counting pills

  • Me: did I take my meds today?
  • *counts pills in bottle*
  • Me: okay I didn't take it yet, I'll take it now
  • Me, literally 5 fucking seconds later: did I take my meds today?
“Ticks” Spencer Reid Imagine

“Hey, Y/N, are you alright?”

Every day it was the same question, and every day it was the same answer.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine.”

You would even punctuate it with a smile, reminding yourself to crinkle your eyes so that he couldn’t tell it was a fake one.

But something in your gut told you he already knew.

You would try to hid your nervous ticks from him, like the way you always crinkled your eyes up, using the apples of your cheeks to make sure your glasses were straight on your face.

Or the way you would adjust them with your right hand if you were immersed in a conversation that made you uncomfortable.

Or the way you would tap your fingers on your right hand in an alternating order whenever you were looking for answers within a case file.

Thumb, middle, pinky, pointer, ring.

Thumb, middle, pinky, pointer, ring.

Thumb, middle, pinky, pointer, ring.

Over and over again until you either brought your thumb to your lip because you came across something disturbing, or bit down on your lower lip because you were following a theory you had come up with.

After a while, Spencer started doing things to help you calm down in the field, like flattening the palm of his hand on your mid-back and pushing his fingertips in on either side of your spine.

Or rubbing his hand up and down your arm.

Or wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close.

He knew when you ran off to the bathroom unexpectedly, you were trying to regulate your breathing as your hand shook.

But this morning you weren’t in the bullpen.

You weren’t chewing on your lip or adjusting your glasses or tapping your fingers.

“Hotch?  Have you heard from Y/L/N?” Spencer asks.

“I was actually coming to ask you that question,” Hotch admits.

Furrowing his brow as he gazes at the elevators worriedly, Hotch comes and stands beside him.

“Why don’t you go check on her?” he offers.

And as Spencer grabs his bag and bolts for the opening doors, his heart rate races as worry begins to flood his throat and cloud his judgement.


As the taxi pulls up to your house, Spencer swallows hard as he realizes all of the lights in your home are turned off.

Thanking the driver and paying him well, Spencer turns back towards your house as he bounds up the driveway and knocks furiously on your door.

“Y/N?” he says, continuously knocking on your door, “Y/N, it’s me.  Are you there?”

Coming to in your bed as you roll over, the furious knocking ringing your ears, you grumble as you slowly scoot out of bed, throwing your robe on over yourself as you shuffle out to your front door.


Throwing the door open as Spencer pauses mid-knock, his fist in the air as he quickly drops it to his side, you furrow your brow as the daytime sun blazes past you and into your home.

“What time is it?” you croak, your brows furrowing together as you poke your head outside.

“It’s 9:30 am,” Spencer says, looking you up and down as he breathes a sigh of relief.

“Oh shit,” you mutter, leaving the door open as you run into your room, searching for your anxiety medication as you throw the bottle open and count the pills.

“Oh, god,” you groan, holding your head as you search for your phone, Spencer poking his head around the corner into your bedroom.

“Are you alright?” he asks sheepishly.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” came your rhetorical response.

It stopped you in your tracks.

“Hotch,” he answers the phone.

“Y-yes,” you say as you slowly turn towards Spencer, his puppy dog eyes begging you for the truth as you begin to speak again.

“Hotch, I am so sorry.  I…um…I overslept.  My alarm didn’t go off and I didn’t wake up until Spencer came banging on my door.  It won’t happen again, I promise.”

You raised your hand up to push your nonexistent glasses up on the bridge of your nose…something you did when you knew you were lying.

“Everyone’s allowed to be late…once,” Hotch says, “Get cleaned up and come on in with Spencer.”

“Yes, sir,” you say as you hang up the phone, tossing it onto your bed as it bounces on the mattress and off of the other end.

Standing in your darkened bedroom as you grab your bottle of anxiety medication, you pop the top and toss your head back, dry-swallowing the pill thrown at the back of your mouth.

