This job

For the love of Xanax, people, please, I beg you on my knees, take. Your damn. Medications. As ordered. Look, I know, you feel like you've gotten comfortable with that med I prescribed, you think, "hey, this is amazeballs! I shall take more!"  Because more is always better, as any crackhead will tell you.  And then you run out early. And then there are no refills left. And then you call me because suddenly you're not feeling so hot because you either a) overdosed yourself or b) ran out early and are going through withdrawals. And I gotta swoop in and pick up the pieces. Usually at 4:45 on a Friday, because I'm the only clinician fool-headed enough to actually work till 5 on Fridays.  

Allow me to make this as vodka-for-my-splitting-stress-headache-clear as I can: That shit written on the bottle? Those are called "orders" for a fucking reason and I didn't put them there just so that my stock in label-printer-ink would go up.  No, betchiz, I wrote those just for you and only you and they are not suggestions.  They are not meant for your buddy who is having "a rough day and just needs a little something to help him calm down."  No.  I decided on that dose based on your weight, physical health and health history, allergy history, possibly also on family history as well as on the severity of the symptoms I'm treating your I-didn't-go-to-3-years-of-psychopharmacology-classes-but-I-still-know-better-than-my-NP ass for.  I don't fucking know your buddy. I didn't spend an hour pounding his history into my keyboard for later reference. No. I did that for YOU.  Thus, that shit on that bottle, if I may be so bold as to reiterate, IS FOR YOU.  

If I tell you to take one of those every day and they work well and you end up having a fight with your baby daddy at the Burger Barn and then decide to power down 5 of those bad boys with your Mountain Dew to "take the edge off" and also as it happens your ability to be conscious, well that's just Darwin proving himself right one more damn time. You may think that calling me after the fact and saying "Now I didn't want to lie about it so here's what I did what do I do now?" is going to make us all good. No, idjit.  Wanna know how to make me happy? It's easy. Take your damn meds as I damned well prescribe them, and then tell me all about how they did or did not work and then fucking well wait for further fucking advice. That simple.

I'm not trying to go all Jack "I won't take criticism from a person who rises and sleeps under the very umbrella of protection I provide and then questions the manner in which I provide it" Nicholson on you, really I'm not, I work for you, you pay me to give you options and you pay me to be sure the options you get are safe ones tailored to your needs.  You're welcome. Now go take your meds.