I just drove to my parent's house to take my daily medications. I was reeling in emotions on the short drive. Dad also gave me my Klonopin which he so fears I will become addicted to. I only take around two a week. It is hard not to become bitter at all this and how I am treated. My brother and sister are both Oncologists. My father runs his own very successful business. My mother is retired from teaching school 30 years. Me? My claim to fame was being the mentally ill drunkard son who lived in the woods, homeless.
My positive side is smiling today, though, in juxtaposition. I have so much to be thankful for than to become mired in the negatives of my life. I have a house and car that are paid for thanks to my parents. I have an income. I have extremely expensive medications that without, I wouldn't have any quality of life. My schizophrenia is, for the most part, in remission.
"You do so well these days," my father told me calmly a moment ago as I started to cry sitting in the chair next to him.
"I have so many regrets," I responded. "It is like a constant knife in my heart."
Dad held my hand, told me to dry my tears, and to take my medications. I drove home wiping tears, but with a smile on my face. I am still alive. And there is always hope. Keep hope eternal.