“Y/N?” Spencer asks.

You had forgotten he was here.

Jumping at his voice, you turn around, realizing he has stepped into your bedroom.

“Talk to me,” he begs, barely above a whisper.

Staring at his chest as you raise your right hand to once again adjust your nonexistent glasses, you sigh as your hand drops off to your side.

“Anxiety,” you breathe, lazily motioning to your bottle of pills on your bedside drawer.

“How long?” he asks.

“Uh…about 7 years now.”

“Any particular reason?” he inquires.

Shaking your head, you feel your hands begin to tremble as your breathing starts to shallow out again.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” he coos, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close, “It’s alright.  It’s just me.”

“It uh…it makes me very tired,” you say as you pull away from him, tears flooding your eyes, “…when I forget to take it.  I must have fallen asleep early last night and forgotten to take it.”

“Are you alright?” he asks, grasping your shoulders with his hands and bending down to your eye-level.

“Once this medication kicks in, I will be a lot better,” you say.

You saw Spencer actively searching for your tick as his small grin grows into a smile, realizing that it isn’t surfacing.

“Go get cleaned up for work.  We can stop for coffee before we get in,” Spencer smiles.

“That sounds wonderful,” you breathe, a light, relieving chuckle escaping your lips as you turn towards your bathroom.

“Y/N?” Spencer calls out.

“Yeah?” you respond, turning around towards him.

“If we are ever on a case, you know…in the hotels and such…and you wake up struggling, or something…”

Searching his body as you watch his shoulders tense, you smile lightly at him as you nod.

“Thank you, Spencer,” you say.

“N-not a problem,” he offers back with a weak smile.

“Just promise me one thing?” he says, almost as an afterthought.

“What is it?” you ask, not bothering to turn back towards him.

“Please don’t lie to me anymore.  I know when you’re not alright.  And I can help.  I promise I can.”

The hurt in his voice made your soul ache.

“I promise,” you say, choking back the tears as you cross the threshold into your bathroom, shutting the door behind you as you let go of the breath you realized you were holding.

Originally posted by toyboxboy

anonymous asked:


I work in a pharmacy as well, and like, in a lot of ways it feels like fast food but with higher consequences
same number of ppl who come in and are demanding and condescending
Like, god damn XD

Hold On: Alexander Hamilton x Reader

Request: alex x clinically depressed reader

Requester: Anon

Fic Type: Drabble

Word Count: 907

Warning: Depression, forgetting to take meds (I apologize for any inaccuracies)

A/N: Friendly reminder to take your medication! :)

Your relationship with Alexander had weathered it all. You found each other during your first year of college and hadn’t let go since. He was one of the few people that knew about your past and you were practically the only person that knew the fine details about his.

Five years after you met, the two of you were happily involved. The two of you knew each other inside and out. He knew your favorite food, color, and more importantly, the serious stuff like your medication schedule.

Depression was something that you had struggled with since you were a teenager. You started taking medication when you went to college and the school therapist recommended it. She promised not to tell your parents, who would definitely not condone taking medication to help your ‘ongoing sadness’.

Alex was always the one to tell you that taking your medication didn’t make you any less than anyone else. He was always insisting that you take it, but you weren’t so convinced. You felt ridiculous every time you popped a pill into your mouth.

On this particular day, you stared at your pill case with intensity and tried to think about Alex. You hadn’t taken your medication in a little more than a week. It was starting to have an effect on you and you could feel it. If you just focused a little harder, you could push out the bad thoughts. You didn’t want to be someone that needed to take medication anymore.

