The Good Kind of Small Talk…

“How is your daughter?” I will perkily ask my nurse, Rebecca, in the morning as I take my place in the examining room. This immediately sets forth in motion the kind of small talk that is on a doable basis for me. I sit and smile as Rebecca regales me in tales of her young daughter who is on a big Lego kick at the moment. My main duty is to act as interested as possible and respond in an appropriate manner.  I got on this tangent tonight because my father just called me and reminded me that my injection of Risperdal Consta in the ole derrière is tomorrow.  This is my father’s so-called insurance that I will be medicated with psychotropic medications for another two weeks. I will admit that I have been notoriously noncompliant with my medications over the years. My Achilles heel regarding psychiatric medications is that I would start to feel much better and then go off the meds thinking I was cured. “I will call you at eight to make sure you are up,” dad told me. I betcha ten bucks I will be up before he is. My consolation prize is that I get two large lemon and lime sports drinks from the pharmacy's drink cooler and I charge them to my father’s account. Angie, the new owner of the pharmacy, has these exquisite Ritz and cheese crackers I will get from time to time as well.
Source: The 4th Avenue Blues - Category: Mental Illness Authors: Source Type: blogs