A Letter to the Pill Box on My Bathroom Counter

At first, I didn’t like you – the methodical, emotionless facade you put on made me scared and a little ashamed. To have my need for antidepressants treated with such a mundane attitude made me tremble, made me wonder if the suffering I had endured up to that point had been pointless, if my progress had been for nothing.

Eventually, though, you helped. You gave me a box to check every night, something to accomplish, a step towards happiness that made me feel like I was doing something, not just sitting around waiting for the medicine to take effect.

Now, you sit innocently on the counter, next to my toothbrush and toothpaste – normal, commonplace, comforting. You remind me of the miles I have walked to get where I am now, of the therapy sessions, the doctor appointments, the panic attacks and suicidal thoughts I have waded through with no light to reach for but the hint of a crescent moon on the horizon. You have become the full moon that lights my way and the sun that gives me strength. You are no longer a symbol of dread, of belittled progress, but of progress made and celebrated and of happiness reclaimed from night’s shadows.

Sincerely…