Archive for depression

Untitled-All The Good Post Titles Were Taken

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on May 26, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Sadly, I have noted that a catchy title gets a post more views. I thought maybe I was imagining it, but I went back and retitled a past post and it went from two measly views to 13…No added content. No added tags or a change of category or fancy pictures or prose. Just a stupid title change. An idiotic title, no less. I liked the original title because it truly spoke of how I felt in that post and yet it gathered moss untitle I dumbed it up with some catchy idiotic title. Pfft. Mind you, I often give my posts wacky quirky titles intentionally and that is all me and if people read them, so be it. But it really chafes to know the SAME FUCKING POST gained 11 readers all because I gave it a cutesy title. Having said all that…I am grateful for every view and especially grateful if it resonates enough for a like. This may come as a shock to y’all but it wasn’t until I printed out ONE of my posts that I realized just how long they are. 3 bloody pages and an entire squid milked of ink, geesh, I need an editing app for my brain.

Today has been stressful to be so uneventful. But no day where my dad calls at 7:45 a.m. ordering me to get out in the yard and start picking up limbs knocked down by last night’s storm is going to be a good day. The ritziest house in town still had all the limbs littering their yard hours later, they weren’t spazzing out over it. I don’t know why he does. Guess cos he and stepmonster have appointed themselves the yard police of Armpitopia. I honestly don’t get why people like them so much except maybe they don’t have to spend much time with them. If you did, then reality would kick you in the face. They are conceited, they are narcissistic, they are controlling, and they’re stuck up when it comes to their own agenda. They give zero damns if you have a knife plunging out of your skull, their blood sugar numbers (usually brought up high because they don’t eat right, they just talk about doing it) are more relevant. Them them them. I find it…overpowering.

No, irony is not lost on me. I have a blog and do nothing but talk about me me me me, I, me. Sometimes Spook and the cats. Butmostly me. Because I can’t speak for anyone but myself and this blog is sort of centered around MY struggle with mental health issues so it’d be downright bizarre if I talked about everything and everyone but me. I assure you, in my real day to day interactions I am not so ranty and complain-y. This is my space to be that way, so forgive me if sorry, not sorry.

I finally got a break from my needy tantrum throwing screaming spawn but never knowing when they might swoop in to bring her back and make some demands on me doesn’t lessen the stress. Already, dad is ordering me about, saying he will put gas in the car and give me the flowers to go put on my mom’s family’s graves since he can’t stand going to that town. (Yet, he can’t understand why Spook and I are so unhappy in this town, it’s like the ability to draw a parallel is not in his skillset.) I told him I was just gonna go Friday or Monday when my check comes and i can put gas in the car. Nope, Not good enough, he wants it done tomorrow. But rather than give me money for gas, no, like a child, I have to meet him at the gas station so he can watch me pump it, see how much goes in, then he will go in and pay for it.

I don’t know how not to be offended by that but it’s the way he has treated me and my sister since we were kids. Yet his man child son gets to keep his entire paycheck, not even drive himself to work or pay for gas, not pay for rent or food or expenses of any sort…I don’t know how not to be offended.

I am thankful for drafts, I will say that. Earlier I was all hormonally dysphoric and went on some tear about anxiety and fury towards the psych nurse (I swear, I fantasize about slapping her smug overly made up face!) Thankfully I lost my train of rage thought and just saved it to drafts and started this one fresh. Bet it’s still too fucking long. I need that editing app for my brain, damn it. I think it’s called Focalin, but my craptastic psych nurse won’t prescribe it. God forbid we should have meds that enhance our quality of life.

Anyway, high anxiety, low energy, total situational depression and hormonal rage feelings. That has been my day. One thing I can say, aside from sorry for the squids that had to be milked for 3 pages of printer ink for that post I wanted a hard copy of, is…with some editing, it was a well written piece and I might even send it to psych nurse’s supervisor, the one who oversees the actual medicine, not the clinic director. She was useless toward getting M’s bedside manner to lose the ice cubes and spikes. I doubt the benzo nazi will even blink but it was well written and heartfelt.

First do no harm absolutely should apply to psychiatric care providers.

Or the title that got the attention, Quackery Daiquiri Mental Health Care or some shit like that.

My heart feels very sad for mankind when bubbleheaded titles trump well written ones. Our communal ADHD as a country is showing and it is not flattering.

