Yesterday I got my 30 day prescription. My little orange CVS bottle sits above me in front of my Tazo tea boxes with its easy-to-read label, telling me that I take meds. And just in case I wasn't entirely sure, I have the last two weeks to prove it.
It leaves a strange metallic taste in my mouth in the mornings, but my days are filled with a whole lot less stress. I still walk among the living with the feeling that I am one of them. Last night I went to the karaoke bar and didn't hesitate one time before I went up the steps. There was absolutely no pulse of fear. Unfortunately, the bar crowd had not come yet and the place was empty. They priced me out of having a solo booth--now you have to have three people and the cost is like $20/hr. But I'm going to try again sometime when staying out late won't be tragic for my next morning's routine. I want to see if this new 'no fear Alan' still has the sense that God gave a goose. Or if it makes me not care at all that I make an ass of myself before total strangers.
Speaking of making an ass of myself, apparently the meds do not prevent me from assuming the worst when my friends go through periods of mysterious silences. Worst-Case Scenario Man has not been stopped by the meds. He just doesn't paralyze me as much as he used to. I'm still capable of worry. I just don't feel the worry in my gut anymore. And that's the part I like.