I Filled My Xanax

*The pharmacy called to let me know my medicine was ready.

I didn’t recognized the number so, I let it go to voicemail.

I knew what medicine, and I knew that it was indeed my medicine. Mine.

I picked it up Tuesday morning, this little ugly orange pill bottle with this medicine in it with the power to help me not think the world will end if I don’t keep kick-starting it. I was grateful. I remembered the words of my physician, a black woman old enough to be my older sister. I told her my trepidation about taking anything.

She had already fussed at me about not going to my cardiology appointment (I went, did the stress test, and all is well), and told me that I could half the dose of it I needed it. The medicine was only when I needed it. I looked at her, and smiled.

She, a woman of my experience, told me it was okay for me not to be okay. I was okay to have asked for help, and help be expected to come. She gave me license to begin the arduous task most black women don’t do well or often: take care of ourselves.

I told her my plan for self-care, stress management, and she listened and took notes. I got to tell her that I was trying to be okay, I really was, but I knew that I wasn’t. I was doing everything, because everything had to be done. I am a wife, mother, writer, preacher, friend, daughter, godmother, sister and entrepreneur. With everything in the air, something was liable to break…like me.

The medicine is in my cabinet, much like a lighthouse among rocks. It’s there to provide light and assistance to keep from crashing among the rocks. And I’m grateful it is there.

*Too often, those of us whom service everyone else forget to refill ourselves. We let the cares of this life overtake us, and we reach for light and help too late. It is not that my faith in God is at a point where I don’t believe He can’t do all that He says. Quite the contrary! I consider myself part of the lepers whom Christ healed whom where told to go and show themselves to the priests…they were healed as they went. The healing is in the going. I understand there are some that will read this and think whatever they will. That’s fine. It is my belief that medicine and therapy are tools of healing. There are some whose healing/duration of dealing with mental health issues are instantaneous. But there are some that are healed as they go. The key is, we keep going. The first step? Knowing you cannot do it all alone.


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