Happy Valentine’s Day to my Xanax
I can’t believe it’s been 15 years. Jesus, how time flies. Immediately before our impromptu rendezvous last night, I spent some time thinking about our memories together and broke down into a fit of frantic tears.
You have supported me through public speaking events, blood draws and first dates. Just last year, you were there when I got stung by a bee at that wedding in Buffalo and collapsed on the church stairs, paralyzed by fear that I had somehow become spontaneously allergic to bee venom. (The bride was slightly displeased with the attention I garned, but you understood my needs, babe. You always understand my needs.)
You were there this summer when I unwittingly met that creepy swinger couple in Boston, and had to mentally hide in my happy place as they openly discussed my breasts.
I can take you anywhere and everywhere. New restaurants, job interviews, Target on a Saturday. Remember that time we went to Pitchfork together and you helped me out during Sleigh Bells? God, what a peaceful moment that ended up being.
We’ve had our struggles. I know at times I’ve strayed. I was young and foolish, and just wanted to experiment with other attractive benzodiazepines. That’s on me. But I always come back to you! You comfort me almost immediately, generally in 18 minutes or less.
I love you and I can’t wait to see you again Monday when I face the throngs of rush hour passengers on the train. I know it’s corny, but you truly complete me. Happy Valentine’s!
Melanie is a writer and researcher living in Logan Square, Chicago, IL who tweets @rileycoyote.