Keep reading

He Who Can See - Dean x Reader Unedited Drabble
  • (possible depression/trigger warnings)

A/N: First thing that I’ve written in a long time. And this is what comes out. I believe that says plenty. Sorry for being so inactive. Just know that I’m fighting my own battles, as all of you are. Sex and smut, unfortunately, are the last thing on my mind. I’m trying to come back, y’all. And I promise I will when I’m ready to give you the quality you deserve. Until then, please be patient! I know it’s tough. Love y’all. Always Keep Fighting. <3

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Bite Me: Part 5

Summary: Bucky Barnes is a vampire looking for his next meal, and you happen to cross his path in the most perfect way. However, one taste of your blood has him reeling in disgust. Never has he met a human with blood that tastes as horrible as yours. He has the perfect plan to help fix that…

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Reader

Warnings: some mild cursing

Part 1      Part 2     Part 3      Part 4

Bucky became an annoying constant in your life. He walked you home every time you worked the closing shift to bug you about taking your pills. You had a feeling this was his way of apologizing for the little mishap the first night you met. Now that he had a phone to communicate with you, he was texting you non-stop as well.

Annoying Vamp: Take your pills.

Y/N: Bite me.

Annoying Vamp: Gladly, doll, just say the word.

Y/N: That’s not what I meant and you know it!

You had to admit, it was actually kind of nice to have someone care that much about you, even if he did try to eat you less than a month ago.

You had been feeling immensely better the last few weeks. Now that a decent amount of time had passed, you could definitely feel a difference with the supplements and new diet. Plus, a recent check up at the doctor’s office showed that your iron levels had increased significantly.

Well, for the most part anyway. You were currently holed up in your apartment as sick as a dog thanks to an overeager warlock with a “Call in Sick” potion. He had accidentally dropped the bottle on the counter of the bookstore, and it shattered to pieces, spilling all over you. He swore the effects were only meant to last 24 hours, which meant you still had 12 hours to go.

You groaned from under you pile of blankets as you heard a rapid knocking on your door. You burrowed deeper under your cocoon, hoping the knocker would take the hint and leave. Unfortunately, they kept at it, and you had no choice but to get up and answer it.

Of course, it was Bucky standing at the door.

“What do you want?” you groaned as you left the door open and walked back to your fortress.

“Geez, you look like shit,” Bucky replied, sitting on the floor in front of you.

You removed the pillow from your face and glared at him. “Why are you here?”

“You weren’t at work,” he said simply. “I was worried.”

You sat up and looked at Bucky adoringly. “That’s actually really sweet-”

“I mean, we both know you can be inconsistent with your new regimen,” he interrupted. “I had to make sure you were still on track.”

You bopped him in the head with a pillow and buried yourself back under your blankets. “Ass,” you mumbled, hoping he would go away.

But he didn’t. After a few minutes, you could hear the whistle of your tea kettle, and Bucky walked back over with a mug in his hand.

“Drink this,” he said, lifting the blanket off your head.

You sighed and sat up, relishing in the warm mug he placed in your hands. Taking a small sip, you nearly gagged at how metallic it tasted. “Bucky, this is disgusting! What the hell did you do to it?”

Bucky peered at your living room window, his eyebrows furrowing together as he observed the weather outside. The dark clouds from the recent storm had begun to dissipate as the sun peeked through the sky. He gulped and began to lower the blinds on every window in your apartment. He turned on your living room lights and sat down on the couch next to you.

“Oh the tea? I just dissolved one of your iron pills. I counted them; you didn’t take the one for today yet.”

“Bucky!” you screeched. “Get out!” You put the mug on the table before hitting him in the shoulder with your pillow.

“Ow, cut it out!” he complained. He finally ripped the pillow out of your hands and held it just outside your reach.

“Bucky,” you seethed. “I feel like crap, and I just want to sleep. Please go away.”

“I can’t,” Bucky admitted sheepishly.

“Why not?”

“The sun came out,” he said, pointing back to your covered windows. “I thought the storm would last long enough to get here and home, but I was wrong. So I’m stuck. I’m sorry.”

A teeny, tiny sliver of pity cracked through your heart as you watched Bucky’s downcast expression. You couldn’t imagine not being able to enjoy the sun on your face, or even just walk outside to get somewhere.

