Wow.

I actually got MAD at someone today.

You have to understand, for me that's a hugely rare thing. For all my ranting and raving and curmudgeonly behavior, I think I could count on both hands the number of times in my life that I've actually told someone off for something. My usual way of handling things is to "be the bigger person", swallow my anger (no matter how intense) and try to move on.

Today, though, that didn't happen.

I know I've mentioned that the whole depression/methadone thing has spilled over into my job; basically, what's happening is that I'm extensively drowsy much of the day, and I've been caught on several occasions nodding off at my desk. It's entirely beyond my control, at the moment, though I'm doing everything in my power to stop it--I've stopped eating sugar between the time I get up in the morning and the time I get home at night, I've had them reduce my dosage of methadone, I've had my Prozac dosage reduced, I've tried to sleep more at night...no help. Human Resources is involved in the issue now--as soon as I told my boss that it was a medical issue, not me being a slacker, in comes HR with their lawyers and their doublespeak. I had my counselor at the clinic write a letter--without even mentioning the words "substance abuse" or "methadone"--explaining what the symptoms were, what could be done to help, and essentially telling them "This is a temporary thing, and if you'll just be a little understanding, we'll get it under control shortly." That's not good enough, of course, and I'm starting to think that I'm on my way out here. That's fine, if it happens, but they'd better have a good lawyer if they do fire me--both mental illness and substance abuse treatment are protected under the Americans with Disabilities Act. I've done the research.

But that's just the back-story. Today had nothing to do with HR or even any of my bosses; today, one of the guys in another department crossed the line.

I was working at my desk at about 4:00, and unfortunately I'd nodded out again. (These episodes, just to be clear, last only a couple of minutes at a time; then I wake up and try to shake it off, though it usually returns.) Anyway, this guy--let's call him "Butthead"--walks past my cube. Our cubes have walls about 6 feet high, with the top foot being a plexiglass window. And my cube, unfortunately, is right off the main hallway, so everyone can see into my cube and see what I'm doing at any given moment. I could face my computer in the other direction, but then everyone would be able to see my screen--basically, it's a question of which of two evils I'm happier with.

So Butthead walks by and sees me sleeping, and he decides to wake me up. And how does he do this? By quietly saying my name til I notice he's there, which would be the humane and kind thing to do? Not Butthead. Butthead takes the flat of his hand and SLAMS on the plexiglass window as hard as he can, which makes a huge rattling BANG and--predictably--causes me to jump out of my skin. And when I look up, once I've managed to swallow my heart back down to its normal spot in my chest, he's laughing.(Keep this in mind.)

I didn't even think--I just very quietly and angrily said "Hey, Butthead. Come here for a minute." He comes into my cube, and I said to him--again, very calmly--"First of all--what you're seeing? Is caused by a medical condition. Second of all? Don't...EVER...do that again." And he tells me, "I was just trying to wake you before you got in trouble." (Yeah, right--that's why you were cackling like a damn chicken when I looked up. You were moved to an outward expression of glee by your overwhelming concern for my well-being. Yeah, THAT was it.) "That's fine," I said. "I'm already in quite enough trouble for this, so thank you very much, but don't...EVER....do it again."

He walks off, probably offended, which...yeah, whatever, don't care, kindly go to hell. And the adrenaline keeps me awake for the next hour, which is nice.

I've got my resume together. I totally understand the management's point of view: they don't pay me to sleep at my desk, and they can't allow that to continue. Understood. But also, at this moment? Completely outside my control. If I could control it, I would--believe me. It's embarrassing, and it's not the way I want to be perceived, and it's not the way I normally go about my work. I have a little more pride in myself than that. But this is medical. Side-effects of methadone include sedation and drowsiness. Side effects of Prozac include possible drowsiness. Physical symptoms of depression ALSO include somnolence, which is the tendency to fall asleep at inappropriate times. So I'm three-for-three. I've been taking caffeine pills (which help a teeny bit, but also give me heartburn) and drinking iced tea instead of Pepsi; I've given up my sweet rolls in the morning and exchanged them for Burger King's chicken sandwiches (yes, for breakfast--and I don't even eat the whole bun; I take the bottom half of the bun, which is less bread than the top half, and then I fold it in half til it rips, and then I fold the chicken-unit in half til it rips, and I make a stack of bun-chicken-chicken-bun, which is actually not half-bad and is quite easy to eat while driving. But I'd still rather have my pastry.) I don't drink any soda during the day except for a very occasional diet Sierra Mist, and if there's cake or cookies or whatever, I don't eat any of that either. I'm working my ass off to take care of this stupid little problem, and I've told the HR people this, and it irks the hell out of me that they're handling it the way they are. I've been told that I have to get yet ANOTHER letter from my doctor, containing information which I already gave them in the first letter; this is why I think I'm on my way out and they're just jumping through hoops to make it look legal. But it's not, and I know this.

Fortunately, it's time to go home and I can forget about this hell-mouth til Monday morning, which makes me very happy indeed.

Update, 6:55 PM: Would someone care to tell me WHY, exactly, I thought that explaining my work problems to my mother would result in moral support? And would that same someone please, if I ever even CONSIDER such a thing again, please shoot me with beanbags til I recover my senses? Because...hell no. Bad plan. Now I have Mom in my business, worrying on my behalf, offering suggestions I've already tried, and expressing her tacit disapproval of my methadone program, which both the doctors and I agree is the best possible thing I could be doing for myself at this point. Argh.