Almost every time I visit the therapist, right after he asks if I’m taking the same Prozac dosage as I was at the last visit, he glares at me through his glasses and says: “Remember, never put yourself in a position where you run out.”
Those words ring through my head every time I travel. I’m always paranoid about it and the first thing I do when packing is put the pills in the bag.
This time, I failed.
I got through airport security and sat down at the gate, and opened the bag to grab my evening dose.
Clearly, I left them in the hotel room.
My first instinct was to panic. But panicking never works out for me so I’m doing the only thing I can do: nothing.
It’s three hours ahead of me back home and the pharmacy is closed until 8 a.m. So when I get home, instead of crashing like I need to because I have a fever and sweats coming on, I have to deal with that first thing when I get through the door.
This really pisses me off. But it’s my fault.
There have been rare occasions when my doses would be disrupted because of one reason or another. One example is that when I get a bug and need antibiotics or other cold and flu medications, the Prozac doesn’t work nearly as well. Once or twice in the four-plus years I’ve been taking it, I simply forgot.
Sometimes you get bone tired and it happens.
I’ve been fried this entire trip, so clearly my attention span wasn’t firing on all thrusters.
The other times the dosage was disrupted, the damage was minimal. I’d have a moody day or two (Sometimes I have those even when I’m on top of things). I’m hoping this instance will be the same.
This was a successful trip in terms of work productivity and networking. I did a lot of writing and met up with a lot of professionals in my industry. But emotionally this outing has been less than stellar.
God has been with me, though. He has graced me with some wonderful friends in this business, and they look out for me. That can be a rare thing on the business side of life.
I’ve also been through enough hard therapy over the years that I have other coping tools to get me through that I didn’t have a decade ago.
For all that, I’m thankful.
I can no longer boil over the things I can’t control. When I passed to the other side of airport security, with my flight time ever closer, I effectively lost the ability to control things.
Now I have to do what addicts in recovery are trained to do: Let go and let God.
I’ll be on the plane soon, and chances are better than average that I’ll sleep the whole ride, thanks to the bug that’s coming on.
I’ll just have to wait until I’m home to fix this one, and that is that.