“It’s okay,” you said softly. “You can stay.”

He looked over at you, shocked at your quick submission. He had expected you to at least put up more of a fight. You curled your legs over his lap while he passed you the remote to the TV. You paused before turning it on.

“Can I ask you something?” Bucky tilted his head, and nodded his permission. “Does your penis work?”

Bucky’s mouth gaped open. “Out of all the…you could ask me any-” he stuttered. “And that’s what you want to know?”

You stared at him pointedly, secretly relishing in the fact that you got him so flustered for once. “Well?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Vampires don’t have blood in their bodies,” he finally answered. “No blood, no erections.” He smirked at you. “Why, you interested?”

You pretended to gag. “Eww, no!” you exclaimed. “Sex just isn’t my thing. I just happen to be an extremely curious person. Plus, none of the books at the store had the answer.”

“Hmm,” Bucky hummed thoughtfully. “That explains why you never have any partners. I just assumed it was because of your sparkling personality.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, and he chuckled. You turned on the TV and began looking through your Netflix queue for something to watch.

“You’re really not that bad, you know,” you confessed.

Bucky just smiled and patted your leg.

“Drink your tea, doll.”

TAGS: @buckyappreciationsociety @irene-rogue-adler @iamwarrenspeace@ajimaginingtheworld@sgtjamesbuchananbarnes107th @bloo-moon-freak@kanupps06 @amrita31199

Invitation to a Tea Party

Saeran’s pregnancy woes, Part ½

Pairing:  Saeran x MC/Reader

Summary:  The RFA and MC experience complications with their pregnancy.  After Saeyoung’s Extra Story, in my Ideal World, but still somewhat canon.

Genre: Angst, Fluff…?

Rating:  PG for swearing?  But she swears like, once…

Word Count:  Approx. 1900

The pill did not always work.

It had a great percentage, and came with many great reviews, but the pill was not perfect.

And you had always had unusual luck.

You were lucky to have been the one to join the RFA.  You were lucky to have not been killed by Mint Eye.

You were lucky that somehow the man who used to be your greatest threat was now the love of your life.

And now, you had won the ultimate lottery:  you had gotten pregnant while on the pill.

“Congratu-fucking-lations to me…”

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HELLO CHILDREN it’s time once again for Fanatical High Castle Theories by Ollie because why not???


When i watched TMITHC for the first time I noticed that Helen takes pills sometimes. That’s not too weird, right? Lots of people take pills. BUT I’ve been rematching the series because season 3 needs to hurry the fuck up and get here and today, in episode six of season one, I noticed something WILD.


Aside from the doctor being named J. Watson (nice Sherlock Holmes reference ya dorks…OR maybe its an alias…i’ll get to that later!) we see the type of medicine that she takes: BARBITURATES! 

Back before I realized I sucked at math and science, little idealistic high-school me wanted to be an emergency room doctor. That meant memorizing a shit ton of facts about medications and what they treat. YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT BARBITURATES TREAT? 




Now, barbiturates are central nervous system depressants, so aside from treating seizures they could also treat sleep disorders by basically convincing the body to Chill Out. Maybe Helen’s an insomniac? I probably would be, too, if my husband and son were both Nazis. The issue with this, though, is that barbiturates usually become less effective over time in treating insomnia, and since we see Helen taking them throughout both seasons, we can probably deduce that she’s not taking them for sleeping problems.

Another fun fact about barbiturates: if you take them for a long while, they can become habit forming. Note that the bottle above instructs to take one pill. Let’s count the pills Helen DOES take, shall we? 

Two pills. Objectively not one. Now, I’m not saying that Helen Smith is a junkie, but I think it’s fair to say that the pills she takes are going to become important and (HOPEFULLY) be extrapolated on in season 3. At the end of season 2 when she yells at John and blames him for Thomas’ sickness, she’s drunk and crying and to me, she always seemed like she felt guilty about something.

