Chapter Nine: Tamper with my Brain.

5.30 in the morning really wasn't a good time for thinking about difficult topics, I mused. My eyes crossed and began to slowly close without me even noticing, but I soon jerked them back open and attempted a half-hearted glare at the bottle that sat not two feet away from me. I failed.

I liked my medicine, I really did. It helped. When I took it I actually felt the drive to complete things, all sorts of things. Things that normally I'd pass over in favor of more interesting (to me) pursuits. I actually completed my homework on a daily basis, and felt the energy necessary to attempt to write something, even when nothing came.

It was the side effects I wasn't so fond of. Appetite suppression caused by dry mouth? I'll pass. My stomach would grumble demandingly all day long, but every time I looked at food I had no urge to eat, not unless a soda or some water was offered to take sips of as I ate in order to get rid of the "dry mouth". There was also the constant talking; starting at about ten in the morning, I couldn't stop having conversations, and my mouth would run ahead of my mind by miles per minute.

The worst of all was the... depression? No. It wasn't depression. It was more of a lack of outward emotional displays. While I could talk and listen better than ever, the smiles that I remember used to be so frequent had almost dried up. Where was my laughter, the one that people knew? Where were the spouts of giggles when my mind thought of something hilarious, and everyone else would be left asking, 'What? What? What's so funny?' Where was the old me?

That was why I didn't like my medicine. I liked the new me, but I didn't want to lose the old me. I didn't want to let go of the late nights that were later than any before, or the attacks of 'Fangirl Epilepsy', as I liked to call it, that had me running into my brother's room giggling and babbling like an idiot before shaking my head until it rung.

It was then that an equally disturbing notion reached me. What if... people actually liked the new me better?

Sighing, I wiped away the unshed tears that had gathered in my eyes and popped open the small container. Removing one blue-and-red capsule, I swallowed it dry and replaced the cap. It didn't matter, did it? In the end, it was my education and motivation and completion of work that mattered most. Even if the cost was me.

Now, I was glad I had dyed that indigo stripe in my hair. It was a reminder of who I was, who I would have to pretend to be... for now.

After all, Mom said the side effects weren't supposed to last forever.