I had an early appointment with my psychiatrist today. When I made the appointment, I was this gibbering mess of a human being. I was much better and more composed today. I almost canceled.
My doctor upped the dosage of my primary anti-psychotic three more milligrams. I am already at a very high dosage and there are concerns I am growing resistant to my medications. I noticed my doctor dotted his i's and crossed his t's by making me sign a legal waver about my medications. That if I developed tardive dyskenesia, a neurological disorder, I couldn't sue him for what he's worth.
I swung by my father's pharmacy on the way home. He was surprised I went to the doctor alone. He was pleased that my doctor upped my anti-psychotic though. I have taken the medication and feel almost high and giddy. Who needs crack?
Don't worry. This post gets interesting.
Mom told me a moment ago that I had already drank enough diet coke for the week. She was asserting her authority and boy did it backfire.
"To hell you're going to tell me when I can drink a coke or not, " I told her. "I am 37 years old and not some school kid."
There are 10 cases of diet cokes in mom and dad's garage. These are for me. I opened the garage door and stuck two cases in my Honda.
"And while you are at it," I told my mother. "You can kiss my ass."
"You can't have those cokes," mom said one last time walking out of the garage.
I drove home and now feel terrible. Keep the peace? Or drink the now guilt inducing cokes? It has been one of those days. Just a bunch of crazy people trying to have relationships that are dysfunctional at best.