“Wash your hair for me tonight,” dad told me a moment ago during our medication ritual. “And you need to clip your fingernails.”
“Yes, dad,” I replied. “I should’ve worn my baseball cap.”
I was a little embarrassed, but I had let myself go the past two days. I get so caught up in my mental illness that I can forget these vagaries of life. I understand completely how a homeless person would let themselves go physically.
“Are you using that shampoo Dr. K prescribed for you?”
“I’ve used it three times this week.”
“Good,” dad replied. “We are going to get you in shape physically.”