“But Ollieeeeee, this is The Reich! They’ll kill her if she’s sick!” 

And that, my friend, is where the name Dr. J. Watson comes in. 

Either it’s just meant to be a silly allusion to the classic sidekick of Sherlock Holmes that gave the writers and crew a good chuckle, OR it’s an alias, like I said above. ( @i-will-fong-you pointed this out, too!) 

No doctor could legally prescribe her pills that would treat a chronic condition. If so, they’d be killed, too. Clearly, she wouldn’t get special treatment because John is the Big Bad Boss of Nazi New York; Thomas was still given a death sentence despite being the Obergruppenführer’s son. But if a doctor could treat her under a different name, prescribe her pills while masquerading as one of the most famous doctors in literary history, it might just work.

So why didn’t she bring Thomas to her fancy-schmancy fake doctor to get pills that would calm his convulsions? Maybe she didn’t want anybody to know she was sick. It might be a little awkward to say, “Oh, John, by the way I have this super secret b-list doctor named J. Watson that’s been treating me and fueling my potential drug adduction for years…maybe he can help our kid!”

 Or maybe it was dangerous. They mention sacrifice a lot as an element of symbolism in the episode, as John says, “In war as in life, sacrifices have to be made.” This applies to John sacrificing his morality and probably his soul at the camps in Cincinnati to keep his family alive, Rudy sacrificing his high-ranking position in government to do what he thinks is necessary, Joe sacrificing John’s trust to open the confidential “Grasshopper Lies Heavy” file in his office, etc etc etc. Maybe Helen had to make a sacrifice, too, and she didn’t want Thomas to do the same. Who knows? 

Season 3′s definitely gonna be interesting. 



You can’t cure someone else…

Somewhere between fifteen and sixteen, between falling in love and hiding in bathrooms having panic attacks, between the pressures of fame and legacy and the pressures of his own mind, Jack lost himself. He disappeared into the panic he could feel as he took one pill, then another, then a swig of vodka to wash it all down. He disappeared into the feeling of soft lips and the rasp of stubble against his thighs, into blonde hair and whispered promises of forever. He lost time, he lost space. He lost count of how many pills he’d taken. Jack found himself again, eventually, even though his heart had to stop to do it. It didn’t happen in a too-bright hospital bed, the steady pulse of his being measured by the soft beeps of a machine, but weeks later, leaning over a toilet and vomiting up bile as the shakes of withdrawal sent his hands skittering across the tile. And he swore to never lose himself again.

Bitty knew exactly when he lost himself. He’d been losing bits of himself for years before that, with every shout of f-g, with every shove, with every harsh bark of laughter at his expense. Each one teaching him to be smaller, quieter. To hide. He hadn’t really lost himself though, not until they shoved him into a closet and left him there all night. Eric went into that closet one person, and left another. He could feel the change in his bones, a grotesque kind of pupating. Transforming into something sharper and harder. Something that could survive. It wasn’t until Samwell that he began to remember who he had been before. Until the team, until Shitty and Lardo and Ransom and Holster. Until Jack. Eric became Bitty, and Bitty remembered who he was. In the slightly gross but familiar spaces of the Haus, it’s kitchen filled with sunshine, he rediscovered himself.

Kent wasn’t sure he’d ever been a whole person. From five until fifteen, he lived with the echoes of shattering plates and shouted curses reverberating in his lungs until he could choke on them. Being checked in hockey wasn’t a big deal, bruises blending into bruises. Jack had kissed his way down his ribs once, across skin stained blue and green and yellow, lips brushing against the shape of knuckles like a benediction. He’d never asked, and in return Kent hadn’t asked either. He hadn’t asked and he’d told himself it was fine. He’d told himself it was fine all the way into an emergency room at 3am, knuckles white where they wound through his hair. When Alicia had told him, so gently it hurt, that Jack didn’t want to see him, Kent hadn’t felt anything other than the sick nausea of inevitability. After all, who had ever wanted him? He went to Vegas, and spent the next eight years trying to forget that, for three dangerous years, he’d let himself believe he could be a real person.