Advertisements

Morgue, The T-Rex Puppet, and Fright Night

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , , , on May 25, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

After a humid wake-sleep-wake night, I finally got back to sleep at 4:30 a.m. ish. Only for my child to wake me at 6:40 a.m. Inwardly, I groaned and thought, well, fuck, so much for sleeping in for summer break…I couldn’t return to sleep because my brain came out of the gate, still stressed from a phone interaction with my father last night. He is turning the screws on me to get my old AC swapped out with the smaller but newer one and I tried to explain that the middle room is a mess, there’s no path to get to it, and the longer I wait, the lower my power bill. He got snotty and said he didn’t see the big deal and that I had better get it done while they, the important people, have the time to do it. Cos they are the ONLY ones special enough to yank an old unit and put in a new one. Odd how I made it the better part of 6 years at the trailer without their input or pressure.

I am still smarting from my psych nurse appointment and feeling so demoralized I want to quit my meds. If she is hell bemt on taking away the anti anxiety drugs and the anti depressant, there’s really no point. I have a lamictal and lithium stash that could last a year or two. If she takes me off the other meds, I will go down the rabbit hole. It happens EVERY time some well meaning but ignorant psych professional decided fewer meds are better. Of course, fewer meds is ideal. But I don’t have standard bipolar one so ideal is unlikely to ever occur in my lifetime. The lack of being treated as an individual with multiple diagnoses and a peculiar body processing chemistry of meds really gets me down. I know logically she’s my only option right now and blowing it off and dropping out only makes me look flaky, it does nothing to improve her shitty bedside manner. But she’s not hearing me so going in seems fucking pointless.

Between my dad, her, and the cats being out of food, I have been pretty low this morning. So low, I had to try to drag myself upward by acting goofy with the kittens and a dinosaur puppet. It made me laugh. Then of course I have to wonder, am I manic? am I losing it? Because God forbid anyone should simply be a kid at heart and be quirky. It’s gotta be a disorder or lack of medication. Society demands it.

That puppet came out of the trash after a neighbor moved, I just washed it up and used it to motivate Spook and her little friends to eat healthy snacks. It made them laugh so they must be mentally disordered.

I took a couple of pics yesterday of me not looking like a hag as a reminder that while depression of every kind is kicking my ass, I’m still a vibrant not hideous person.

And this is me with our kitten Fright Night.

Now the tough part that brings shame and yet…It is not technically for me and my own father won’t help so maybe a kind friend or reader might. It’s for our cats. They really are out of crunchy food and I really don’t have enough gas to get to town to buy my last $2 in food for them since no place in Armpit sells it. If someone would be so kind as to donate ten dollars via paypal it would get me a gallon of gas to get to town and money to buy enough cat food til Friday, or next Monday, never know when my check will come in. Obviously I would not be asking if it weren’t dire. I’d be willing to earn it if I lived close by to you and could walk dogs or clean house or whatever.
Me and Spook’s account is here, paypal.me/MorgueAndSpook

Plus side, I tore into the middle room and shoved everything to the other side so now they can at least get to the window to swap out the AC.

I wonder how many guilt trips that ‘act of kindness’is going to bring upon me.

I may need more T-Rex puppet time.

They also have my daughter advising me where to work, as if I can just declare an interest and demand to be hired.

I am gonna need a whole puppet show.

32 Pennies In A Ragu Jar

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , , , on May 24, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

“Got 32 pennies in a Rago jar, that’s all I got to my name…”
—-Warrant

Technically, I don’t have a Rago jar and I only have about 27 pennies but sentiment is the same. I have $2.39 cents on my debit card and about half a gallon of gas in my car. I am also completely OUT of cat food. Since I stood up to my dad about his bullying me because I can’t make anyone HIRE me, he has told me to fuck off on all fronts that might involve him being anything but a dick. Even if it punishes my cats. I thought maybe I could surreptitiously get some out of their outdoor stash while they were gone, then say later, hey, I got some food for the cats…But that was empty. So…

What to do. The minimart sells a six dollar bag of Tidy Cat but not even a can of Nine Lives and I have hungry cats. I can’t even get to town to pawn anything. And my wonderful father is digging in his heels all because I pointed out the obvious, that I can’t force someone to give me a job. All I can do is keep applying, go to interviews when called, and keep showing an interest. I can’t bloody well stalk them. My nephew took their advice about calling the hiring managers when he was looking for work and they actually yelled at him for bugging them and said if he was hired, they’d have called. But dad and stepmonster are living in the 50’s when being such blatantly in your face was a positive thing. To them my lack of stalkerish behavior is a slacker trait.

