I Was Not Paid to Write This

I love my cozy, downtown pharmacy, the Medicine Shoppe. Even the name is wonderful and fancy... shoppe. You don't really hear the extra "pe", but you feel it and it is decadent. I have gone there as long as I can remember, and probably before that. 

There is something fascinating about wandering through the aisles and looking at cures for all sorts of horrible ailments you hope you will never experience, like the extreme poison ivy treatment with the poor boy on the box who is all swollen up like Aunt Marge in "Prisoner of Azkaban," except you feel bad for this boy. And it gives a fuzzy, nostalgic feeling when you look at medical treatments you used in the past, like wax for braces  and disgusting cough syrups that are "berry flavored." Bullshit. There are interesting devices everywhere that you don't really need, but really want to play with, like eyedroppers and stress-relief balls... and some you don't. Like the snot sucker they have to clear your baby's sinuses. I kid you not!

But I really, really like the people there, and well, I don't know if they particularly like me, but you better believe they all know me! I'm in there all. The. Time. And I'm the girl who once had them print out (ALMOST) a ream of paper with all my medical history over the past ten years. And once a month when I have to have my blood taken for my Clozaril, they have to fight and fax back and forth all over the medical world to get my prescription filled. But they do and they never complain!

But my favorite part? POINTS!!!!! The Medicine Shoppe has a rewards system! YESSSSSSSS

And, DAMMIT to I take advantage of that! You get the points when you purchase prescriptions there, and boy do I have a lot of those. Plus! My sister and my dad always let me steal their points. These points can then be used to purchase non-prescription items from the pharmacy. Like the snot sucker! 

And you know what? There are loyalty levels! Everybody starts at the bronze level and, if you don't spend the points and keep collecting, you can go up to the silver level. After that, gold! I think it's just my nature, but I HOARD these points. Picture me on a gigantic pile of golden and silver Med Shoppe points, caressing them, letting them slip through my fingers, stroking them and muttering, "Mine, mine, mine, mine..."

My loved ones tend to laugh and roll their eyes at my hoarding, but the joke is on them! If I keep carrying on this way, I'll have enough to buy everyone's Christmas gifts, though the options are somewhat limited! So now, you'll have to think about it and let me know what you want... vitamins? Crutches? Anti-diarrheals? A Neti-Pot? Snot-sucker!

The world is your oyster, my friend.

I wonder if there is a level beyond the gold... diamond? Platinum? Oh the possibilities! 

Sarah

A Day in the Life of OCD

Hi! My name is Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, OCD for short, and I'm a beloved member of the Mental Illness family. Today I want to talk about my good friend, Sarah. Sarah (and this is really quite common) suffers from both me (my friendship), and another member of my family- Schizoaffective Disorder in Sarah's case.

Sarah hates me. But I really, really like Sarah. I like playing with her head.

In case you don't know, I'll tell you a little about myself! I like to make my --let's call them friends-- worry. Worry, worry, worry. It's great! I can make the silliest, stupidest things bother my friends. Or I can make my friends constantly worry about big, awful things they have no control over. I like to lie to my friends and make their worries even worse. I lie and tell them by doing one specific action, I can avert crisis. I whisper and remind and poke and prod and hurt.

All of my friends see me differently. I rub off on different friends in different ways. I am wonderfully complex, and I like to make my friends disregard logic entirely, and listen only to me.

I would like to share my day with you! Mine and Sarah's- we're pretty intertwined! Especially because lately Sarah's been going through some med changes, and I've grown stronger. I settle over her like a fever, making her toss and turn and sweat and worry. My favorite thing to do is show her pictures! Pictures make her hate me even more.

It's what I do! And love it.


