Lost in Our Little Lives...

I called my father early this morning around 7:30 am. I knew he had to be at work at 9 am so he would be up and getting ready -- most likely in his recliner eating breakfast. I've been up since 4 am. I was so worried I was going to run out of cigarettes today. I became fixated upon it.

"Why are you calling me so much?" he asked me tersely. "You are really off your rocker right now, aren't you?"

I was honest and told him I am having one of the worst spells with my mental illness in a long time. I'm a train wreck walking at the moment.

"I'm not mad at you," my father said. "I am just worried. What do you need?"

"Would you mind putting a pack of cigarettes on the back porch? Is that too much to ask?" I said. "I will drive over and get them once the day and my car has warmed up."

"I will put them out there," my father replied.

"You realize I am completely dependent upon you for everything?" I asked my father. "It is obvious I am going to have to come or call you if I need something."