Today I returned the heavy duty tablets.

Little white circles that once held so much power over me.

For years they sat quietly in drawers and boxes, waiting.

If the night became too dark, they were there.

Today I handed many of them back across the chemist’s counter.

No ceremony.

No speech.

Just a small paper bag and a moment where I almost hesitated.

Because when the bag leaves your hand, something changes.

The safety net goes with it.

I walked out with a new prescription:

smaller tablets now, measured more carefully.

The chemist probably saw an ordinary man collecting medication.

Inside my head it felt like something much larger.

Fear.

Fear that one day the withdrawals will be stronger than my resolve.

Fear that the dark early hours will return.

Fear that the small white circles will win.

But also something else.

A quiet act of resistance.

The tablets are smaller now.

The control, perhaps, is a little larger.

Tonight I will try to sleep.

Tomorrow I will take the next step.

That is all there is.