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& ur welcome.

fuck it. be a mess.


I picked up my antidepressants at the drugstore. My earbuds were keeping me calm as lofi beats inundated my mind. The fluorescent lights overhead beamed down creating a pathway through the beauty aisle as if I was on my way to heaven’s gates. As I passed stacks of tweezers, tissues, condoms, Tums, and shampoo, a wave of confidence rushed in. This was the year. This was the day. This was the moment that I was going to belong to myself again.

I stood at the window waiting for a sales associate to ask for my last name and birthday. No one was there. I took two paces to the left and saw the associate hidden behind the separating wall. It was as if she also belonged on the shelf of pills. Quiet, unassuming, hidden in plain sight. I approached the counter and gave her my information. As she picked up my prescription she looked at the bag and then back at me. At this point, they usually ask if I understand the side effects. However this time, she asked me how this medication was working for me since she recently got prescribed the same pills. I took out an earbud and looked at her. She was young, probably in her early twenties just like me. She had black hair that she kept back and her uniform understood the curves of her body but did nothing to showcase them. She looked at me as if I was a saving grace. As if I assured her she wasn’t alone. She shared with me that she’s on half my dose and that she can’t take it in the morning since it makes her drowsy. I advised her she should try to take it at night to help. I told her how when I first went on it I didn’t feel like a full version of myself for the first month. This was her fifth day on it. She expected it to kick in but seemed disappointed that it was not the savior she hoped for. I encouraged her to wait a month to feel its effects. She smiled and finished checking me out. I left as I wished her a good day, knowing that to her a day is just a day, another cross in the calendar.


I don’t know this woman, but I’ve been her. I’ve been comforted by living in plain sight. I’ve looked at the sun and not felt its warmth but rather its fluorescent pain. Everyday was another search for a savior. Some days I was saved by the feeling of my bed sheets. Other days it was sharing a glass of wine with a friend. Most days it was smoking out of my window as I waited for my dinner to cook. All of it was a waiting period. A clash of longing for a saving grace and a contentment with the stillness of feeling stuck in a perpetual loop of being just okay. My days were just days and I belonged to them.


When I went back on my antidepressants my days no longer felt like they owned me but rather my partner. I wake up and greet my day with a cup of coffee. We sit and talk about how we want to spend our time together. Sometimes we chat about our pasts and laugh or cry. Unfortunately, there’s no in between. Not yet at least. But we sit there and hold each other. My Days brush my hair and wash my face. I treat My Days to breakfast or a walk in the park. Sometimes My Days get possessive of me. During those times, I greet my day with a cup of coffee and they greet me with a cry and a nap. A nap that feels as if it lasts centuries. A nap that feels ancestral. I wake up and treat My Day to a meal, but my day isn’t hungry. I say to My Day, “why don’t we take a walk.” My Day doesn’t want to walk. I pick up a ball of yarn and say, “why don’t we crochet.” My Day yells at me and says we can’t finish that. I tell My Day that it isn’t about finishing, it's about starting. My Day continues to yell at me until I retreat back into my sheets. I guess those are My Day’s days. However, I know tomorrow will be mine again.


I hope the sales associate belongs to her days again. I hope she finds a partner in Her Days the same way I find a camaraderie in mine. I hope Her Days are more patient with her. I hope Her Days encourages her to take adventures that exceed the beauty aisle. I wish Her Days, one day, will tell her, “Let’s go for a run. Let’s start a hobby. Let’s fall in love. Let’s laugh with our friends. Let’s bask in the sun.” Life is too special to be comforted by shelves of pills. Maybe one day our Days will find each other and become friends. Maybe they will greet each other with breakfast and coffee. They will hold each other as they gossip about their pasts and plan their futures together. The following day, the associate and I will wake up in our respective apartments and find a note next to us from our Days telling us that they have run away together. For that future day, we will belong back to ourselves.


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