Dear Doc,

I hope all is well with you. I believe that things are looking up for me. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking…making some decisions; that sort of thing.

I decided that I’m getting off of these fucking majic pills you have me on. They don’t work. They only make me a new kind of crazy and put me that much further from my true self. What you call ‘the best on the market’ are little more than slave masters, shaking about in shiny bottles. Fuck that bullshit. Fuck it. Fuck them. Fuck you.

I pay you five bucks a minute for you to ignore the things in my life that have given me PTSD. And, let me tell you something; the T was pretty fucking traumatic, and it went on for decades. Why aren’t we talking about THAT instead of you giving me bullshit assignments? A man can pay a fucking whore fifty bucks just to talk and get more insight than you have. I’m done, doc. I’ll still come see you now and then, so that you can see how fucking good I’m doing on my own. I bet you won’t even be able to tell the difference. Pills…no pills? Hmmmm…

I’m manic as fuck right now. You know what? I fucking LOVE it. God, I’ve been so dumbed down for so long that I almost forgot what this is like. I want to dance around the house and sing and make the bed and sweep the floor and do the dishes, all at the same time! I want to write this letter to you and then listen to Lil Keke and Fat Pat, all chopped and screwed. I want to sit here, in this chair, feeling like the entire universe is inside my head and I want to FEEL it dancing in my brain. Because it feels like I’m alive. And it’s exhausting. But it’s worth it.

I’m going to go now, Doc. I apologize for the disrespect, but I meant what I said. I meant to say it differently, but I’m not going to edit it. It is what it is, Doc. It’s my life and I need to live it my way, whatever that means and whatever the outcome is. I know I’ll crash. Maybe tomorrow…maybe six months from now. But, at least, I’ll have this time when I feel like I can see color again. I can feel again. So much that I can barely contain it. It’s terrible and wonderful, all at once. And I love it. Because it’s me.

Adios, Doc


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