This is adding to my situational depression, of course. I guess I can feed the cats mac and cheese, it is the only thing we have like a case of to eat for the next week.

I am cramping off and on. It is humid as fuck. My kid is home for the first full day and it was all I could do to get her to stop running in and out and mom mom mom mommy mom mom…I am ready to bloody scream.

I am hormonal as hell and not sure whether to be happy just to spite everyone or to be teary eyed just cos I feel like it every half hour or so.

I am ready for bed. I thought yesterday was an oddity, that a half ass night’s sleep would help and it did. I was up at 5:30 a.m. though so it’s making for a super long, super sweaty day. Not even being able to run to town where my sister would give me some cat food and toilet paper cos I can’t put gas in the car…I’d like to say it was lack of planning on my part but you can’t have extra when you got more going out than coming in, it’s not possible. And meanwhile, everyone is beating up on me for not being hireable but no one is doing a damn thing to hold the donor accountable for his child. Hard not to feel bullied when even the lawyer gives zero fucks and my dad can’t be arsed to even LOAN me twenty bucks til next Friday. I am trying, ffs.

I am trying to see the positive here but there’s nothing happy about hungry kitties.

I am missing the days when things got like this and I could just drop out til the check came in by popping my prescribed coma pills.

One thing that’s better today is the anxiety level. It’s lower, but that could be the xanax and buspar I took this morning when I felt my skin starting to crawl off my bones.

I looked into some work from home jobs that I am actually qualified for and ya know what? None of my tech is current enough, I can’t afford the necessary software, and I don’t have a quiet place to work because a train goes by 15 times a day and drowns out everything inside.

Optimism is overrated and positivity is not catching on.

I wish it was but reality is what it is and mine…blows a herd of goats. Ask me when the horror-mones aren’t rioting in the street and I can at least feed my cats and get to 15 miles to town and back.

Being stranded and failing kitty cats does not bring out the best in me.

Cave Woman Depressive Blues

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , on May 24, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

(Okay, neither here nor there, but a show just had some dickbag saying ‘she had a bipolar personality’…it’s a fucking disorder, you douche!!!!!!!Also, benzodiazapine is not a drug, it is a class of drugs, and it is NOT used for bipolar mood swings, idgets! Do some fucking research if you’re gonna call yourself true crime. Oh, cripes, it doesn’t cause paralysis unless you take an entire bottle of the brand name mega dose bars….)

I digress.

It is 6:18 p.m. My kid and I had a good meal together and are getting along. I got chewed out again by my dad and his woman because my trash was too heavy this week. They told me not to empty the cat boxes outside and since I can’t afford clumping litter, I had to empty the clay stuff twice times four boxes so yeah, it’s heavy. Last week they chewed me out because I didn’t break down my empty food boxes flat to make more room…My God, when you can’t even fill a trash bag properly, they really have gone too far with their constant criticism. If I told them everything about them that pisses me off or irks me or gived me the creeps, they’d tell me to go fuck myself yet they get to verbally berate me on a daily basis….

One more reason to be situationally depressed.

But also NP is taking me down from Wellbutrin 300 to 150 so that’s gonna fuck me up for awhile, and I am in week two of my monthly PMDD, and then there’s that whole minimized feeling the appointment left me with yesterday…I just feel ready for bed. Not tired, just…sick of reality. And this isn’t even the first full day of my kid being home from school for 3 months. I can’t believe how well I felt prior to that appointment. All because they started tag teaming, treating me like I wasn’t there, and talking all these big changes before I am even fully stable for a month or two. And I bet they don’t have the slightest inkling or give a damn the impact they had on me.

