Pre-New Doctor Jitters

                    I am afraid.

                    I am afraid that this doctor will think I am a fat, crazy bitch who is lying about my pain. I am afraid that he will be dismissive towards me and brush off everything that I say is happening to me. I am afraid that he will not see the swelling for what it is. I am afraid that all he will see is the fat and not the person that is suffering with all this shit going on. 

                    I am tired of doctors not being able to help me. I am tired of doctors not being willing to help me. I am tired of the pain. I am tired of feeling sick all the time. 

                    I hate not being able to do everything that I used to do. I hate not being the person that I used to be. I hate not being the person I want to be. I hate not being able to go out and do things. I hate not being able to stay in and do things. I hate being infirm. I hate being weak. I hate being brittle. I hate being glass, and I detest being treated like glass.

                    I miss all the things I used to do. I miss work. I miss having all the energy in the world to do everything that I wanted to do. I miss making jewelry. I miss having full use of my hands and being able to trust them. I miss being able to trust my brain. I miss being able to trust my senses. I miss my memory.

                    I don't expect miracles. I doubt that I will ever heal all the way. I can only move forward, but I want to move! I want this limbo to go away. I want to actually find out what is going on with me so we can do something about it. I hate not knowing. That alone is driving me insane. It eats away at me bit by bit every day. 

                    Hope hurts.

                    Expectations lift me up only to drop me from a greater height. 

                    I try not to expect much because then, when I am let down, the bitter tears won't last quite as long.

Happy New Year or No Psych Meds For You!

                    So, the insurance denied the Buspar, which is bullshit. They require it to be a 90 day supply, but we don't know for sure that it will be the final dosage that I am on. I mean, I can probably guarantee it will be the next 90 days that I am on it, but Dr. Ngo is reticent to do that. I see him this month, but he doesn't issue scrips without seeing someone. Withdrawls from that drug are going to be nasty if it is sudden. I do have some of the 10s left, so I can use those to tide me over for a few days. I will call the insurance tomorrow and tear them a new one, since I am fairly certain they are not working today and this is just an auto-reject.

                    Happy New Year! No psych meds for you! 

                    Happy Birthday! Here! Have some psych med withdrawls with no step down! 

                    I hate motherfucking insurance bastards. 

                    What I am fucking pissed about is that the fucking pharmacy called me to auto fill the refill of Buspar. I know that they did! So, that means that they knew about this denial for about a week. This is the first I have heard of it. If they had already faxed my psychiatrist, then he has either ignored the fax or he never gotten it. My guess is that the pharmacy didn't fax him since it was an auto refill. However, the pharmacy is notorious for not looking for the ninety day perscription. I am seriously tempted to call right this fucking second and find out if there is a ninety day scrip in my file for this fucking drug.

                    My paranoia is seriously high. It's one of the reasons I am on Buspar in the first place. The anxiety that I have has been dampened by the drug. It's because of the danger posed to my liver that we haven't increased it. Hell, I am lucky to have gotten back onto a fucking bi-polar med. 

                    I have to explain in terms of one syllable or less to these motherfuckers that I am not necessarily on my functional dosage. 

                    I sincerely detest dealing with these fuckers.