A Letter to Prednisone

Dear corticosteroid,

At first, this seemed like a good idea to take you. It's not a good decision anymore. I've started hallucinating strange things, like glitter being projectile vomited from every hole in every body around me, both animate and inanimate. In addition, it now appears that you cause dry mouth which would probably explain why I think the inside of my mouth cracked right in half like desert rock eventually does when it gives into the intense heat. The mild sense of euphoria I received earlier seemed like a really good thing, but the crashing anxiety and mental confusion that now soak my air is beyond words. I just started screaming at a penny that lied face-down in the middle of my floor. You are a strange, strange drug, prednisone.

Apparently, if I take you for a long enough period and then stop taking you, I can go into what's called an Addisonian crisis, where I start convulsing, severely vomiting and diarrhea-ing (simultaneously at that), go into a fever, have a psychotic break, and then die. Now I'm terrified to quit you. On the other hand, if I keep taking you, it can lead to my face swelling, black stool (which apparently is a VERY bad thing to happen), become manic, become depressive, become psychotic, die, and even worse, gain weight. So I can't take you, but I can't not take you either. I should probably just hang myself with a pair of boxer briefs to just skip to the part where I die without becoming fat or leaking from all orifices.

In short, I'm not really sure what you're supposed to be doing for me. Lupus patients may be very happy to have you in their lives, but I am now within the liminal stages of existence. There is only with or without you, nowhere in between, and you have messed with my body too much. Get the fuck out of my life, you chalky, little bastard.

Love,
Jake