I am restless and blank minded. I’ve done a few piddly things around the house and yard today but for the most part I watch TV, I switch to the radio, I pace, I watch the clock. I’ve got to find something to take my mind away from that NP, she is just such a minute part of my life, she does not deserve to have this kind of impact on me. Not when things were looking up. Best I can do is enjoy the next 4 weeks of not seeing her and then endure another appointment and try to convince her NO MORE FUCKING CHANGES for now. Then I meet with benzo nazi in hopes she might be able to educate her underling on the dangers of removing an antidepressant from a patient who is bipolar two with a history of clinical depressions and seasonal affective disorder. It’s ignorant and it is dangerous and it proves she does not know what she is doing.

Times like this I kinda miss R being my enabler with Mangoritas. It’s the only way to get out of my own mind when things get this fucked up inwardly. I didn’t say it was a healthy coping mechanism, just that on occasion, it really does give me the needed break and good night’s sleep I need. Unfortunately, I don’t even have enough money to buy cat food and litter for the next week nor even food so my daughter and I can have a decent meal Memorial day. The car is out of gas so we are stuck here for the next 7 days at least. I feel so trapped. So hopeless. And I know it’s hormonal and situational but that doesn’t make it any easier to survive the days where I feel this way.

I am back in the cave, falling down the rabbit hole, and it all started with my psych care provider.

That woman is toxic for me. When toxic is your only option due to coverage issues, well, what good is having health insurance???? Think I got better care as an indigent uninsured patient in the 90’s. Just bloody sad.

Climbing Walls and Crawling Skin: Life With Anxiety and Panic Disorders

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , , , , on May 23, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

For a couple of weeks, anyway, I thought my generalized anxiety disorder was being kept in check by Buspar and a Xanax chaser for the panic attacks and racing, fear filled thoughts. It only took one bad appointment with an inexperienced and obtuse psych nurse practitioner and her student nurse for me to disintegrate back into a paranoid, shaky, unable to focus or beat my panic induced inertia. I am livid and feeling helpless and hopeless. Because I don’t have any options other than this woman and I simply do not think-and never did from the get- that she has the experience and expertise to treat bipolar two disorder with seasonal depression. She’s talking about stripping away my singular antidepressant therapy and that terrifies me as much as their office wide nazi like edict taking everyone’s benzo doses down to barely adequate.

The thought of facing fall without an antidepressant-or two-in place and working terrifies me. I don’t want to go down the blackened rabbit hole again.

The fact this woman would suggest it, and be serious about it, terrifies me more.

I accepted that Wellbutrin would heighten my anxiety when I asked to go back on it after a few months break. It has been the only antidepressant that truly treats my depression and inertia with any efficacy. I did not choose to go back on it lightly. It is definitely weighing the lesser evil. What I did not foresee, however, was them handing down the strict edict on my beloved Xanax. Not all of us are addicted junkies who need climbing doses. In 20 years, I have never ever gone above 3 mg a day and often, I asked to have the dose lowered when I was coping well. And when my psych center had experienced, adequate doctors, this was a non issue. They recognized that xanax is an effective drug for people with severe anxiety and panic disorders and they trusted me to ration myself and only use what I needed. Towards the end right before the edict taking me from 3mg to 1 mg daily, I was taking 0.5 twice during the day and saving the other 2 mg for the really really bad panic attacks or bad insomnia nights. I have an enormous stash of 0.5’s, 1 mg, .25 mg. I can be trusted to monitor my usage. And I am proud to say that I have learned coping mechanisms so my go to isn’t reaching for the pills.

Today, however, it was 2.5 right out of the gate because this nurse has me freaking out. I have never felt so ignored in my life, nor have I ever had a psych professional make me feel so cornered, so vulnerable, and just utterly powerless. She seems unaware of her impact and her edicts having a bad impact on me. Her goal, likely to please her supervisor, is to get me on as few meds as possible. Well, that was the goal all along through every doctor. What they all understood was that life is fluid and rapid cycling bipolar two means what your goal is and what you need to do to survive are often very different things. I miss that level of expertise, that trust they placed in me to know what was best for me and when. I no longer feel like she trusts me or even believes a word I say, for that matter. She has zero concept of how disabling my conditions are. I can’t truly open up to someone whose back is turned to me the whole appointment while she clacks on the computer and shows zero empathy. Her detachement is a bad fit for me and I haven’t experienced it since the last time they stuck me with a nurse practitioner.

