404-This is a desert,dude

After 3 days down the lovely cramp filled lethargy laden pre-premenstrual rabbit hole during which my biggest accomplishment was showering for the first time in days….I went to watch a video on line and instead of the usual boring “404-file not found”….I was met with, “I know you’re looking for water, but this is a desert, dude.”

And I couldn’t help it, I genuinely laughed. Out of the ordinary, and honestly, could have come out of my warped brain, considering I call my own mom dude and sarcasm is pretty much my religion. Not a bad way to start another week in the dish serving my sociopathic narcissistic master of the ‘I am going to buy you a different car”…Yeah, not a bad thing at all, starting the day with a laugh, considering the last three days of acute cramps and feeling generally like dead woman walking.

It’s like this every damn month. I have ten days of dysphoria, 4 days of the curse, and by the time my hormones settle…it’s time to do it all again. This on top of the bipolar, depression, and anxiety. I think the fact I am upright and wearing pants should be celebrated, but alas my mental health care provider treated me like little more than a naughty malingerer who will be all cured with some pill induced sleep.

Yeah, I am still salty about it.And even abstaining from alcohol, caffeine, all the bad stuff that supposedly worsens my conditions-I still feel pretty justified in my feelings for how she made me feel with her “do you want fries with that?” attitude. Maybe she’s a great person. Maybe she is so professional, she doesn’t even think a modicum of empathy or expressing support is appropriate. I just know seeing her these last few months have been some of the worst psych appointments I’ve ever had and it’s a bad fit. Yet instead of this closing the door on the subject…

I am forced, because I do have a thought disorder, to constantly second guess myself, my own motivations, and whether I am seeing things clearly or distorting them or being reactive when I should not be. Living with constant self doubt would drive a sane person over the edge. Again- I AM UPRIGHT AND WEARING PANTS, GIMME MY DAMNED TROPHY! Oh, and I didn’t sleep in the shirt or pants, either, I put on clean clothes, which should like garner a free toaster oven or something!

Of course, I jest. Because my humor, warped as it is, is the only thing the mental disorders, mental problems, bad psych experiences, and crap life in general haven’t robbed me of. (That and my tiger tattoo, though I may want to refrain from claiming that, someone could actually cut out a chunk of my flesh and take it.) Humor, dark and sarcastic much of the time, is my best coping mechanism. It’s also likely why so many different docs have decided I have this personality disorder or that, because people who don’t live sarcasm and humor of that ilk, often take the things I say seriously. Of course, I’m not gonna drink bleach just because the new Firefox Quantum moved my home button to the left side and half my add ons no longer work. I hate it, it perturbs me, but I’m saying “Oh, I could just drink bleach, it sucks so much!” NOT “Oh, this is so awful, I’m going to actually drink bleach in an effort to gain attention and yet another disorder diagnoses!” Geesh.

There’s this big part of me who just wants to quit all the psych meds, forget therapy forever, and just own what a hot mess I really am. But that version of me would prove fun but totally unstable and less than useful to my kid so I have to remain on the hamster wheel from hell. Yet I have learned so much about myself, changed so much, grown so much, I refuse to have some therapist or doctor invalidate that progress with some entirely new diagnosis just because I have some quirks. (Like finding an error code funny.)

Now that I am down the seasonal rabbit hole, best I can do is hang on, ride it out, and realize that…this,too, shall pass. And hopefully by mid Janurary when I see Dr. B, there won’t be a big scarlet A on my file from nurse doc because I decided to change back to him. She said she didn’t care either way yet it still bugs me. I’m not non compliant simply because I want a competent therapist my insurance won’t pay. If this were so important to my getting well, then my psych professionals should find a way to at least get me into their staff therapists even if on sliding scale. The fact that it’s not important enough for them to even try tells me….they just want my to have a therapist to listen to me rant so they don’t have to. That’s just lazy. Borderline negligent. A client who fully explains their legitimate distrust, for very good reasons, of a counseling center, yet is told to go through a phone book…Lazy. Because trust me, I’ve been down that road for years, always looking for an alternative, never having one because insurance won’t cover it. The suckage of life in a small rural armpit.

But for today..I’m up, wearing pants, serving my time, and I got a giggle from a 404 message. All in all, I’d say it’s not a bad start to the day.

(My sarcastic side wants to point out that the day is young and suckage could befall me, but then, I’d be accused of being negative instead of them calling it what it is-sarcastic humor.)

Killjoys.

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