnesses. See, my depression and anxiety has been messing up my stomach, giving me ulcers. The medications that my therapist prescribes me makes me less anxious, but messes with me in other ways.” I squeezed Jack's hand, and he squeezed back.
“So you're wanting some of my flowers?” Mike, who sat across from us, smoking a cigar and stretching out in a love seat asked me.
“Is that what will help?” I wasn't sure what I was trying to buy, really.
“I have flowers right now, but usually, doctors use the leaves for more treatment type things. These flowers are good quality flowers, the petals get you pretty high, man.” Mike exhaled smoke through his weak grin.
“Oh, I don't want to get high. I just want the stuff that can help me.” I squeezed Jack's hand, and he sighed.
“I know you don't know her, but it would really help out if you could help us get this. She needs get better.” This seemed like a pretty awkward situation for Jack and I, this being our first drug deal and all, but Mike just laughed at us.
“You guys are so tense man, don't worry. I got you. Leaves cost more than flowers, don't know why, but they do. So, I could get you five hundred dollars worth every month. Just figure out how long it stays in your system, and you should be good.” Mike's response calmed Jack and I, knowing I could try something natural to help me. “Just keep this a secret, and you should be fine. You don't need to get caught using this stuff, when you're using it so innocently. They give you mad fines and jail time for this, bro.”
So, for the next two weeks, I took this drug twice a day. Mike ground the leaves up for me and put them in capsules, which were easy to swallow, and things got better. It was like magic, I could leave the house, look at myself in the mirror, and even go straight to bed without checking the doors. Things really got better for me, and I even gained some weight. My eating became more normal, and the pain started to fade. My stomach doctor was shocked, and pleased, and encouraged me to continue whatever I was doing. This plant really was helping me. I told Doctor Scott that I started an exercise schedule, diet, and meditation. He didn't like that I had stopped taking my pills, and was worried my new lifestyle wouldn't work for long, but didn't protest too much. It really seemed like things were getting better, but one day something bad happened.
I was sitting in my living room, Jack was taking a shower and I was sorting through some files for work, when I heard a knock on the front door. This was odd because we hadn't planned to see anyone, and the land lord usually just called if he ever needed anything. Not thinking too much about it, I answered the door. Standing in front of me were two men dressed in black police uniforms. On was slightly smaller than the other and had a buzzed hair cut, the other looked pretty new to the job.
“M'am,” the shorter one held up a paper in his hand, “we have a warrant to search your apartment. Please let us in.” I was shocked by this, scared and shocked. Jack was still in the shower, and I was terrified, but I let them through.
It didn't take long for them to find my leave pills, place me in hand cuffs, and escort me out of the apartment. I had to spend three days in a jail cell, then pay an eight hundred dollar fine. Some police were following Mike, knowing he sold drugs, then arrested all of his clients. Even though I was using the drug for medical reasons, I was still in possession of an illegal substance. Once I had worked past my court hearings and fines, I luckily still had my job. My employer was more forgiving than the government, once I explained myself. When I returned to therapy, I had to began my usually schedule of various medications, once again. My stomach ulcers slowly began to return, and I constantly wondered, “Why do I have to take this?”
“So, you think the medication isn't working?” Doctor Scott asked as he wrote in his folder.
“I feel worse than before. I mean, I feel fine, I guess. I don't, emotionally, feel anything. I feel sick and dizzy and light headed, not sad or anxious or happy. I don't like it. I've lost my appetite, and lost weight. That doesn't sound like the medication is working.” I sat on a soft brown couch in a chilly office and explained why I wanted different medication, and Doctor Scott listened, and wrote in his folder. “I don't dream anymore, I just fall asleep and wake up the next day.” I added and Doctor Scott continued writing. “I'm just really tired of this back and forth, constantly feeling like shit, thing. Is there anything I can do that won't make me feel this way?” The doctor stopped writing, and looked at me, his lips twitched at the edges.
“We just haven't found the right mix yet. Your problem is chemical, and you need medications to fix it.” Our cession continued on like usual, asking about my week and exploring my childhood. Doctor Scott seemed to be trying to find some sort of traumatic childhood story, but I didn't have one. My childhood was very normal, though, I've always been an anxious person. Some things just make me that way, there is no reason for it. That's just how it is, that's how it has been.
Every week, after therapy, I spend the whole night playing video games with my roommate Jack. This has become a routine thing for us. We talk about my therapy, and shoot each other in war settings. Jack is my last childhood friend, because like usual, people go off to college and never come back. I've grown apart from most of my friends, but Jack and I have stayed together. We go to the same college in town, so we room together, splitting rent. Luckily for me, he knows my routines and “quirks” and abides by them. He is always standing, ready, at the door for me when I come home. He knows to be ready for me so that I am not outside alone for too long. He knows to check the doors before we go to bed, even though I check again behind him. He knows what makes me anxious, and he doesn't seem to care too much. Living with him, I don't have to worry about too much.