I have friends who RAVE about how amazing their psych NP’s are. I was open to the possibility because some of those friends have complex diagnoses so I figured the nurses would be just as knowledgeable as a doctor. What they lack, though, is experience and the ability to let go of all the book taught stuff and LISTEN to what the individual patient needs. It is not my goal to vilify this woman, as I am sure there are others who do find her an absolute godsend. I am just one person who finds it a bad fit, like shoving my size 11 foot into a size 8 shoe and wondering why does it hurt so much and make me walk funny. This should never be cause for a patient to feel guilty or non-compliant. Finding the right fit in any doctor or counselor or even a lawyer is crucial to being able to open up and try your hardest. When someone makes you feel minimized and does not seem to grasp the severity of your personal situations, it feeds into the desire to give up because it seems so hopeless.

I am limited by insurance acceptance and geographical location in my options. Plus, I’ve been with this center 13 years, through about 9 doctors and 2 NP’s. It was always my go to place, my godsend, my miracle working center who never gave up on me and never minimized me or pushed me beyond my comfort zone to the point I needed to take a double dose of Xanax. I just don’t know how to slow my mind and heartbeat and wobbling knees any other way. I breathe, I count, I picture stop signs and recite mantras, I have aromatherapy and sound therapy. I do EVERYTHING but their counseling and that is because my insurance covers only inept people who break confidentiality. This place thinks therapy is so crucial but they won’t let me see their staff counselors due to money. If anything, it is them who make therapy seem impossible. I can’t see someone I can’t trust, I tried that and it put me off therapy for years. So I turn to my peers in the on line community who help me calm down, gain perspective, and they validate my concerns about this NP being a bad fit and they cheer me on as a strong, tough woman who has this.

What I may not have is summer vacation with a bored kid. I didn’t get the camp counselor job, and I can’t afford to send her there, so we’re conjoined twins for the next three months after 1:30 today. Talk about being under pressure and having my anxiety heightened and metastasized. Oddly, I am calmer this summer and I credit the Buspar for that. I am just going to have to get creative and try to find cheap or free stuff for her to keep busy and pray it goes by fast. Maybe her starting counseling will help, too. And it has me unwillingly pondering going to the now behavioral health place, if only for advice on how to handle how stressful this situation with the nurse practitioner is for me. But again, I got burned badly by that place and it happened twice, so…I’m gunshy and wary, to say the least.

For today even with xanax, I am climbing walls and my skin is crawling off my bones. One 20 minute psych appointment with a bad fitting nurse sent me into a tailspin. I am salty because I was starting to feel well. Then she persisted in having me talk to her back, letting the student commandeer my session, and talking about removing the very medication keeping me afloat. Enter terror and panic that has NOTHING to do with being hooked on drugs or preferring popping a pill to alternative coping skills. I should have the right to say, this isn’t working, bad fit, my needs are not being met and I feel trampled. It should not equal non compliance or addiction or being difficult.

We should all be able to take charge of our psychiatric care and have input that the professionals do not trample and quash and send us into tailspins and down rabbit holes. That is unprofessional and borderline malpractice. I just want to be treated as an individual with my own experiences and my own genetic way of processing meds. This woman told me I wouldn’t have withdrawal from Prozac and I had 3 weeks of hellish withdrawal. Because I am not a textbook case and treating me as such does a disservice to me. As a supervisor, the psychiatrist in charge should be made aware that her staff is breaking the cardinal rule in the medical field.

Do no harm.

This last appointment, great harm was done to me. I am not okay with that.

Quackery Daiquiri Mental Health Care

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , , on May 23, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

So the video of me spazzing after my nightmare nurse practitioner tag team assault yesterday can be found here on my youtube channel for those who like to watch as they drive by car wrecks and can’t look away.

I went in, feeling ok. Not up, not down, just a bit ashamed I hadn’t worked up the energy to properly bathe and my hair was still greasy cos I am too damn broke to afford shampoo that actually lathers and cleans…Then I was hit with a student accompanying my already iffy practitioner and she was my age, and my nurse…sort of deferred the entire appointment to the student. The two of them talked more to each other than to me, like I was not even in the room. I felt off balance, cornered, and when they decided next month they’re taking me off my anti depressant, I went BALLISTIC. I said I’d be doing much better if they’d STOP SCREWING WITH MY MEDS WHEN I FINALLY GET SOMETHING THAT WORKS. They’re talking taking away xanax, wellbutrin, buspar and just leaving me with Lamicatal (cos it helps with depression and anxiety, according to them, and newsflash IT ABSOLUTELY DOES NOT FOR ME), Abilify and some antihistamine for anxiety.

