Dear Pharmaceutical companies and their distributors,
I find it hard to believe that you have the slightest idea of what goes into those orange and white pill bottles. I find it easy to believe that the more prescriptions you fill the higher the numbers rise on your monthly paycheck. Your ignorance has tainted the emotional stability of thousands. Your failure to differenciate a neurological malfunction and a brainwashed mindset has transformed the larger part of society into hollow skeletons of the ill advised. I tell you I am feeling sad today and you unanimously make the decision to start me on 130 mg of prozac. Though it is thirteen times the recommended starting dose you assure me, "it is quite neccessary for my health". The next day I confide in you with a hopeful smile that I am feeling happier and more like myself. Without any further questioning you diagnose me with sever bipolar disorder and strip me of my individuality the second you scrawl your illegible signature on my prescription order. You order me to take one white, octagonal pill each morning but not on an empty stomach. However, you don't inform me that gradually I will feel unlike myself and become uninterested in everything. You fail to mention that I will begin to feel emotion uncontrollably, irrationally and quite often not at all. You tell me not to worry and assure me that soon I will be "fixed" but who's to tell me that I was broken in the first place? Surely it cannnot be you- some random man recommended to my mother by her coworker who's daughter was deemed self destructive and schizophrenic after one hour of free association. Anyways, you thank me endlessly for my cooperation and I stare blankly at your PhD in psychiatry and medicine. At the time I thought nothing of your gratitude. Your inscesent thank you's and appreciation would not yet become apparent to me until this Christmas when I would receive a "Happy Holidays" card from your family. The four of you happily aboard a cruise around the Bahamas; courtesy of my niaveness and your manipulative mannerisms. The only thing I will have are my infinite prescriptions and the only thing I will experience this Christmas are my dulled senses that will continuously pose as a constant reminder that this is not who I really am.