Wellness Check

It snuck up on me this time. Depression usually does, I should have picked up on it sooner. I'll have to check my tracker. I didn't skip any days for my pills.

Maybe I just ignored it. Then while I was typing my nails started to catch on the keys. I almost pulled the i cap off the keyboard. I would say a light went on then. But I think it's going to be pretty dark for a while.

I hadn't showered for too long. I don't know when I last ate. I'm smoking too much. I'm smoking.

It's mid-October and I'm not healthy. I don't know how. I get up and walk to the bathroom. I don't know how long I've been holding it back now it's all consuming. I need to piss. I'm stiff and sore and walking is tough.

I wash my hands and splash some water on my face. In the kitchen I check the pill case and the tracker. Everything looks correct. I check my phone. November 10th. Fuck. I take today's dose. Fill the pill holder. Draw a red line through two weeks of my life.

Losing time. Losing me. It's Sunday afternoon and I don't want to go to emergency. I make a note to call Dr. Embry tomorrow and put it on the fridge next to 5 identical notes.

I make my way back to the desk. Did I at least produce anything? Something? Nothing, the same sentences over and over. Now is the time, the quick brown fox etc. Typing to type trying to jump start the process

I pull up email. Looks like I've been keeping up with work. So that's OK. No late payments. All's square still, 5X5.

I call Jake, leave a message for him to check in tomorrow. I think about calling family. Not yet. There is too much baggage with that. I'm OK. I'll be OK. I took my meds today, back on track.

Any Messages? No. Two weeks of silence from me is normal, hell, it wouldn't raise an eyebrow. Close enough that Ma is counting days again I bet.

I shut down the computer. There's only one cigarette left in the pack. I light it and take a deep pull. No pain. The body adjusts to bad habits a lot faster than good. I sit quietly, smoking, trying to piece together two weeks. Almost three.

I crush the cigarette out in an ashtray that is two packs too full. I cross to the window and twist the blinds open. Daylight slowly works its way into the apartment.

In the light I see the stains on the floor. The bedsheets balled up in the corner. The pile has too much... structure. The stains have dried to a dark sepia.

There's a knock at the door. "Sir, BPD, We're here for a wellness check up. Please open the door, sir."

The phone rings.

Oh, no!...