My head has been poundingsince I woke up, and I’m pretty sure I know why. I didn’t take my medicine last night or this morning, which sucks because it’s pouring outside with brief rolls of thunder, meaning it’s my favorite kind of day. I love rain. The gloomy mistiness that blankets the world in a fuzzy haze makes it feel okay to cuddle up in a chair and read all day.
However, I’m feeling overstimulated, even though I’ve been sitting in silence for two hours, other than a brief phone call to my mom to explain I hurt my ankle. I wanted to inform her in case she somehow gets notified.
She didn’t get the real story. Frankly, I’m not sure if she would be ecstatic that I was kissing someone or terrified. I’m leaning toward the latter, but I do think I earned Memphis and Oswald brownie points by telling her they took me to the hospital and stayed with me the entire time.
The text message on my phone from Memphis told me he would be back at lunch and not to do anything while he was gone, but that goes ignored, right along with the snacks and water he left on my bedside table. He’s not going to be here for a little while, and I need my purse. I’m not looking forward to trying to get down the stairs, but scooting down on my butt doesn’t seem like a bad option right now.
The banister creaks when I use the post to pull myself up at the base of the stairs. I look around, only now realizing I’m going to have to hop around on one foot a lot more than I was thinking. There’s just not as much stuff to lean on until I get to the wall, and that’s not that helpful.
I could either cry in frustration or scream when I set my butt on one of the stools in the kitchen. I haven’t found my purse yet, and I have no idea what they did with it last night. I hope they brought the damn thing home. Then I remember they would have had to have it in order to drive me home and get in the house, since my keys were in it.
I pull my phone out of the pocket of my sleep shorts I hastily put on when I woke up in just my panties this morning. All the boldness of last night fled me in the morning light, or maybe it was because I didn’t have Memphis there to make me feel daring.
I have my finger over his name, but then I look higher at the time. I don’t know what his schedule is on Tuesday and Thursday. I could interrupt his class if I message him now, but I’m feeling desperate. This is the longest I’ve gone without my meds in a long time.
I decide to text Oswald instead. He may be in class, but he’s not teaching it.
Me:Sorry to bother you, but do you know where my purse is?
While I wait, I hobble over to the cabinet next to the sink and find a small bottle of Tylenol I use for cramps when I need it, which isn’t all that often since I got on birth control a while ago.
My phone vibrates while I’m washing down the tablets that will hopefully help with my headache and the ache in my foot.
Oswald:Memphis had it last night. How R U feeling?
Me:Okay. Do you know if he’s teaching now? Can I text him?
Oswald:Go ahead, he keeps his phone on vibrate. I’ll see you after practice. Rest up.
Me:Thank you. Have a good practice.
I debate adding an emoji, but I just hit send and pull up my thread with Memphis.
Me:Sorry to bother you. Do you know where my purse is?
I get more antsy with every second that ticks by. After two minutes, I decide I can’t just stand here and wait any longer, so I hobble jump, trying not to put any weight on my foot as I search around. After looking through the living room and still coming up empty, I drop onto the couch to catch my breath for a few minutes.
I need those crutches, getting around like this is ridiculous, but I don’t even know where the prescription for those is. I decide to forget about the prescription and call the pharmacy directly. I’m sure I can just buy a pair and have them delivered.
Twenty minutes later, I get confirmation that Instacart will be delivering my item in under an hour. I’m finally making progress.
As my good leg starts to shake, I start to wonder if Memphis wasn’t even just a little right about the junkie thing. I feel desperate for my pills. My anxiety is welling up, making me too aware of everything, and my heartbeat, the sound of my breathing, and the obsessive thoughts are getting harder to ignore. How long do I have before the voices return full force? Will I be able to handle it if they do? What if the pills don’t work or take longer to take effect, since I skipped doses?
Should I call Maxwell, my therapist? But what if he talks to my parents? I really don’t want to field any more questions from my mom. She let me off kind of easy. It may have been because I played up how sore my foot is to get her to let me off the phone.
I scrub my hand down my tingly face, on the verge of shouting in frustration, when a rumble of thunder actually shakes the house and the power flickers off at the same moment. “Crap!”
When I glance out the window, I see the storm is raging, making the trees and shrubs bend and bow against the heavy wind and rain. I count to thirty in my head, and the power doesn’t come back on. I don’t even know what to do in this situation, which makes me feel woefully naïve.
How far does this extend? Does it mean school will get canceled? I move to stand up with the intention of finding some candles, but the moment I set my foot down, I remember why I need those crutches. My leg tries to collapse, but I manage to keep myself up by gripping the end of the couch.
My phone vibrates as I’m clenching my teeth to ward off the pain, but I still hurry to get it out of my pocket.
Sir:Downstairs. I will bring it to you when I get back.
Me:Where downstairs? I can’t find it.
Sir:Are you downstairs…
