Three's Company

27. Mania

Was therapy seriously meant to help people?

Heath's hand shook anxiously, waiting as patiently as he could. Lately, it felt like all he did was wait.

He should've kept his mouth shut, why the fuck did he say anything?

"You know when a manic episode is happening you should be contacting me or a medical doctor. Heath, I've never seen you so unstable before, what's going on?"

He didn't know what was going on, he thought, wanting to snap. Why else would he have called her if he knew what the fuck was going on?

None of this made any sense.

"I need more medication, Mar. Something stronger, I can't fucking sleep, can't fucking think. I need something. Don't you have shit you could prescribe me?" He was pleading, his tone desperate and exhausted.

His medication was out or was that because he had flushed half of it down the toilet last night...

Either way, he wasn't coping well.

He thought he was handling his depressive state, but last night proved to be challenging. He had been alone in his penthouse, miles away from the one person he needed the most, drinking himself to oblivion.

He decided his meds were ruining him, stripping him of his personality and so he threw them out. He had been on a binger, unable to stop before he managed to call Mary and ramble that he was going to do something impulsive like jump off his building so that he could feel a sense of reality.

And that was when the fun stopped and she was at his place within the hour, with her little notebook- psychoanalysing him.

"We agreed to therapy and the dosage of meds you're on now would be good." With a pause, her calming voice said. "There is no possible way you're done with this month's supply, it's only been eight days."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"I flushed them all."

She wasn't alarmed, but he could see the disappointment spreading across her features. "Okay, well, that wasn't what I expected to hear from you but I have some extra prescription on me."

He nodded, pretending to take her words in. "Great. Can I have it now?"

Unsure if he was listening to her properly, she sighed. "Yes, but if it's okay with you I wanted to ask what triggered this episode first?"

Just like that, he felt his frustrations grow. She was pissing him off, why couldn't she see he wanted his medication.

"I don't want to fucking talk, Mary. I didn't realise I was paying you so much fucking money for you to be riding my dick all the goddamn time." Yep, this wasn't him. "Just give me the fucking meds."

He wasn't copying well, and usually, he would be mortified with the way he had spoken to the kind lady. But he was unstable, incapable of feeling compassion for anything at the moment.

She knew him better than that and understood he didn't mean it. He would apologise profusely once he came into touch with reality again and once he calmed down in a stable condition.

He wasn't an aggressive man by any means, he was caring and usually so composed. But something felt off that day.

Reaching into her bag, she fished through the pill pots and read through the different labels before finding his exact one.