baby! See you on Wednesday.
baby! See you on Wednesday.
for some reason, my side links on this blog are not showing up anymore. When I go into my dashboard – they are all there, just not showing up on the main page.
Also – it’s simply fantastic that I now receive TEXT messages to my phone for my eight year old daughter at 6:50 in the morning. I’m of a mind to call this child’s parents and ask them why in the hell they think it’s okay for their child to TEXT my phone at such an ungodly hour. I have no idea who this child is – the phone number is not familiar to me as one of Angelina’s friends. grumble, grumble, grumble.
Rachel is cranky.
sometimes, this is my favorite song off the album, sometimes it’s not. Today, it is.
she went down, down, down, down, down there for me, right on.
it’s been a while since I’ve written anything substantial to this blog. I’m in the process of trying to sort things out, mentally. As in, I’ve received a new diagnosis, I’m on new meds and endured a three day stay in the hospital that was frightening at it’s best. I’m currently attending intensive outpatient treatment that will last for three weeks and I’ve found a new private practice psychotherapist who I will be seeing once a week. Not only that, but I have to endure routine blood work that I’m not thrilled about. It seems like I’ve been going every week. No, not seems, I have.
The hard reality is this: I have to file for disability, and I’m absolutely dreading the undoubtedly two-three year process. My claim will get denied several times before I finally acquire a court date for which I will have to hire an attorney. How does someone who is mentally fragile deal with this process? I wish it didn’t have to come down to this, but I simply can not live “the normal life”. My day now revolves solely around what I’m eating, what I’m drinking, taking my pills, managing triggers, maintaining a routine – especially a sleep routine, and seeing a million doctors.
What have learned? Nothing, really – except that mental health resources are lacking in this country. If you don’t have insurance (and thank god that I do) you’re FUCKED. That’s right, people – you’re fucked. You will never see someone with a PHD, you will see a social worker – your high school guidance counselor. A psychiatrist will not manage your medications – a nurse practitioner will. You will be ushered around a huge building where you are the cliched number and not a name. You will be seen for 5 minutes while you waited to be seen for several hours. No one knows you, not even the social worker or the nurse practioner, you are one small part of a whole and that whole is the underprivledged, depressed, criminal minded, mentally ill and desperate, and you’re all the same. Don’t call them – they do not know you. There are four boxes and you must fit into one of them. They will stuff you in, throw in some pills and ship you off in a container going to an undisclosed destination. When you arrive, you pray you feel better and if you don’t, it will be months before your guidance counselor or nurse practitioner can see you again…and what was your name again? What is your birthday, the last four of your social security number? Meanwhile, you’re shitting yourself and still going mad.
Angelina coming home with her midterm that has all A’s and all 3’s for conduct and in the comment section: Angelina is a wonderful role model.
I guess I do one thing right.