Doctors Know Fuck All

Now that my Cymbalta is one dose in the morning…I am right back to the evening crash. I slept last night and yet now I am as tired as hell. My mood, not so bad earlier, is becoming depressive. And the anxiety has been off the charts following the trip into the dish and my chatterbox returning. I picked her up at 12:30 and she hadn’t even had breakfast or lunch. Mom was shoveling Little Debbie cakes down her gullet which means she has been wound for fucking sound. Between the doctor’s brilliant “one dose” decision and my noisy wound up kid…FAIL. (Even bigger fail is this doctor says there’s no need for split doses on anti depressants because the level will be the same no matter when you take them, so take the one dose at the one time. I am screwed.)

On the plus side…I drove by a yard sale today. And actually stopped. Which was awesome. I got Spook four really pretty shirts for fall and winter. Found myself a denim jacket, which I’ve been looking for forever so I can slap patches and pins on it like I used to do in high school. I’ve even been looking for a big body powder puff and I found one today. Whole unopened container of perfumed powder with it. Oh, and because my lovely spawn got mad and banged on her wall so hard the other day she broke my wall clock (shattered it)…I got a “new” one for $2.00 It’s a bright red apple, really not me, but I was going nuts without a wall clock. So…That was a good choice to stop. I got three bags for less than six bucks. That’s a high drugs or booze can’t even touch, I’m a frigging bargain junkie.

I never did do the shower thing. I am determined to toss me and the spawn into the shower before bedtime tonight. If I weren’t so sweaty, I probably wouldn’t even bother. It’s pathetic and gross but I forced myself this morning to bring a razor and cup of water and shave my legs in the living room. Otherwise…I’d probably have skipped that a few more days.

Got a headache within a half hour of my kid coming home. She just won’t stop talking. Ever. Mom let her stay up til 2 in the morning (yeah, cos my mom has no concept that the adult is in charge, not the kid) and I’d hoped she’d be tired today and nap or be listless…Ha ha ha. Hope is for losers. She’s hammered at my brain for six solid hours with mindless chatter. And most of it is mindless because I answer her question, she asks it ten seconds later again, I tell her again, then she asks another time and…Like a million bbq skewers in my brain. And she has zero concept of indoor voice so when she talks…It’s like she’s inside my brain with a jackhammer.

Oddly when I was at the store yesterday the cashier commented, “You’re childless! You’re never without her in tow!” And it’s true. She’s basically my siamese twin. Or conjoined twin, as the politically correct police will insist upon. Seven weeks to go before school starts. Yay. Though I signed her up for the bus this year, at her insistence, and that concerns me. Yeah, saving gas money is great and the bus only means leaving twenty minutes earlier (which for me, the not morning person, IS huge) but…taking her to school was kind of my way of making sure I got out of the house, even on days when I didn’t have anything to do in the dish. I’m worried without the routine of taking her and picking her up, I could become a total hermit. Especially with the seasonal affect disorder. Oh, well. STOP. Stop Thinking Of Problem. Start Thinking Of Possibilities.

Ugh, optimism, I think I just threw up a little.

Shower and bedtime. I am simply not feeling any more ambitious than that right now. Two days in the dish…I’ve earned a zone out. And I am hoping tomorrow will be a complete zone out. Screw hellidays. Cookouts just ensure I get bitten by every bug known to man so I actually pray to the sacred squid that no one invites us to one.

It’s funny how so many people are “trying” to get social lives and “live amongst society” because they’ve been brainwashed into thinking it’s a universal necessity or you’re somehow abnormal. I seek out company when it suits me. Mostly…I like being home in my bubble enjoying my solo interests. If that makes me anti social…I ain’t fixing it, ‘cos it ain’t broken.

Some are social butterflies.

I am more like a social turtle. Occasionally I pop my head out but mostly…I like it inside my shell. We have blacklights and felt posters and a disco ball in here!




9 Responses to “Doctors Know Fuck All”

  1. Optimism WTF!?! First buying non black clothes/household itemsI (should’ve tipped me off asap), Reading those Blogs/posts of happy happy happy mental illness stories, aren’t you!? I knew it ~ your’re turning into one of those “Shiny Happy People” people! Ewww! What did you do? What did you doooo?!? HAHAHA! BTW that’s a fucked up, stupid move on your doctor’s part, changing meds/dosages. They need to live in our brains for awhile, I doubt they’d last a few days…

  2. I really dislike hearing how doctors don’t listen to their patients. I happen to be lucky enough all of my providers listen to me. My psychiatric nurse practitioner expects that I will know best how a medication will work for me. She even writes a script while telling me other ways I can ‘play’ with it to find out what works best. If I told her I needed a divided dose, she’d give it to me. I’m so sorry your doctor won’t listen to you.

    • All my other doctors went along with the split dose and never once said it was detrimental or wouldn’t change anything. This newest one…He’s nice and compliant enough with some of my input but he has very weird views on some stuff. Like telling me psych meds don’t cause suicidal thoughts. Um, even the pharma people admit they do.
      Oh, well. Finding a good doctor is about as likely as finding a unicorn.

  3. I face a weird problem. I am an extremely social person. I love going out, I love being around people. But the fear of going out by myself, coupled with how easy it is for me to want to kick people in the throat, I’m kind of left into forced hermit mode.

    Which only makes me more angry. And caged. And depressed. I look out my window longingly. I want to be out there having a cup of coffee at the cafe downtown and meet random people, but I can’t. This stupid asshole illness is my prison.

    I like being home when creative. I need quiet and space and a kitchen to make brownies and hot cocoa for snacks… but otherwise, I would live out there.

    My mother was prescribed her Cymbalta two times a day. For fibro, but basically the psych said it would work at two different times. I don’t understand anything. Everyone says different things. You’re right. They know nothing.

    • I actually do better going out by myself unless massive crowds are involved. If I have a panic attack, it’s just easier to deal with it on my own than face non supportive people and their criticisms. I sometimes wish I weren’t such an introvert. But my kid’s extroverted enough for ten of me 😉

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