Bitty talks to Jack and Jack talks to Bitty and, eventually, Jack talks to Kent. Kent doesn’t allow himself to feel anything. Not a thing, not even when Jack stands in front of him, offering up apologies in halting words and the twitch of nervous hands. Except that he does, because he’s been bleeding for eight years and hasn’t ever been able to stop it. Kent has been caught somewhere between rage and love for so long he can barely breath through it, and now, now Jack is standing before him, adorable new boyfriend by his side, and reaching out his hand to Kent.

When Bitty kisses Kent in Jack’s kitchen while Jack is out for a run, it tastes nothing like forgiveness, and everything like home. The smile on Jack’s face when he comes back and finds them still curved into each others’ space is like sunlight spilling across empty linoleum. Familiar, safe. Warm.

People aren’t like objects. You can’t fix someone else, can’t be their cure, can’t be their salvation. The cracks that fissure our spines and our souls belong to us alone.

But sometimes, sometimes you can heal together.

Pill Bottles

Oh boy, my first fic and of course it’s angst.  I hope you guys enjoy!

TW: suicide, recreational drug use

ao3 link 

Chapter 1- Texts, Notes, and Tears

Michael stared up at his ceiling.  He had made up his mind.  He was going to do it, and wouldn’t back out this time.  It had been a few months since the “squipcident”, and everyone was starting to settle back into their normal routine.  Everyone except Michael.  He didn’t understand why he hurt so much, and why he felt like this.  His life had started changing for the better.  He had an awesome new group of friends, and best of all, he had an amazing boyfriend now.  So why did he feel so awful?

He eyed the pill bottles sitting on his bed side table.  They seemed to scream at him to open them and chug the whole bottle.  Sertraline, antidepressants, sedatives, and ibuprofen all stared at him, piercing a hole through his skull.  Another migraine started to settle in, they always did when he was nervous.  He sat up from his bed, clutching his head in his hands.  He muttered swears under his breath as he began to open the first bottle.  He opened each bottle, one after another, as thoughts danced through his mind. “What was the last thing he had said to Jeremy? ‘I love you so much, Jer.’”  Jeremy had replied with a simple “Love you too, see you on Monday!”  Michael chuckled as the first tear rolled down his cheek.  Why was he crying?   Isn’t this what he wanted?  His mind played through every last thing he had said to everyone he knew.  “Goodnight” to his parents.  His father had only replied with a small grunt to acknowledge he heard as Michael had trudged up the stairs.  “See ya guys!” to his friends.  They had replied in a chorus of “See ya!”s and “Bye Michael!”s.  After each bottle had been opened, Michael looked over to his alarm clock. “2:07 AM”  His parents would be asleep by now, so he had time to light a blunt to calm his nerves.  He reached for the blunt and pulled out his small red lighter.  He lifted the blunt to his lips and dragged in a long breath.  He held his breath for a moment then let go, watching the smoke clouds swirl around his head.  He continued until he could feel himself getting slightly high.  He didn’t want to get so stoned he couldn’t think, but just enough to calm down his racing heart.  He picked up the note he had written earlier and placed on his bed side table.

Dear Everyone,

Sorry for being a shitty person.  Please know i’m in a better place now.  I’ll miss you all.


It certainly wasn’t perfect, but it got his point across.  He grabbed his phone from the pocket of his favorite red hoodie and winced as the bright light blinded him for a second.  “2:15 AM”  His friends would be asleep by now.  He shot a quick text to their group chat “I love all of you so much.  Please don’t think this is your fault.  Thank you for being there for me <3”  That should suffice.  It pained him to write, but he had already made up his mind.  “Now for the most painful part.” he thought. Not killing himself.  Texting Jeremy.  “2:20 AM” Jeremy always went to bed before Michael, usually around 11:00 and he always put his phone on do not disturb, so there’d be no chance in waking him up.  He read over his previous texts with his player 1 and smiled to himself.  Jer was such a dork, but he loved him.  Michael sighed, as his thumbs hovered over the keys.  

