"I need to take an antipsychotic"

It's funny. Ron and I were relating the "Ron had to take the cat to the vet all by himself" story. A funny story, I think, with all the goodness of humanity coming to the rescue of poor terrified Bubba in his carrier as Ron inadvertently slams him in the door.

"You took your cat to the doctor but not your wife?" Nope. Interesting story - I hate going to the doctor. I don't mind my "Brain tune ups" as I view the visits with my psychiatrist - mainly just side effect and mood reporting. But I hate going to the doctor.

Before, I used to go as often as I felt I needed to. Sore throat? Persistent cough? Doctor. I've had a persistent dry cough for over a week now but I won't go to the doctor. I figure either, it's bronchitis and antibiotics won't help (My Merck Home manual says so), or it's cat allergies and I'm not giving up the cat. Benadryl helps at night, I'm sleeping fine, so no worries. Before, I wouldn't have been happy until I had an antibiotic, something guaranteed to kill the cough, and assurances that I'd be fine, really. I used to be a real pain in the ass.

That said, I realized something over the course of two days. Monday we went to Walmart. I think I needed light bulbs. I noticed a very obese man with a walker, the kind that has a seat. He needed it because he would have taken up the whole bench if he'd sat on it. He was obviously waiting on someone, I assumed his wife. She showed up, and they left the store.

Ron had called MACS (Metrolift Automated Call in Service) to check on his ride. He told me our ride was only a few minutes away. I went outside. Mrs Big was outside, talking to the cabdriver. The cab clearly displayed the Metrolift card. God, this is humilating but I hope this will help someone.

So, Mrs. Big is interrogating the driver, I come up on the tail end of "But where's our ride? Aren't you here for (Surname)?" The driver shook his head and looked at me. I recognized the driver. I asked him "Are you here for (my surname)?" The woman gets a real attitude with me, I get snippy back, and it culminates in my saying "Like I told you, he's here for us." as I marched around the van. GRRR.

I heard the usual "Well, I never." attitude that I feel comes with some people. I hate them, and I don't care if they know it. They act like the world has to stop what it's doing and tell them everything they want to know Examples: "How so I sign up for Metrolift service, because I'm too dumb to copy the phone number painted on the side of the vehicle." Or "I don't care about your schedule. I have a cell phone, and there's a pay phone right over there. You have to drop everything, make Heather wait, and find out where my ride is because I'm too lazy to pick up a phone and dial an 800 number. I know it can take up to 5 minutes but I don't care. Everything revolves around me."

See, I'm being very honest and open. Ron was embarrassed and felt I had used the voice on her. He hates the voice; he says it conveys that I believe they are an incredibly stupid life form that shouldn't be sharing my air. Generally, when he says that, it's exactly how I feel. I don't care if they get their feelings hurt because I don't fall and worship at their feet. I could care less what they think of me, I really don't care. I see them as a pimples; unavoidable and incredibly annoying. Get it the hell out of my life, I'm not kissing their ass.

Not to mention, this vehicle was a Windstar minivan with a wheelchair area in the back. It's got comfortable seating for 4, crowded seating for 5 average people. The driver had already picked up 2 other clients. Seating for 2 more. She (Mrs. Big) actually thought he was there to pick up both couples. Her giant husband, her overweight self (she outweighed me by a good 50 pounds), myself (low 200's), and Ron? No way in hell, even if the cab had been empty. The only vehicle that guy would fit into was a large white van (the kind with seating for a good dozen or so).

Yeah. I had an attitude. I wasn't ashamed to say it. I didn't care that she knew I had no respect for her or her husband. Sorry, I don't. I didn't appreciate her snippy attitude and refusal to give up when she knew that guy wasn't her driver.

So. That was strike one. Strike two was "And I'm not sorry either!". I really couldn't see Ron's point of view, how he might have been embarrassed. Now I can understand Ron's embarassed and he hates it when I do that. So, don't do it for them, but maybe tone it down for him.

Strike three happened on Tuesday morning at work, when I realized I was spoiling for a fight and I really, really, wanted to kick someone's ass. I really did. It was painful, almost. I wasn't to the point of baiting people but it wouldn't have taken much to set me off.

That's when I realized, I need to take an antipsychotic (I had been taking my usual dosages, but I always keep extra medication in my purse). I hunted down the Risperdal, took it (.25 mg), and hid in the stockroom until I started to feel a little floaty.

I could even deal with customer complaints and mandates that I must stock this unsellable item. Ron was awfully happy to know I saw the problem and addressed it before it became anyone else's problem. I may be nuts but I hate acting nuts. I don't want people to "understand" either, to me that would be the worst thing of all. "Oh, poor Heather. She can't help it. She's bipolar, you know."

I'm not itching for a fight, either. It's tough to realize I really don't have very good control of my brain. I have more control than I used to, but it's never easy to admit "I'm insane. If I don't take my pills, I'll hurt myself or others."

It's hell. I wonder how many people go off their pills because they can't stand the idea that without medication, they're insane.