Living With A Broken Brain

I’m beginning to hate all the “living” with a broken brain literature. Fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck it! I don’t want to LIVE with this; I just want it to go away. Instead everyday I’m reminded that my brain is broken. Every morning I mark the start of a new day with my heptagonal shaped pill organizer. Every night I mark the end of the day with my daily injection. I can’t get away from it and I can’t even pull an ostrich for a few days because of my daily medications.