There was a friend I knew since elementary school, one of the closest I'll ever have. When I first met him, he was full of energy, he was this happy, euphoric beacon of childhood and freedom, always living in the moment, always choosing without thinking of the result. I always used to picture how carefree his life must have been, how loving his family must be, for him to live as such an emotionally driven and erratic person. He always seemed to give life to everything he did, he could always make the room move, no matter what happened. When he was angry, he raged, when he was sad, he despaired, when he was happy, it was bliss, and even if he was a little nuts, he was alive. But, the world rejected him. His teachers, his parents, other students except for his dearest friends, could not stand his very nature. His energetic existence seemed to be an affront to everything they stood for, for what was ok in everyday life. For years they tried to change him, mold him, shape him, and try to break what they saw as a problem, but did not realize that in fact it was his soul.
Eventually, they found the solution. Pills. The names Concerta, Vyvance, Ritalin, Adderall became second nature to this boy, and so I watched as he changed.
The man I knew, died. The fire behind his eyes, dead. In it's place was a glaze that made his eyes glass, spheres that revealed what had once given him life, was gone. His once portly body had thinned, leaving a skeletal frame, he no longer ate a fraction of what he once had, living off mostly water and those damned pills they fed him. No longer was he the boisterous man whose voice in speech could be heard down the halls, now it had become an all too soft whisper, barely audible to the naked ear. When his friends attempted to rekindle what they once knew, they found not a glimmer of what had been. Their friend had been taken from them, and in his place, a shell. Dark circles formed under his eyes, as his pills would not let him sleep, we caught him several times when he thought himself alone, with tears silently rolling down his cheeks, his notebooks were filled with pages of self loathing, and questions that even doubted his own sanity. He grew apart from his friends, he became absorbed in solitude, his own mind filled with demons that he could once suppress with the help of his friends.
They murdered him that day. He has a new life, but none but a single human being can still somehow give him joy in this world. His only connection to the world is a single girl, who can still somehow see in him what must still be there, behind an endless sea of walls built by himself at the urging of those god damned pills. When we asked him why he still takes these pills, why he won't return to the way he was, why he was letting these damned medicinal monsters wreck everything that made him human, his answer was simply,
"I'm not good enough."
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