Of course, when I get home, he is in the doorway waiting for me. We share a smile as I lock my car door and rush to him. My therapy cessions are in the late afternoon, so it's always dark when I come home on these days. Still, I can always count on him to be standing there, waiting for me. He keeps the light on and walks me in. Our greeting is always the same, he opens the door for me, places his hand on the small of my back, walks me inside, closes and locks the door, and asks, “How was therapy?” and our night goes on from there.
“Like usual,” I always say to him, “he gave me a new batch of medications.” and hand him my bag.
“What do you have this time?” he opens it and looks inside.
“Three different pills for the day. I take all three in the morning, then, this one for lunch and dinner.” I reached out and pulled up the bottle, “This one is for my anxiety.” Jack takes it from me, and reads the name.
“Hmm, I've that this one is very brutal. My friend Seth was on this, and said it was the worst he has had.” he frowned, feeling bad, then tossed the pill bottle away. “I'm going to kick your ass tonight.” the bag was placed on the counter, and he pulled me to the couch. “Here,” he said as he handed me the controller, “game on.” he smiled at me and turned the game system on. I always win in these kinds of games. I beat him seven times before a normal conversation started up. “So, you know how your medications cause all these problems? Well, I know this guy who apparently sells this drug that can help with what's going on with you. I mean, it's illegal, but apparently it works. It's not that expensive, and you don't really have any side effects.” I stopped what I was doing, and looked at him. “I don't like seeing you sick,” he continued, “and I know this isn't your thing, but it could help. You should really try it.” he looked at me, hopeful.
“That sounds nice, amazing. No dizziness? No loss of appetite? No emptiness? No sickness? I don't care if it's illegal, I want to try it.”
He set up a meeting for me, and it wasn't as weird as I thought it would be. I just went over to the guy's house, and Jack came with me. He sat with me as I talked to the guy. His home was clean, and smelled like pizza. It looked like maybe he had inherited his home from his grandmother. We sat together, Jack and I, and held hands.
“You see, this is a bit weird, but I need you to help me. I'm not interested in drugs, well, not really. Jack says you can get me something to help with my mental illnesses. See, my depression and anxiety has been messing up my stomach, giving me ulcers. The medications that my therapist prescribes me makes me less anxious, but messes with me in other ways.” I squeezed Jack's hand, and he squeezed back.
“So you're wanting some of my flowers?” Mike, who sat across from us, smoking a cigar and stretching out in a love seat asked me.
“Is that what will help?” I wasn't sure what I was trying to buy, really.
“I have flowers right now, but usually, doctors use the leaves for more treatment type things. These flowers are good quality flowers, the petals get you pretty high, man.” Mike exhaled smoke through his weak grin.
“Oh, I don't want to get high. I just want the stuff that can help me.” I squeezed Jack's hand, and he sighed.
“I know you don't know her, but it would really help out if you could help us get this. She needs get better.” This seemed like a pretty awkward situation for Jack and I, this being our first drug deal and all, but Mike just laughed at us.
“You guys are so tense man, don't worry. I got you. Leaves cost more than flowers, don't know why, but they do. So, I could get you five hundred dollars worth every month. Just figure out how long it stays in your system, and you should be good.” Mike's response calmed Jack and I, knowing I could try something natural to help me. “Just keep this a secret, and you should be fine. You don't need to get caught using this stuff, when you're using it so innocently. They give you mad fines and jail time for this, bro.”
So, for the next two weeks, I took this drug twice a day. Mike ground the leaves up for me and put them in capsules, which were easy to swallow, and things got better. It was like magic, I could leave the house, look at myself in the mirror, and even go straight to bed without checking the doors. Things really got better for me, and I even gained some weight. My eating became more normal, and the pain started to fade. My stomach doctor was shocked, and pleased, and encouraged me to continue whatever I was doing. This plant really was helping me. I told Doctor Scott that I started an exercise schedule, diet, and meditation. He didn't like that I had stopped taking my pills, and was worried my new lifestyle wouldn't work for long, but didn't protest too much. It really seemed like things were getting better, but one day something bad happened.
I was sitting in my living room, Jack was taking a shower and I was sorting through some files for work, when I heard a knock on the front door. This was odd because we hadn't planned to see anyone, and the land lord usually just called if he ever needed anything. Not thinking too much about it, I answered the door. Standing in front of me were two men dressed in black police uniforms. On was slightly smaller than the other and had a buzzed hair cut, the other looked pretty new to the job.
“M'am,” the shorter one held up a paper in his hand, “we have a warrant to search your apartment. Please let us in.” I was shocked by this, scared and shocked. Jack was still in the shower, and I was terrified, but I let them through.
It didn't take long for them to find my leave pills, place me in hand cuffs, and escort me out of the apartment. I had to spend three days in a jail cell, then pay an eight hundred dollar fine. Some police were following Mike, knowing he sold drugs, then arrested all of his clients. Even though I was using the drug for medical reasons, I was still in possession of an illegal substance. Once I had worked past my court hearings and fines, I luckily still had my job. My employer was more forgiving than the government, once I explained myself. When I returned to therapy, I had to began my usually schedule of various medications, once again. My stomach ulcers slowly began to return, and I constantly wondered, “Why do I have to take this?”