The last time I posted anything on a February 19th I posted about how much water waterless urinals are supposed to save.
I wish I had something like that to write about now.
Instead, I'll continue with the downward-ness.
The last time I saw the brain doctor, in December, I was feeling okay. And I mean actually okay, not the general answer "okay" I give all the time. I didn't hate my job. I was looking for somewhere to live. The future was growing brighter, to a point where I could almost imagine myself having a future. He was glad for me and decided that I wouldn't need to seem him for a couple of months. He also told me that my meds had finally passed the time and a generic version was available. He warned me against taking generics, though, because there had been no research done to show how well they actually work versus the name brand. I said okay and went home.
When I picked up my meds the next week, they gave me the name brand because that's what I'd been getting and my perscription said not to substitute. And things were coolish.
When I next picked up my meds they were generic. When I asked why, the pharmacist assitant or pharm tech or cashier said that my insurance no longer covered the name brand at the pharmacy level. I took the generics and researched it online. Sure enough, the pharmacy insurance would help with generics at the store ($10 per perscription) or I could get the name brand through the insurance, online ($100 per perscription). I figured I would try the generic stuff and if everything was okay just stick with it.
Being me, full of the luck that I have, the generics aren't as good. Pretty soon after starting the generics I was no longer okay, but back to "okay." I didn't want to respond to my e-mails anymore. I had a place that I was going to be renting, but I really didn't care about that. My temper's short. And all I want to do is crawl in bed and eat fattening food that's salty, sweet, or both. And sleep.
Oh, how I long to sleep so much. To not have to wake up except for the short visit to the unrination station. To open my eyes breifly then roll over and fall back into the insanity of dreams and the nothingness inbetween. To never have to have a clock scream into my ear to wake me up.
Anyway, this weekend I sent my perscription to my medication insurance so I can get the name brand stuff. I can only hope that it'll make me feel better again. I never felt great, but I felt different in a better sort of way.
Here's to hope and the preparations for disappointment.
2 comments:
Forgive me when I say wtf? Although I'm a physician my practice is geriatric medicine, not psychology however, if you were my patient I would suspect you had a bad case of "diarrhea of the mouth with constipation of the brain", sad!
Aylagh MacAnnadh, I have a few things to say to what you said:
1. Thank you for working in geriatric medicine. I've spent the last several years watching my grandparents decline. It's hard and doctors who specialize in geriatrics seem few and far between, especially with my parents' generation moving on toward retirement.
2. Psychologist cannot prescribe medication.
3. I don't speak like I write. When speaking I am much more careful about what I'm saying that when I post to my blog. Very few people to no people at all read my blog and when you are severely depressed sometimes, on the days when you are less depressed but still very depressed, you have to get your frustrations out and when you have no friends the cold-hearted, cynical internet is the only place you can post it.
4. I sure hope you wouldn't say something like that to your patients without context or follow up because while I get where you could think I have "diarrhea of the mouth" I don't understand the "constipation of the brain" thing.
5. If you're just trying to say that you think depression is a made up thing that's all in my mind and that I should just get over it, please just say that.
Okay, that's it. Thanks for reading and responding.
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