I guess I need the pills

The rain fell in sheets. The windshield wipers could hardly keep up. The tears welled up and spilled over in equal measures.

A thought sprung to life and the sobs which followed were deep and retching:  

"When did I fail? When I realized I NEED meds or when I realized I can't do this without them?"

The phone was within reach, sitting on the passenger seat. It had been quite a while since that number was selected from the contacts list. That number. Dr. M. The psychiatrist. Two months to be exact. 

The new (to me) appointment setter answered the phone. The first time I met her she was full of uncomfortable smiles and giggles. I wanted to stab her for being so fake. Didn't she know where she was? People calling and/or "stopping by" the mental health unit don't want overzealous smiles and giggling. We want soft voices and "barely there" smirks. 

Two weeks out. 

Two weeks? 

Don't you know who I am? (As if I were a God of sorts)

I've never waited that long to see Dr. M. 

Admittedly, it has already been a month since my mental health took a turn for blackness. I was in denial. 

With the appointment booked for August 1st, AUGUST!, I ended the call and turned back to the drive. The drive that included my favorite weather. 

It was no use trying not to weep. I let it out. All of it. It was my hope to get it all out of my system before pulling into the driveway. The driveway that led to the front door which led to my husband and three kids who don't ever want to believe the woman in their lives was fucked up. Again. 

It worked for about a half hour. 

"I called my psychiatrist and made an appointment today, but I have to wait two weeks." I spoke softly while telling my husband. 

I was afraid of being judged for not being able to do this on my own, without the aid of anti-psychotics. How stupid it was to think like that. We talked for a while and he embraced me. My tears fell upon his shoulder and I cried as silently as possible. The toddler hates it when I cry. He strutted behind me and hugged my legs when he realized I was, in fact, doing so. 

Two weeks. 

I have some anti-anxiety pills left over I can swallow if necessary. 

If it gets really bad, I'll call Dr. M and tell him it's an emergency. 

He'll fit me in.