A moment ago I was sitting in my parent's den. My father was talking very animatedly to my brother about the football game last night. The whole room began to spin. I had gotten too excited and have to be careful about that. Dad hung up the phone and said, "What's wrong? You look white as a ghost!" I had just taken my medications and was on a fifteen minute timer for when my father was satisfied my medications had begun to dissolve in my stomach.
"I am not feeling very well," I told my father. "I got too excited about taking my medications and talking to my brother."
"We've all got to slow down," dad said. "Your mother included."
"You can drive home now," my father finally said standing up and walking me to the backdoor.
"Good thing we took my mental illness medications," I said standing in the threshold.
"Let's call them mental wellness medications," dad said with a smile to add a positive connotation.
I looked at him and just grinned and said, "I like that. We need to put a positive spin on all of mental illness. Your life is not over when you get schizophrenia."
All this was on the cusp of reuniting with a lost friend on the Internet and how I could delicately write to them that I have schizophrenia. They are asking a lot of question about my "illness" that I've been very vague about. Mental wellness indeed.