We’ve Got A Pill For That
by Mallory Smart
I called my doctor because my brain kept lagging in the middle of conversations. Buffering like it has bad WiFi connection. She nodded and called it “existential idling” and treated it like it was a vital sign she checked hourly.
“We’ve got a pill for that,” she said, clicking a pen like it was armed with bullets.
The pill helped me fall asleep faster. Unfortunately, it did nothing for the “existential idling”. It just followed me into my dreams and made me sleep until noon, convinced I’d slept through three economic recessions and not just two.
“Ah, yeah that happens in 20% of patients. Not a problem. We’ve got a pill for that,” she said when I called her the next day.
The new pill gave me energy and focus but only for things that didn’t matter, like rearranging old Dropbox files and making presentations of old regrets.
I called her again.
“Don’t worry. We’ve got a pill for that.” She sounded proud. Like she just unlocked a new level.
I told her I doomscroll on Twitter. That the red notifications on apps gave me anxiety so I need to click every single one until they’re gone. She asked how much I did this. I said I couldn’t tell her because my Apple Watch showed my BPM raced everytime I went to look at Screen Time..
“We’ve got a pill for that.”
I asked if there was a pill for quitting social media. She looked bewildered. Apparently, scientific studies have proven that social media is good for anxiety engagement metrics.
“Don’t you want less anxiety?” she asked, like I’d never considered the possibility.
I shrugged. Embarrassed. “Depends on the day, I guess.”
She signed and flipped through my chart. “Don’t worry. We’ve got a pill for that.”
It was maybe my sixth visit when I realized she was just prescribing pills in alphabetical order. My appointments sounded like chaotic infomercials hosted by Billy Mays.
Can’t focus? We got a pill for that.
Focusing too much? We’ve definitely got a pill for that.
Daydreaming? There’s a pill for that, too.
Nightmares? You guessed it! We’ve got a pill for that.
Accidentally fell in love with a barista because they remembered your name once? Pill.
Weirdly attached to a celebrity you’ve never met? Girl. We’ve got a pill for that.
The Calm Pill was either working or I no longer cared that the world was on fire. I didn’t care that my life was in flames too.
The Confidence Pill convinced me I should quit my job and start my own business despite having no real life skills other than the ability to tell everyone to “chill out.” The Hype Pill 360 helped me clean my entire apartment at 2 a.m. and then somehow caused targeted ads to show up on my social media for step stools like it knew sanity for me was still out of reach.
I told my doctor I wasn’t sure what was real anymore. That my body didn’t feel like my own and I didn’t know who was in control.
“We’ve got a pill for that,” she said, like she’d been waiting for this moment. Apparently, 60% of patients have this side effect.
I said the pills were starting to make me feel weirdly guilty.
“Guilt is like an outdated operating system,” she said. Another pill.
Insurance wouldn’t cover the newest batch. Not to bitch about Ozempic, but those fuckers really did ruin it for the rest of us.
Doc slipped me a free sample of the Guilt Pills that she had in her closet like we were old friends doing a drug deal in her parent’s basement.
I told her this made me feel a little uncomfortable. That I was running out of room in the medicine cabinet in my bathroom.
She nodded. “Those feelings are completely common. We’ve got pills for those.”
By visit eight, she handed me a pamphlet that felt more like a menu that you get at a French restaurant:
Basic Human Functioning — $59/month
Premium Coping Mechanisms — $129/month
Elite Emotional Wellness — email for pricing; requires soul
Basic Human Functioning sounded like something I should already have by default, the way legs usually come with knees. I just wanted to be alive without paying a membership fee.
When she asked if I wanted the Sadness and Concentration bundle, I just muttered that I’d need to think it over. “Thinking is anxiety-adjacent,” she said, and got ready to prescribe something new.
“We’ve got a pill for that.”
She said, “Healing is a journey,” which seems like a marketing slogan for people who hate walking. Then asked if I wanted my best self or my covered-by-insurance self.
I picked whichever one sounded like fewer forms.
“We’ve got a pill for that.”
Side effects may include:
- Dizziness
- Dry mouth
- Unwanted hope
She told me not to Google the ingredients. Dr. Internet isn’t a friend and it’ll only make the side effects worse.
I asked what happens if I stop taking everything. She paused for the first time in our entire medically documented journey together.
“I’m not actually sure if we’ve got a pill for that…”
Mallory Smart is a Chicago-based writer who loves keeping it weird. She’s the author of I Keep My Visions to Myself and The Only Living Girl in Chicago, the host of the podcast Textual Healing, and Editor-in-Chief of Maudlin House, an indie press for restless, unapologetic voices. Her work shows up where you least expect it and lingers longer than it should.