"I don't want it, no thanks," I said. My heart was pounding out of my chest.
"Just take it," she told me. "It will help with all your pain."
No, no, no, no. I'm not like her. I won't do it. I'm not like her, I'm not. I'm not.- My mind was both screaming and whimpering.
"I really feel uncomfortable taking these," I calmly, but quietly told her. "I will find other ways to manage the pain."
"Well, I'm giving it to you anyway, take half," she said waving me away like some silly fool. She was probably thinking who in the hell wouldn't want muscle relaxers?
I put my coat on, grabbed Wade's hand and made my way to the front desk. "Okay, which pharmacy do you want me to send your scripts to?," the receptionist asked. "You okay, hon?"
"No, I'm not, I don't want the Flexeril," I informed her.
"Oh, it's not a big deal, just take half," she reassured me as if I knew nothing about drugs, as if I didn't know the difference, as if my mother hadn't given me these exact same drugs in fucking high school, as if I hadn't had to take this exact drug away from my mother along with countless other muscle relaxers and opiates.
"Listen, I just don't want it because my mother's a drug addict and it scares the hell out of me," I said in a breathy, I'm-about-to-cry voice.
She looked down, typed something in the computer and told me to "have a good day."
Then I got in my van, buckled the baby in his car seat, climbed into my own seat and took a deep breath. And then I cried.
I won't be like her. I'm not like her. Oh god, please, I can't be like her.
It hit a nerve. It happens.
When I'm sad for no reason I think holy shit, this is the beginning. This is my descent into madness. Not every time I'm having a bad day, but sometimes.
When I reward myself for my exhausting day of badass mothering with a few glasses, or a bottle of wine, I think this is the beginning. This is my descent into addiction. Not every time I drink, but sometimes.
As I get older, it gets scarier. But I also have so much more compassion for my mother. Thirty years ago when she got really sad and messed up no one knew what the hell was happening. I, we, are all so much more aware now. But yet, drugs are still such an easy answer for so many doctors.
Going to my
But what scared me more is that there was a part of me that was interested. I wanted to feel calmer and numb. And I'm not suffering any great depression or anxiety issue (right now). Why was there a part of me wanting this?
Life is intense. Slippery slopes are well, very slippery. Walking the line can be hard.
But you better believe I'm walking it. There's no time for slippery slopes when I have four amazing little beings depending on me and a supportive, loving husband. Just like the great Johnny Cash sang, I keep a close watch on this heart of mine, I keep my eyes wide open all the time...because you're mine, I walk the line.
I walk the line because I know how it ends if you don't. And I will not be like her.