“Jeremy, I love you so so much.  More than I could put into words.  More than a thousand vintage cassettes.  I’ve been in love with you since seventh grade, and my love for you has never faltered or faded since.  You’re the one thing I look forward to seeing everyday, and you’ve kept me going for years.  I’m sorry I did this.  It was for the best.  I’ll miss you more than anything.  Please don’t blame yourself.

I love you Jer,

Michael <3”

Michael read over his message a couple of time before pressing send.  He stared as the blue bar on the top of his screen flew across, indicating his message had been sent.  He stared at his screen for a couple more seconds before shutting off his phone.  He grabbed the first bottle and shook a few pills into his hand.  Quickly, before he could change his mind, he threw the pills to the back of his throat and gulped them down with water.  He sighed and grabbed more.  He continued to do this until he lost count of the pills he’d ingested. “Now all there’s to do is wait.”  He took of his glasses and placed them onto his bed side table, just like any other night.  He wrapped himself in his hoodie and sunk into his mattress.  He wrapped his arms around himself.  He smiled as he stuffed his face into his hoodie’s soft red embrace.  He closed his tired, bloodshot eyes, and let himself drift off to sleep.

anonymous asked:

SAME HERE. I'm actually applying into pharmacy school right now (got some interviews this weekend) but I've volunteered at pharmacies. After I count the pills I have to wait for the pharmacist to check it over and so I work on something else in the meantime. But the person will always try to look over the counter as if they have to check if I'm working on their prescription and it's like damn chill out ok? IT'S COMING.

Good luck to you, I’m sure you’ll get into an awesome school!!! ^w^
and like
Like, I understand medications are super important and of course we want to get you your stuff

TalesFromThePharmacy: The lady and her friend, who we "shorted" 14 Xanax

This is, without a doubt the most odd interaction I’ve ever had with a patient. On mobile blah blah

Patient, who we’ll call PT, calls in for a refill on her Xanax. 90 tablets for 30 days supply. Says her friend will be picking it up shortly. I count 90 out, double count it, then give it to my pharmacist who again counts it. There are 90 tablets, no doubt.

Patient’s friend who we’ll call Susan comes and picks it up. 30 minutes later I answer the phone and it’s PT and Susan on speaker phone.

Me: Corporate pharmacy that only cares about metrics and money, this is LeeMcBOSS, how can I help you?

PT: This is PT and I sent Susan over there to pick up my Xanax and there should be 90 on here but we counted it and there are only 76.

Me (internally): There were definitely 90 you dumbshits what kind of bullshit are you trying to pull?

Me: No….. I personally counted it twice and then my pharmacist counted it one more time. There were 90 when it left here.

Susan: Well you guys screwed something up because we’ve counted it 3 or 4 times now and there are only 76 pills.

I have a quick chat with the pharmacist. We filled 90 end of story…

Me: If you guys want to bring the bottle back we’ll see what we can do but like… we gave you 90 I don’t think there’s much we can do for you.

After a short time PT and Susan come in. They have the attitude of “you guys are gonna fix this or else”. They put the bottle on the counter and bring the dramatics and quite rudely rant about what a shit pharmacy we are. I’m internally screaming at them but try to stay polite.

My pharmacist brings up a counting tray and counts the pills from PT’s bottle in front of them and there were…. 90 pills. PT and Susan are dumbfounded. Pharmacist double counts, again right in front of them, and gets….90.

The ladies kind of say “oh ok thanks”, take the bottle back and leave.



I went to the psychiatrist and told him my anxiety is unbearable and I don’t sleep more than 3 hrs per night.