I felt like a terrified cornered animal snarling and baring my fangs. I walked out of that office feeling so minimized, so infuriated and frightened and ignored. It was awful. I went right to the desk girl and demanded to know how long til the tele psych thing will be functional. It’s gonna be months and my NP is my only option. I raised more hell and she said it wasn’t my NP’s fault she couldn’t prescribe higher xanax and it’s like ARE ANY OF YOU EVEN LISTENING TO MY WORDS? sHE’S TALKING ABOUT TAKING SOMEONE WITH BIPOLAR TWO AND SEASONAL DEPRESSION OFF THE ONLY ANTI DEPRESSANT KEEPING ME AFLOAt!!!!!! This has to be stopped, this cannot happen, because I will go down the rabbit hole again. My God, one measly month of feeling better on the Abilify and all these nurses can focus on now is getting me on fewer meds. Not giving me time to adjust and max out and come to the decision myself. Just handing down blind edicts without regard to me as a person or individual.

So the desk girl says I have to see my NP next month but two weeks after that in July I get a one and done audience with the benzo nazi. Oh, me and her are gonna have a talk. Hopefully by then I won’t be menstrual and she won’t make me feel like a cornered feral animal. I still can’t believe how they talked to each other like I wasn’t even there. And my NP kept her back to me, AGAIN, to clack on the computer. She looked at the student nurse to address her, though. This is NOT acceptable but I know how it plays out. I am the psych patient, I am hooked on pills, I won’t do therapy, I am to blame for the Lindburg kidnapping. I;ve told them to waive their counselors fees and I will gladly see one of them. Nope. I asked for Lunesta or Ambien for sleep. Nope. That student even had the audacity to suggest Remeron- the stuff that made me sleep 15 hours a day to the point my first husband and his father moved our entire house while I was in my pill induced coma. HELL NO. And I said exactly that.

It is unfathomable how low this NP makes me feel about myself and my progress. One month is not an accurate gauge, especially when increasing to the max dose, to go yanking out all the other meds, even if the high dose Wellbutrin is causing me more anxiety. That should be my choice, IF I feel secure enough to go without a net. And I don’t. She wants to try a different antidepressant that doesn;t heighten anxiety, I can roll with that. But to completely remove bipolar two patients from singular anti depressant therapy is borderline malpractice. I feel doomed having to see this woman. I am ready to just throw in the towel, do without meds, and let my manic flag fly even if it lands me in jail.

It’s not worth it to go in every month and walk out feeling minimized and mute.

So I couldn’t write when I got home, I was too pissed off, terrified, motified, just…she really did a number on my head and with the student there, it felt like a tag team full on assault.

I took 2mg Xanax and slowly my mind calmed. I did dishes, I did some laundry. I change cat boxes. I checked the fluids in my car. I mowed another third of the lawn. I cooked a decent meal for our supper. Anything to keep from having to think about how awful that nurse and student had made me feel. They make me want to go back to drinking because I may as well be a slobbering drunk for all the input I am allowed in my care. For all the lack of encouragement I receive. Her bedside manner sets off every panic and self protective sense I have. You can;t progress properly when you have to face this adversarial non supportive situation each month.

But as I don’t have a choice right now…at least I have 4 weeks before I have to endure her again.

It’s not nearly enough time to recover from what they made me feel like yesterday.

I wish I could sue them just for the emotional suffering. It takes a LOT to turn me into the cornered animal that way, especially when I am in a decent mind frame. But talking all those changes when I haven’t even fully stabilized for a month or two…They are in the wrong here and maybe I handled it less than perfectly but I will not lie down for this. I will advocate for myself. And if talking to the benzo nazi doesn’t help and they still don’t have the tele psych going…I foresee myself going off my meds, taking up CBD oil or weed and booze, and just slamming the door on the whole thing. Because shabby mental healthcare is more depressing and stressful than depression and anxiety disorder.

BAD MEDICINE: Video Spaztasm

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on May 22, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I still haven’t figured out how to write about the horrid psych nurse experience this morning. If you’re curious, go check it out on my youtube channel. It is called Bad Medicine.

Hate vlogs? I will write later, when I am less feral animal and more calm writer.