He was sitting on the couch watching The Weather Channel. The volume was obnoxiously loud. He usually ignores me when he comes over, preferring to watch TV.
"I just feel better. I felt so horrible for months. The panic attacks. The blandness. The flatness. The constant sleeping. A total lack of zest for life," I said as I got up to walk into my computer room to get my soda.
My father got up, followed me, and watched me closely, fearing I would somehow get rid of the nightly dose of 2 mg Risperdal he gave me which I agreed to take. It was humiliating and self esteem crushing.
"You've done so well for six months," he said, aggravated as we sat back down. "You're on a manic high. You are crazy. You are going to crash so hard and I hate to see it."
"I've actually been depressed," I replied. "I should know my moods and feelings better than you. I'm not interesting in anything, but blogging and writing. Before, I was barely interested in anything at all. You only see me for thirty minutes every night so how would you know my moods? I've written some of my most creative and emotional posts the past few days. I've been so passionate about photography and photo editing. I feel so alive. Vibrant. I don't want to be drugged anymore. I don't want to be a shell of a human being any longer!"
"I'm not going to argue with you. I just wish you would take your medications. You are really off your rocker."
"For you, or for me? You want to drug me up so I am pliable and complacent. Just like my mother!"
"I'm not arguing with you. You need your medications. Please take them," he said as he handed out that handful of vibrantly colored pills. I pushed his hand away.
"I'm scared of you," I said in a great outburst of rare emotion. "I'm scared of my own damn father! You make me feel terrible! You make me feel like a child! You only want what is best for you! And not what is best for me!"
"Now, I know you need to take your meds. You never talk back to me. What brought this on? You are so belligerent! We need to talk to your doctor, pronto."
I sat quietly as dad got up and came over to give me a hug and a kiss on the forehead. "Good night," he said, sadly. I locked my doors, turned off my house lights, and turned on my night light. I curled up in the bed to the soft glow of that light as Maggie slept soundly beside me, so relieved he was gone. I thought I would never feel that way about my own father, but I did.