Wearing Furrows in my Hardwood Floors…
I have paced and paced today. I have paced for hours. My legs feel like Jell-O and are extremely sore from all the pacing. I know rationally that is not normal to constantly walk in circles around the inside of my house, but I can’t seem to communicate this to the obsessive compulsive component of my brain. Late this evening, I finally collapsed in the world’s most comfortable computer chair to write and relax as I drank the only two diet Cokes I had on hand. The urge is still there though. I want to pace until dad gets here then I will take my medications and go to bed. Luvox don’t let me down tonight!
Shaky Hands Make for Spilt Pills…
“I can’t seem to get the pills out of the bottle,” mom said tonight, her hands shaking violently.
“What brought this on?” I asked, worried.
I had driven over to get my six diet Cokes early and some aspirin and Tylenol. It was supposed to rain all night after midnight. I didn’t want to drive in the rain at 3 am in the morning – my usual time to get my drinks.
“I tried to walk tonight,” mom replied. “Your father has been getting on to me about my weight.”
Mom takes the anti-psychotic Zyprexa – the proverbial coin with two sides. It makes you effectively saner, but also makes you fat and diabetic. All these anti-psychotics seem to have severe side effects. Mine is that my Risperdal makes me asexual.
Mom was sitting in her huge bathroom in a chair and I followed her into her bedroom as she took three aprozolam.
“I will feel better in about thirty minutes,” she said, lying down on the bed. “Lock the back door. And don’t get the Cokes in the hall! They’re for tomorrow!”
I smiled and chuckled to myself. As bad as mom felt, she was still handling those diet Cokes with that Nazi-like tenacity she is well known for. Six Cokes and six cokes only is all I’m going to get a day if it weren’t for George.