The bipolar disorder and the PTSD are winning again. I hate losing. A lot.
I've got a hearing coming up with the unemployment office, and I'm worried. My father has prostate cancer and an as-yet-undiagnosed mass on his kidney, and I'm worried. My shitty state-sponsored medical insurance only covers birth control and diabetes meds; I need neither. I've been off one of my branded crazy meds for a month, I've been off my hypertension meds for almost three months, and I'm worried. Here comes the depression -- I feel it stalking me, and the panic attacks are pretty much non-stop. Yay!
My father already has so much on his plate, but I need to ask him to help me...again. I need him to find a NAMI lawyer who will represent me at my unemployment hearing. I need him to make an appointment for me with my head doctor and to pay for the visit. I'll probably need him to drive me, too, because when I get like this, I can't drive. Well, I can't drive far without losing my shit and coming home to hide. The world is scary. It used to be filled with wonder, but right now, I'm filled with fear.
My doctor can give me samples of the one branded crazy med I'm on. The others are generic, but they still cost a ton of money. The depressive component of my bipolar disorder is the equivalent of major depressive disorder, so they've brought out the big guns to beat back that black dog. So, he'll give me samples (yay!), but then it'll take a good two weeks for this med to work (boo!). I swear.
I used to try to comfort myself by thinking that what makes me crazy also makes me quirky and interesting and creative and maybe even smart, but that self-perception could just be the bipolar talking, you know, inflated ego and feelings of grandiosity. At times like these I'd settle for average, normal and not depressed. I used to think that if bipolar disorder was the price I had to pay for those talents I think I might possess, but maybe I don't, that price was fair. Now I'm not so sure.
So, yeah. I think I'd give up the intuitive leaps, the racing thoughts, the creative quirk, the musical talent and all that other stuff just to be a normal human being with a normal brain that doesn't sell me the fuck out whenever it chooses.
I've taken to my bed, but I've got so much to do. I'm so overwhelmed, and I hate being a burden. If anyone ever tries to tell you that psychic pain isn't as intense as physical pain, fucking punch them, okay?
2 comments:
Listen, I don't know what meds you take, but every drug company has a prescription drug program for those who cannot afford their meds. All you need is proof of income and a prescription. Many doctors offices even fill out the forms for you.
Please take care of you and don't be afraid to reach out to your blog family and RfM family, we love you to death!!
Thanks, Stephanie, so very much. The drug programs don't cover generic drugs, so I'm sort of stuck there, and I don't qualify for the branded drug programs, because, technically, I have a prescription plan even though it only covers birth control pills. I called my benefits department this morning and learned that I'm not covered for diabetic supplies (luckily I don't have diabetes), like the pharmacy said I was, so I'm still kind of stuck.
I'm trying to get in touch with my caseworker so that I can get my prescription plan changed, and I have an appointment with my head doctor tomorrow. He'll probably have samples of the branded drug I take, but drug reps don't leave samples for drug that have gone generic. So, yay and boo! My dad is helping me navigate this minefield.
Love to you all!
Beth
Post a Comment