We have demons in our life that haunt us. How to get rid of them can be a mystery.

 

We seek help, but can be surprised by . . .

 

 

Death By Prescription

 

     Crash! Bang! Oh, my God! What’s going on upstairs? I can’t handle the noise anymore. His erratic behavior is going to be the death of me.

     Oh, Lord, he’s coming down the steps. Now what? I cringed in fear.         

    Hide. I’ve got to hide, I thought. But before I could do so, he burst into the kitchen. His eyes bulged out. He had the meanest look on his face.

     He glared at me and screamed, “You ugly hussy. What the hell did you do with my watch?”

     “Uh.” I hesitated for a moment. “It’s on your wrist.”

     He didn’t say anything. He clenched his fists, grit his teeth, and left the house. I heard the car door slam, and then the car roared down the driveway. I trembled and struggled to catch my breath.

     I picked up the phone and dialed Dr. Learner’s number. Sophia, a respected psychiatrist, is my trusted therapist. I share my most personal thoughts with her.    

     “Hello. This is Dr. Learner’s office. How can I help you?”

     “I need to talk to the doctor, and I have to talk to her now!” I blurted.

     “But that’s not possible. She’s with a patient.”

     “I don’t care. Interrupt her.”

     “Who am I talking to?”

     “Lori Weaver.”

     “Well, Miss Weaver, I can take a message, and the doctor will call you back later today.”

     “It’s ‘Mrs.’ Weaver, and that’s why I must talk to her, now!”

     “Okay, I apologize, ‘Mrs.’ Weaver, but the doctor still can’t talk to you. So give me your . . .”

     “Are you deaf? Put . . . her . . . on . . . the . . . phone!”

     “Can you come in at four o’clock today? We had a cancellation.”

     “What don’t you understand about talking to her, now?”

     The phone went dead. I sat, trying to control my anger. And then . . .

     “Hello, Lori, what’s happening?”

     “He’s doing it again? ”

     “You’re talking about your husband, Leopold?”

     “Who else would I be talking about?”

     “Okay. Take a deep breath and relax.”

     “I don’t need to relax. I need to talk about Leopold.”

     “All right. What did he do now?”

     “He’s being himself.”

     “What do you mean by that?”

     “Don’t put me through this therapy crap. You know what I mean.”

     “Maybe I do. But I need to know if his behavior is the same as it was before, or, if it’s different. Has it gotten worse than when we talked about him at your last appointment.”

     “Worse. Much worse.”

     “In what way?”

     “He treats me like a piece of crap.”

     “Has he hit you?”

     “I wish he would. Then I’d know I mean something to him.”

     “So you want him to be abusive?”

     “I didn’t say that. You’re putting words in my mouth.”

     “Then be more specific.”

     “He yells at me, and then walks away and ignores me. I don’t exist.”

     “Do you think there’s another woman in his life?”

     “You think he’s cheating on me?”

     “I don’t know, but it’s something we must consider. He is good looking.”

     “What? How do you know? You’ve never met him.”

     “I apologize if I’m jumping to conclusions. At one of our earlier sessions, I thought you said he was handsome and had a nice smile.”

     “Nice smile? How would I know? He never smiles. You’re confusing me.”

     “I’m sorry. Let’s change the subject. When you first started coming to me, you told me your father wasn’t the nicest man.”

     “No, he wasn’t. But what does that have to do with Leopold?”

     “They both looked at other women, didn’t they? And your father cheated on your mother.”

     “Yes, my father was unfaithful. But, Leopold? He’s too self-absorbed. This line of questioning doesn’t make sense and it’s making me very anxious.”

     “Perhaps it’s best we stop this conversation. Let me call in a prescription to help calm you down.”

     “An anxiety drug?”

     “Yes, I think it might help. I’ll also set up an appointment for two weeks from today, at three o’clock.”

     “Okay. Thank you for listening. Maybe I’m just too uptight to have a productive discussion. The pills will relax me, right?”

     “They should. Pick them up this evening and begin taking them, only one per day, as needed. I’ll see you in two weeks. Good-bye.”

     “Good-bye.” I hung up the phone. I couldn’t get our conversation out of my mind. Was Leopold cheating on me? And, if he was, with whom?

     I went into the backyard and began watering my plants. I’d always found this to be relaxing. My cell phone began to vibrate in my back pocket. I grabbed it and muttered, ”Hello.” A recorded message told me my prescription was ready.

     Then it vibrated again. I tapped answer. A harsh voice said, “Lori, it’s Leopold. I’m going to be a little late. I have to make a stop.”

     “Leopold, I have to pick up a prescription my psychiatrist wrote for me. Since the pharmacy’s close to your office, could you get it?”

     “What’s it for?” he asked.

     “My anxiety.”  

     “I’ve been on edge all day,” he said. "Mind if I take one or . . ."

     “Just one. Where do you have to stop?”

     “I need to drop off some paperwork. Gotta go. See you soon.”

     Before I could say anything else, he hung up. I completed my watering and went into the house to prepare dinner. I turned on the TV to watch the news and awaited his arrival.

     Two hours passed and I became worried. And then the TV blared, “’Breaking News.’ A man driving a black Lexus died in a head on collision on Highway 55.”

     “No!” I yelled. “That’s Leopold’s car.”

     I grabbed the phone and called the Highway Patrol. They confirmed it was Leopold who died in the accident and said they were sorry for my loss. Since the cause of the unfortunate incident needed to be investigated, his body and car and its contents couldn’t be released to me for at least a week.

         A week passed and nobody got back to me. I got up the next morning and picked up the newspaper from my driveway. On the front page, the headline stated, “Driver Killed on Highway 55 Died from Ingesting a High Dosage Anxiety Pill.” The article stated that the warning on the drug container label read, “COULD CAUSE DEATH.” Because of an undiagnosed, weakened heart condition, the driver should not have taken this medication. It further specified the car was demolished, but they found a beautifully wrapped package, with a red rose on top, in the back seat. Amazingly, the package was unscathed.

     An officer appeared at my door a couple of hours later and handed me the package. How could I have believed such bad things about Leopold? He was coming home to give me a gift, probably to make up for his behavior that morning. I guess I’m the bad person, I thought.

     I hugged the package and walked over to the living room couch and sat down. I opened it and saw a card on top of the tissue paper, in which the gift was wrapped.

     I pulled the card out of the envelope and gasped for breath. It read, “My dearest Sophia, thanks to you, the awful demon will soon be put to rest, by the drug overdose you prescribed, and will no longer curse me. I look forward to our future together. All my love, Leopold.”

 

 

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