Synapses struggle to connect.  In brain.  I lurch along.  Entertaining sea sickness. 

Pause. 

I have no idea if I’ve taken my medication. 

I had a pill dispenser once.  So my confused brain could remember to take tablets.  It was very cute.  My little calendar, now lost. 

New drug company I sponsor has own logo on back of foil sheets.  No little suns for morning.  No moons for night.  No days of the week. 

I do not like this new medication in its egotistical little box. 

I stare at foil tablet sheet, little abandoned metal chrysalises where tablets once were. 

Now Monday is Friday or Wednesday.  Perhaps Sunday.  And I have OCD from constant have-I-taken-stupid-pills checking.

I truly have no memory of taking any tablets today. 

Thoughtfully tap sheet of tablets on kitchen table.  To prompt mental cognition.  Have not been drug free since 1993.  Can almost feel brain re-wiring.  Creating chemical free neural highway.  To destination Unknown.  Tap Tap.  Tablets make little snicking noise inside box.  Strangely satisfying.  Treasonably therapeutic.  The sound.  Not the tablets.  I do it again.  Tap Tap.  Snick Snick. 

Am now quite hypnotised.  By snicking.  Maybe can tap tablets all day.  Instead of swallowing. 

I do not like to swallow these drugs which cause sea sickness.  And increase the effects of alcohol.  And cause cancer.  Because everything does.  Google said. 

Mind hovers on possible implications of abrupt divorce from cancer-causing drugs.  Such as catastrophic cardiac event.  Heart races.  Agreeably.  Brain considers sudden erratic heartbeat.

I have swallowed some medication in the past twenty-four hours. 

Surely. 

Maybe.  

Worse, perhaps I have taken my medication.  And forgotten.  Perhaps in an inadvertent moment I have taken too many cancerous little pills. 

I start to panic.  Tap Tap. 

These are supposed to be anti-anxiety pills.  I think.  Now they are pro-panic pills.

NOTE: Since writing this I have discovered Webster-paks. Cute large cardboard sheets, dotted with little plastic bubbles, all lined in neat and logical little rows. All marked with Morning, Noon, Dinner, Bedtime. Bliss, because it is packed by a chemist, not I. No more wrong tablets in wrong holes. No more accidental overdoses. Less forgetfulness. And just two glitches. Mr/Mrs Webster, I need three more bubbles. Just three - pre breakfast, pre lunch, pre dinner. And perhaps something which does not require a well aimed knife to access those accurately packed pills.

This version written Dec, 2019; updated March, 2020