It was a bit sweet at first - that’s what they wanted me to believe - bitter once it hit the back of my throat, sending my emotions into a contentious fury. I was young and gullible, the first to comply to new rules and regulations without thought, so I let it drop to the pit of my stomach. I didn’t realize what it was doing to my body until I lacked any empathy for a friend who had just lost a loved one. And the longer it stayed in my system, the more numb I became.
“The pill.” I whispered, the words echoing in my ears. It’s no longer taken lightly. I was one of the victims that escaped the social experiment. The government took me under their wing. In addition, I signed a contract promising to participate in any human experimentation project they put out. That signature ruined my life. Little did I know, six months later I wouldn’t be able to feel anything. I volunteered, but I was soon on test tubes, unaware of the human qualities I was beginning to lose. That was until I couldn’t hold a serious conversation anymore. Happy pills floating around in my stomach robbed me of logical reasoning. I was the human embodiment of a sugarcoated life, stripping away the bad tastes. But sometimes we need those sour and bitter moments to make us better. I learned the hard way.