8:30 am: Sarah's alarms go off. All four! She sleepily turns them off- digital bedside clock, clock across the room, analog bedside clock, cell phone clock. Then I make her check the cell phone clock again.
8:45 am: I make her check the clock again. She has gotten dressed and is almost ready to go. Cue the worrying! First, we go outside to check on the dogs. Water in the bowl? Where is Otis? Where is Mose? Do they look okay? IS there water in their bowl? Enough? Where is Otis? There she is. Okay. I take her over to the refrigerator. I make her open the fridge and lean down, quickly scanning every shelf. One of her biggest fears (my favorites) is that one of her cats will somehow hop into the fridge and get itself stuck in there. She straightens up. I whisper in her ear that she might have missed it. So she bends down and checks again.
Next, I follow her to the stove. She checks each knob, to make sure they are all completely off. CHECK THE CLOCK SARAH. Time to leave. Except...what if a cat hopped in the fridge as she was closing it? Check fridge, check clock, check stove-- just in case she bumped one of the knobs. She counts the cats as she leaves. 1, 2, 3... wait. Again. 1, 2, 3. Hang on, did she count Amy twice? 1, 2, 3. Check clock! Shoot, running behind.
Jog over to the front door that leads to the porch. I make her wonder if one of the cats got on the front porch. It would be AWFUL if one got stuck out there all day, wouldn't it, Sarah? Huh, huh? CHECK. No cats, gotta leave. I watch as she carefully locks and heads to the car. Giggling to myself, I wait til she has started the car and is about to back out. I run my fingers around her hair. Did you really lock up, Sarah? I ply her with my fake sincerity. You might not have locked it up right, Sarah! Wouldn't that be inviting problems? She gets out of her car to check again.
9:30 am: Sarah has been at work for half an hour now, and she has been worrying this whole time. Ohhhh, I love it! Now is when I start to show her pictures. She checks a customer out and hands them their change. Insert photo of cat in fridge, freezing, meowing horrifically. I make her stomach lurch. Her baby cats! "Have a nice day!" she tells the customer, trying to shake the image from her head.
Family and coworkers come and go, cheerful and chatty. Sarah is too, except... Now I show her a picture of one of her oven knobs, now twisted on and filling the house with toxic gas. I show her the gas creeping through the rooms, getting sucked into the lungs of Sarah's animals, killing them. ALL BECAUSE SHE DIDN'T CHECK RIGHT
10:15 am: Sarah has been released on break and she drives home as fast as she can without breaking the speed limit. She goes through the door (locked), into the porch (no cats), into the house (gas off) and to the fridge (no cats!). She sighs with relief. But, ohhhh I start to laugh! This is one of my favorite parts. She has gone outside to check that her dogs are still there-- Otis? Mose? and do they have water?-- and heads back inside... except! Was the back door shut all the way? Did the cats get out? I make her count cats. Twice. Then... I start whispering. Oh, my whispers! Maybe Sarah miscounted. When she got here to check the fridge, maybe one cat hopped in! Better check. Oh, damn, what about the stove? Check. I chuckle. Who's late going back to work! But first she better lock up. Twice.
12:45 pm: Sarah's having a delicious lunch with her dad and sister. When she is with them, relaxed and happy, it makes my job harder. But I still try. They ask her about her me-related panic that has been so bad these past few days. I guffaw a little as she tries in vain to describe it well. Her struggle pleases me. She and I both know that logically, there is NO NEED to worry like I make her. This morning before she left, she hadn't used the fridge OR the stove. Logically there was no way the cats could be in the fridge, or any way the stove could be on. But "logically" doesn't mean a thing to me. I am Miss-Illogical, and I feed off Sarah's panic and confusion. I have grown heavy of late, with so much to feed on. Oh, Sarah hates me. But I do love her.
3:00 pm: Sarah has called her doctor and left a message concerning med changes.This makes me displeased, and a tad anxious. Sarah has great doctors, and great family, and I sense my time is numbered.
3:30 pm: Sarah is now by herself at work. It has been pouring outside, and business has been quite slow this afternoon. PERFECT for overthinking things. I remind her that she left her beloved dogs outside... never mind she left the porch open so they could get out of the rain. I show her a picture of Otis out in the rain, soaked to the bone and freezing. Never mind that Otis is too smart for this. It's Mose, the idiot dog, that will be dripping water all afternoon!
5:45 pm: Sarah has made it home, and no one is any worse for the wear. Except Mose, who is somewhat damp. You'd think now would finally be a time that I allow Sarah to relax, but you'd be wrong. It's nights like these that I really get her thinking about deep stuff. Scary stuff. Like losing Otis... Someday Otis will be gone, and Sarah will have to live without her and deal with life without her bestest friend in the world and---
"SHUT UP!!!!" Sarah says. "I still have Otis, and that's enough out of you!! Soon I'll be feeling better and YOU will be under control. So just shut up. Your days ARE numbered."

I am grumpy. She is right.


Awfully yours, OCD



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Sorry if this was a weird one, guys! Just what's on my mind. I got to talk with my mom tonight and that made me feel good! :) Emmy and I are going to visit her sometime soon. Can't wait! And thank you for reading this. I don't mean to whine. Writing is just how I process things