It's been a while since I posted one of these.
I've been battling medication changes and their gradual, inexplicable, descent into impotency.
My first clue should have been the reemergence of the daydreams.
I'm never quite sure if the daydreams are the saboteur or if they're simply heralding the arrival of the one responsible.
It seems any psychotropic drug I take brings me up and fills me with a sense of hope and anticipation for the realization of my potential.
It then, inevitably, drops me like a hot turd, taking with it all my positive energy.
So much for the Saphris I guess.
I guess it doesn't help that I'm having to prescribe and adjust the medications myself.
My therapist went out of her way to find a highly recommend psychiatrist and I'm still going through the same motions with him as I was with my general practitioner........except I'm not 600 bones in debt to my GP.
I have to make the suggestions and he gives permission in the form of a drug prescription.
This is all he does and collects $250 an hour for his trouble.
I've tried to explain to my therapist that this is all that they, as a professional field, do. That they prescribe "general" medications for "general" symptoms. That's it. They don't want to hear all your whiny bull-excrement, they just want to hand you some pills and squeeze another patient in and out the door as fast as possible.
I have to write down things I think might be relevant to him because it's very unlikely he'll ask.
This is why it took 37 years and an Ozzy Osbourne song to diagnose myself with bi-polar disorder....a diagnosis that has since been concurred upon by numerous other doctors.
But everyone assumes I'm a raving lunatic when I try to tell them what I've been experiencing for the better part of a decade.
And these turds continue to pay for their lavish lifestyles through their parasitic usurpation of the mental healthcare system and nobody who counts will even consider it might be possible.
And ya know? I'm at the point now where I don't want them to ask me about my mother.
I want them to ask me if I'd "like fries with that". F**k-heads.
Anyway, sorry to bum y'all out, but I really needed to get that off my chest.
Thanks for reading.