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Life’s bitter pill

A very short story. Please stick with it…

Clive stirred his cup of tea and nursed it as he shuffled back to his chair. He sat down in front of the TV. It was already on, in fact it was always on, even though there was, according to Clive, “never anything bloody well on!”

Clive rested the mug on his belly and watched nothing for a few minutes while his tea cooled. The ‘nothing’ was so bad that he flicked through a few other channels of nothing and then back to the original nothing.

He took a sip of his too-hot tea and winced. Nearly ready. It was time to assemble his pills. He had pills for his cholesterol. These were important because they meant he could keep eating butter, and Clive loved butter. I mean, what’s life without butter? Then there was the yellow pill, something to do with his liver. If it wasn’t for this pill he’d have to give up his evening tipple. He had pills for his back pain, with extra-large ones for when it got really bad. He had a pill for his blood pressure and another one for gout.

He’d forgotten what the orange one was for, but he suspected it might be something to do with migraines that the doctor had linked to too much TV. Then there were his diet pills – these were important because they meant he could have biscuits with his cuppa. “They stop your body absorbing fat,” the dietician had explained. They made his pants a bit messy but hey, thought Clive, that’s a small price to pay to be able to eat a box of Maltesers, guilt free.

Clive had a stash of special ‘little blue pills’ that he’d bought off the internet but had never had a chance to use them. That was causing him to take two anti-depressants and a sleeping pill. His most important pill was the red one. This was for his memory. If he forgot to take his red pill he would forget he needed pills at all, “and that’d be the end of you,” the doctor had warned. “Your medication is keeping you alive.”


Clive’s story is of someone who is alive, but not really living. What Clive really needs is a personal responsibility pill; something he could take that would remind him that life is a short and precious gift. A pill that would wake Clive up to the magnificance of a life well lived. A personal responsibility pill would prompt Clive to ask some really cool questions, like, ‘What changes can I make to improve my life?’‘What attitudes and behaviours serve me best?’ or maybe even ‘What three things can I do, starting today, that will move me forward?’

I suspect the real issue with ‘Clive’ is that he’s grown so accustomed to mediocrity that it’s too late for change. It’s a whole lot easier to keep doing what you’re doing.

I’m not anti-medication. But I am pro personal responsibility. This story is not about ‘Clive’ and it’s not about pills. Quit masking the symptoms and start changing the only thing you can – yourself.

Andy C