"You don't know how well you do these days," dad said patting me on my knee last night. "You are like a different man."
Dad and mom had just been out to Longhorn steakhouse for mom's birthday. Dad had swung by to give me my medications.
"Thanks," I said shyly.
I never was much one for compliments.
"I don't think you see it," dad said. "You keep your house clean. Maggie is healthy and happy. You've lost tons of weight. You really are doing good."
I didn't have the heart to tell dad I've been miserable with my anxiety and anxiety attacks lately. Appearances can be deceiving.
Dad helped me put on Maggie's flea medicine. As usual, Maggie pouted for a few hours. As dad was leaving, he gave me two clonazepam almost like a reward.
"Thanks," I said, feeling like a thousand pounds had been lifted from my shoulders. "I love it when you surprise me."
I took the two pills and settled in for a pleasant evening. I could relax. I could enjoy TV. My thoughts were more gathered and less disjointed. "I can see why these pills are so addicting," I said to myself. If only I could take them all the time, but that is the alcoholic in me talking.