blister pack
into the foil of the blister pack—
it comes apart too easily
i turn it over
biding my time
watching perfect little nauseatingly neon pills
fall into my lap
cradled in the abyss of my black scrub pants
dark, dark, dark
but also light! and breathable!
the lady at the scrub store told me
after she asked me for my hospital employee number for their healthcare discount—
but i’m not saving lives
i’m a cosmetology student
who can barely save my own
i stare at the pile in my lap
and scoop them into my palms
long-sleeve tee pulled up around my thumbs
the raw raw skin chafing against the soft fabric
god i hope the manicure practical isn’t today
i can’t roll my sleeves up
they can’t see
i sob to my instructor
shaking and sweating and he smiles and says
i look great— like i’ve lost weight
but what he somehow doesn’t see is i’m the sickest i’ve ever been
replacing meals with weed and water with red bull
swimming in the air
so thick with cigarette smoke and perm solution and gossip
that i’m drowning again
and i can’t be drowning
this is supposed to be my big change
figuring it out
getting back on the horse
finding my purpose
we’re so proud of you
we’re so glad you made it through
but i haven’t
my brain still feels like a 100 pound rock i’m forced to lug around with me
my body still feels like a prison of my own creation
and all i want to do is take all the pills in my lap
swallow them in great big gulps
i want to, so bad—
but i’m scared
i can’t be doing bad again
so i keep popping them out of the blister pack
and hope for courage