I'm staring down the bottle of pills sitting next to me. It's seemingly innocuous. Transparent orange bottle, light blue lid. A label on it that has my name, the pharmacy information, and the dosage instruction. Its the word in between that terrifies me: Escitalopram.
After 27 years of fighting my battles on my own, I am being told the burden is too much, and it's time to accept some (chemical) help.