I wake up, it's god-thirty in the morning, no sane person would be awake at this accursed hour. I've been called a lot of things in my life, but sane was never one of them…Guess that explains it.

Ahh, time for pills. It's the breakfast of champions! My wake up routine, my clearing space for mental clutter, pills. A handful of them like rainbow skittles. It's the price I have to pay.

Each morning they're taken from a small, brightly colored box, which further subdivides them into smaller groups, this way I don't miss anything or manage to poison myself in my haste.

Let's see now, one blue, three white, and my favorite; brilliant neon orange. To my credit, this one isn't really a pill. Well, it is, but not like the rest. It's just a vitamin.

When I was little, the vitamins were orange, but at that time they were chewable and tasted like real oranges. Now that I'm older the little buggers are equally orange, but they're not chewable at all and they taste like ass. Funny what a few years under your belt will earn you.

You're probably wondering why in the name of spoons and vegetables am I swallowing a veritable rainbow of pills, in much the same way other-so called 'normal'- people swallow a handful of sweet candy, yes? Well actually that's a very good question. I still haven't been able to get a solid answer out of my various medical persons. One says I have this, so I have to take that. Another says I have a few other issues so this particular pill is due. A third tells me I have too much energy and not enough sanity, then orders three more bottles just for good measure.

The two large white ones, those are the twins, Concerta and Concerta. My foundation, my medical corner stone; an entire day's worth of concentration compressed into a nifty, travel-sized 72 milligram capsule. They look quite impressive, larger than any of the others, dwarfing the rest in their pearly white magnificence. These two have been part of my morning diet since the tender age of six and are the only ones I actually feel I need to ingest to function. (Picture a ten-year old boy at his most obnoxious best and cram him and his buddies into the body of a seventeen year old girl. That's me without 'the twins') They were bequeathed to me by Dr. Michelson for ADHD and are more technically advanced than the rest in that they're slow release ("for all day comfort!"-sounds disturbingly like a tampon commercial doesn't it?)

Next, the smaller cousin of the first two, a round, also white, chalky pill engraved with the number ten. This little thing packs quite a punch and is apparently required to stop me from sinking into a deep dank hole of sadness and depression. It doesn't always work, but take two and even your great uncle Earl looses that striking resemblance to a wombat and starts to look like a wonderful new friend. This pill is also pleasant, otherwise referred to as my Happy Pill, her name is Lexapro and she's an anti-depressant. She was a part of the Great Assignment.

Just what is the Great Assignment you ask? Good question. Well, let's just put it this way. I went into the room for a prescription refill and when I came out I had three new mental conditions. I guess they were on sale or something…

Third on my list is a little blue and white creature, though it looks average, almost harmless at first glance, this is the one I'm constantly at war with. The one that makes so goddamn "bland". This fresh horror is called a "Mood Stabilizer", and was forced upon me to treat what they called Bipolar disorder. Everyone up until then had called it teenage angst and artistic moodiness. Personally I liked those descriptions better. The name sounds like a medical device, evoking images of gleaming metal and chrome and straps and all sorts of strange contraptions. There was a time when a smaller, equally blue pill sat in place of this one. His name was Trileptal and he bore a strong resemblance to the fat woman in those German operas. This would have been fine, that was until I began to take on a similar resemblance to the fat woman in a German opera. So Trileptal was given the chop and Geodon ("All Hail the Conqueror!") took his place.

Though he is far more athletic than his opulent predecessor he is a sneaky, conniving little bastard. He is actually part of my nighttime routine. To be taken directly before bed, but some how he's managed to worm his way into my morning today. If I take him early I'll feel fine for the first twenty minutes …then ….BOOM! I'm down. And I don't mean slightly fatigued. I mean you're gonna need the Mexican army to scrape me up off the floor and drag my limp listless body to wherever it needs to be located next. Of all of my little friends he is the one I truly resent.

It's been said to me that this resentment is 'normal' and that I should 'talk about it' which of course means I button my yap and resent it all the more. He's here to stay whether I talk or not.

But I've got to ask myself, is it really worth it?

Is this who I am?

And if you take away the pills and the labels, is what's left behind who I should really be?…