“Six years with a simple pill organizer: From health challenges to personal triumphs, this reflection highlights the profound journey, proving that even the smallest things can mark significant growth. #Reflections #Journey”
A few days ago, a simple inconvenience reminded me of a time gone by.
At first, it seemed almost meaningless. Yet, in a few seconds, the true impact of that moment washed over me.
While traveling, I unpacked my suitcase, and reached for my medicine case. As I went to grab it, it fell, and one of the plastic covers that individually seals each day of the week broke off, spilling the menagerie of pills of every color onto the floor. The first thought that rose to the surface? For nearly 6 years, this cheap piece of plastic has been an integral part of my daily life.
My first encounter with this pill organizer came between hospitalizations, when my mother and I sat at the kitchen table late at night, accompanied by a mountain of prescriptions and their accompanying instructions. It was one of the first indications that my life had changed concretely - there was no going back.
As I looked down to see the broken pill case and its contents scattered across the floor, the memories of countless hours that I had spent stuffing away capsules and tablets into this cheap piece of yellow and blue plastic rose up to meet me. At first, measuring out my medications for the week had seemed daunting, and was something that I dreaded. In the beginning, the prescriptions and pills were changing so quickly that it was a tedious affair. After a while, it became a non-event; I was capable of identifying each medication and dosage simply by holding it between my fingers, and the task was accomplished within minutes.
In all of that time, my life had changed significantly, even if this cheap piece of yellow and blue plastic hadn’t. Each day, it was both the start and end of my routine. It had traversed the world with me, the first item on the list of necessities before I walked out the door. There were many occasions that I would crack a joke when the need to take the medication in front of friends and family came about, a feeble attempt at bringing levity to a part of my life of which I still felt ashamed.
From the time that I snapped open the flimsy plastic flaps for the first time in 2018, I finished a degree, endured a pandemic, found a career, and wrote a book. As different as the days of each of these pillars of my life have been, they were all punctuated by the inescapable ritual of stuffing my mouth with pills each morning and each night.
Now, I find myself in an entirely different phase of life. I certainly don’t have all the answers, but my control over my disease has reached a place that my earlier self did not believe was possible. So, maybe it is appropriate to look at this morsel of triviality (ordering a new, cheap piece of plastic from Amazon) as a sign of the strides that I have made on my journey to living a better life with Bipolar. Sometimes, the best reminder of your accomplishments is the memory of a time gone by.
