A few months ago I kinda hit a wall when it came to my mental health. I blogged about it at length but the upshot of it was that my doctor gave me a 30 tablet one-time prescription for Ativan, just in case I thought I was going to completely blow a gasket. Since I didn’t want to go down the Prozac path again this seemed like a good solution.
Since filling the prescription I used exactly two of the pills, most of the time I don’t even think to use them. Just knowing they are there helps me out. But that means I know that I have 28 pills left.
Fast forward a few months and on the final day before school starts, I found myself completely cooked. I just didn’t have it in me to be educational/enriching/interesting/fun/engaging anymore.
An attempt to engage the kids in a van cleaning-out project just about put me over the edge. Apparently the kids have a very different idea of what it means to wash a car. My version does not involve aiming the hose at the INTERIOR.
I could feel myself getting perilously close to detonating and I remembered the pills and then I thought, if this isn’t a good time to take one, what is? I was about to emotionally scar my kids for life.
So I scurried to my room and find my mostly unused bottle of pills and lo-and-behold, there were only ten in there when I know for a fact that the last I checked there were 28. Hmm. How’d that happen?
I’ll tell you how. I have an acquaintance who let herself into my house and took some of my things while in some kind of addled stupor. She came clean the next day and returned everything (and was genuinely distraught about it) so I just moved on.
Clearly she took the pills and since then she’s left town so I don’t really have any issue with her. Her problems are waaaay bigger than anything I’ve come across in my own life. But now I’m down to nine pills. Given my low rate of usage, this isn’t really a big deal.
But still, what if I needed them? I am already cringing at the conversation I would have to have with my doctor, who prescribed them with the caveat that I only take one or two a week.
Me: “Hi. Um, I need another prescription for Ativan.”
Doctor: “You’ve used them up already?”
Me: “Not really. I actually only took three but someone broke into my house and stole a bunch of stuff, but then she returned it but now I see that she took my Ativan. Can I get some more?”
Doctor: “No.” (to herself “Fucking drug seeker.”)
Moral of the story? Lock up your drugs.