My Second Draft of the RIP

“Why are you writing this down? It’s not like anyone is going to see it.” The grim voice in the back of my mind denotes. With the bathroom door locked, I hide into the bathtub with my journal clenched in my hands.
“This needs to be uncovered, and I don’t have much time,” I reply to the scolding voice. I reach for my pen buried in the pocket of my jacket, and for a moment, I question how to begin.
“Where do I start?”
A few weeks ago I was at the peak of my life, you could say. Alongside my fiance (ex-fiance now), Ben, we were at the height of our careers at John Hopkins University. Both the leading pharmacologists nationwide, we developed the universal drug Euphoria. I was known world wide as a hero, inherently, for creating the end of depression and sorrow; yet here I am in ruin in reason to the drug, awaiting my mortality.
I suppose I should begin with explaining the catalyst itself-Euphoria. Ben and I created the seemingly “happy” pill with the funding and research provided by the government around 12 years ago. We were regularly in communication with the state regarding new vaccines and drugs, so it never seemed peculiar for them to be persistent on creating such a complex antidepressant. I assumed it was even more necessary to create the drug with the recession that hit the United States two years prior. And although the drug caused much restless night and stress, I felt proud to be to apart of such an outstanding project for the betterment of mankind; moreover, it was satisfying doing it alongside Ben. We had each our own parts producing Euphoria; I was in charge of synthesizing the drug, while Ben worked on the testing of the drug and consulting the presidency on our progress. Together we created a cure for depression-one dose of Euphoria raises your Serotonin levels permanently, as well as increasing the activity in your left frontal lobes.
For a while everything appeared perfect in my life. Ben and I masked in the glory of the success of the drug, which I know made me fall more in love with him. He knew I was the brains behind the drug, and he was the manipulator.
Before the birth of the drug, we lived a much simpler life. Both finished with medical school, we were broke, eating ramen on the futon in my parent’s basement, yet we had the time of our lives because we were together. We knew things would turn around someday, and when Ben got the job working as pharmacologist for the government-that was our stepping stone into adulthood. After I finished my residency, Ben pulled a few strings for me to get the job position working alongside him, and after a few years of adjusting and bickering, we were established pharmacologists, researching the best drugs for the prosperity of the nation’s health. And when he introduced the stimulant, that’s when my hell began-and I was naive beyond all.
“Sitting by the island in our small flat, Ben rushes through the door with an embellished bouquet of white and pink roses-my favorite.
“Hmm, what’s the occasion” I wink at him, “Or better yet I should ask, what did you do wrong?”
“Charlise, I have the most amazing news to tell you. But before you interrogate, please listen to all the facts darling.” His eyes looked as though they were going to pop out the sockets because of his excitement.
“Geez, okay. Let’s hear it. I’m all ears.” I smile as I pull my hair back and cuff my ears to mock my enthusiasm.
“I-we- have been offered an amazing offer by the government. I spent four hours in a meeting with head of legislation of John Hopkins as well as the board of Health of New York. They see potential in us. They want us to create the holy grail of anti-depressants, Charlise. Charlise we can create the cure to depression. Do you know how much we could change?”
“What are you talking-” Unable to finish my question, he proceeds.
“Think about it. Decrease in suicides, an overall increase in happiness in the population, greater working moral, increase in the economy; all these things, Charlise, and I know you can do it. You’re the brains. I need you.”
He spent the entire evening ingraining the idea of a better mankind into my mind. He made me optimistic, and I thought this was the break I needed to jumpstart my career. I was sold.
And so it began, the beginning of the end. I dedicated two years of my life to Euphoria. Insomnia was unavoidable. The stress was overbearing. The weight loss was imminent. However, Ben was there through my ups and downs. When he saw my anxiety growing, he would always insist to take me out.
“Hey, you’ve done a lot today. Why don’t we walk to your favorite bistro on 5th street? I know the designs the baristas make in the milk make your day.” Ben would persist.
We sat in the bistro often, indulging in the cappuccinos, letting the coffee aroma encapsulate my depleted mind, and Ben kissing my forehead more times than I could count. And when I was with him, I got lost. In those small four walls of a shop, never a word about the pill reached our lips. Reality was a few blocks away . The bistro became my utopia.
“Why didn’t I see that happiness couldn’t be medically prescribed? I was happy then. What if everyone just needed to be loved to cure depression? Not a pill?” I questioned the voice in my head.
“Oh please, wake up. Do you still believe he loved you? Then why are you hiding in your bathroom?” The voice challenged me back.
The insensitive voice drags me back to realism.
It wasn’t immediately after the release of Euphoria when I began noticing patient’s unusual symptoms. It was many years later. Ten to be exact. Ten glorious, superficial years of masking in superficial success, oblivious to the massacre I had created.
And it was like clockwork. On the tenth year of Euphoria’s , strange inconsistencies were popping up, all strikingly similar with each other. Cases all over the U.S. were