"You rely on medication to balance out the chemicals in your brain. You’re sick and it’s not like the flu or a stomach ache. It’s there forever. It eats away at you. At your brain, at your friends, at your family. They get scared. They want to run. A majority of them do and you don’t understand until you look in the mirror at your tear-stained face or in the cabinet at the little bottle of pills or at your arm and the scars that cover it. You don’t understand until they’re gone and you’re left alone with the evidence. The evidence that you left behind. The sadness, the confusion, the pain. It’s all your fault. It’s the imbalance of chemicals and no one knows how to fix it — including you — so they get tired. They get so tired and so sorry for you and they know they can’t do anything for you so they leave. And you look into the eyes of the person in the mirror as they begin to blur and you realize, “It was me.” and you cry and you don’t know what to do because those people tried to stay for so long and you realize now that you can’t convince them to come back. You know that they’re so tired so you sit on your bed or your couch or the floor of your tub and you cry because you miss them and you miss yourself and you miss the light that used to radiate from you and the flowers that used to bloom in your chest, making you feel more alive than you’ve ever felt. You miss his laughter and the way he looked so invigorated. You miss their ambition and the way they were so incredibly carefree and the way that they didn’t hurt. You miss the 5 AM bike rides or the 10 hour marathons of documentaries. You miss everything. But you’re listening to Daughter and Coldplay and crying because the monster in your head scared everyone away. It doused the flame inside you and it ripped the flowers from their roots. And you know it’s always going to be there and you know that the only way to get rid of it is through 100 mg of toxin. And you have to constantly remind yourself: take your medicine every day and the monster will be at bay."