So, I’m talking to Michael. And somehow him recommending Benadryl for my head pains (because I passed headache when I was twelve, and haven’t seen it since) sends me into this freak-out about meds. Which I haven’t taken for a very long time, because when I was fourteen and fifteen, I saw far too many doctors, and went to hospitals for far too many tests, and for about a year was never on less than three medications at once, and nothing helped very much, or for very long. This has left me with a phobia/hatred/distrust of anything to do with the medical profession. My chiropractor being the sole exception. Love that man.

So, I’m crying so hard I can’t make out the keys, and rambling to him about how everyone thinks I’m okay and functional because I hide. And I’m afraid to stop because it means they’ll see how violently not alright I am, and then I’ll be forced back into the world of tests and meds and seeing multiple doctors a week, and I don’t know if I can handle that, but I’m scared that I might have to, and how it all kind of loops back on itself into a flip that I can’t stop. And then this happens:

Andy says: we’ll just go by what the nice army psychiatrist told me. was the medication working?
Nabs says: no
Andy says: obviously not, so have you been hearing voices, did you speak back to the voices.
Nabs says: *lol* no
Andy says: have you killed anyone?
Nabs says: not yet
Andy says: then medication isn’t any good anyway

Why is it the recovering alcoholic, ex-cyber-boyfriend is the best person in my life right now?