He gave me anxiety meds, finally at the correct dose, 3x day. And for the month gave me 60 pills. It should be 90 if it’s 3x/day

He also gave me a sleeping pill I’ve not tried before and for the month he gave me 20 pills. I guess I’m supposed to choose 10 days to not sleep?

I got a therapist to go check and apparently the med is as needed. Well that’s not how the insurance sees it, if I fill a script for 20 or 60 pills that counted as a.months supply and I have to wait the extra 10 days before they’ll approve a refill. Or pay out of pocket.

So I may have to find a new psychiatrist because I can’t afford put of pocket anything.

The therapist went back over to try talking to him again well see if he makes progress

to wonderland

rosie sighs letting her foot dangle from the tree * m ashe im bored lets follow that rabbit look its got a pocket watch *laughs a bit jumping down from the tree* come on it could be fun *picks up her traveling bag filled with rope scissors an inflatable boat an emergency phone bombs grenades guns food along with water toilet paper extra clothes for everyone to last a week sanitary pads tampons birth control along with some strong sleep medicine that will keep someone down for 4 hours


Cereal For Dinner

Summary: Dan suffers from a chronic illness and has an episode one evening. Phil makes sure Dan is okay and takes care of him, as always.

A/N: woah long time since the last illness oneshot (or story at all) lmao i’m so sorry D: to know what illness please click the link in the summary or here

Genre: Hurt/comfort, Phil being awesome.
Words: 3197

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Five Things Tag

tagged by: @jjkfire (thank you for tagging me, this was fun!)

rules : tag 15 people

5 things you’ll find in my bag (backpacks count too right?)

  1. Laptop 
  2. Pill box - Advil, cramp pills, allergy pills, caffeine pills, Gingko biloba, green tea pills
  3. Eye drops (I literally douse my eyes with lubricant drops every 10 min. if I’m wearing contacts)
  4. Lip balm + tinted lip balm  (I swear by the Jack Black Intense Therapy)
  5. Necessities/toiletries (lotion, kleenex, disposable floss picks, pads, gum)

If you haven’t noticed I’m basically a walking Walmart and I’m dry af.

5 things you’ll find in my bedroom

  1. A shit ton of stuffed animals piled in one corner
  2. Study notes covering every single inch of the walls
  3. Stacks and stacks of Asian drama dvds 
  4. Binders and notebooks since I was in grade 8…. (I just realized I might have a hoarding problem)
  5. My mini theatre where I strategically placed a monitor on top of a stack of university textbooks I never opened once at a specific height and angle so that I can lay in bed without having to strain my neck while I watch

5 things I’ve always wanted to do  

  1. Spend a full day of visiting coffee and dessert shops 
  2. Get into the schools that I’m applying to and pursue my dream career 
  3. Be financially stable enough to buy plane tickets for my parents to visit their home country
  4. Learn how to fucking swim, ride a bike, and skate (yes, at 21 years of age i still don’t know how to do these)
  5. Attend a BTS concert (+ visit Korea)

5 things that make me feel happy

  1. Food (honestly tho, just feed me and I’ll be a happy camper)
  2. BTS
  3. Puppies
  4. Good music (has anyone ever found a really good song that just makes them super happy? like you never expected to find it and when you do, it just hits all the right chords within you and you’re like YES this is what what’s been missing in my life)
  5. BTS x puppies 

5 things I’m currently into

  1. Reading about myths and folklores as inspiration for future writings
  2. Skincare
  3. Learning Korean and sign language
  4. Drawing  
  5. Asian dramas lol 

5 things on my to-do list

  1. Score really high on this test and apply to schools
  2. Learn Korean and sign language
  3. Get fit
  4. Learn how to make graphics/gifs
  5. Finish WIPs

tagging: @jeonbegins@2awake, @chimneytaels, @tahyungs, @seoulscapes, @softguk, @jiminvy, @softykook, @3joonie, @proloquemix, @bluekyun