I should have known. My primary medication for my schizophrenia had run out thus my emotional outburst yesterday. I go this morning to get my injection in the old posterior. I have been struggling so deeply with the idea that I am not schizophrenic, though. I don't want to be labeled and want to be normal. I want to be just like your average working Joe.
"Don't forget your shot," my father said, calling me bright and early this morning at 6:45 A.M.
"Blurggg!" I muttered, still half asleep.
"I'll have you some sausage biscuits and coffee waiting on you when you get back to the store," he said. "A good breakfast will do you good."
Hunger spurred me out of the bed to take a shower and get dressed. Now, I am sitting here waiting for this last hour to pass when the time arrives for me to drive down to the pharmacy.
I like to think I am not schizophrenic or mentally ill, but the truth comes roaring back in full force when my medications run out. It can cause me to grow very morose and depressed if I dwell on it. A well mind is such a precious thing that I think most people take for granted. I just want a string of pleasantly un-symptomatic days. That's all I want for Christmas now. It could be worse. Forty years ago they little to no medications for this ailment. Lengthy, sometimes lifelong, hospital stays were the norm along with dubious electro-shock therapy sessions -- kind of like a crazy man's electric chair. Count your blessings, Andrew!