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dragonlady7via http://ift.tt/2cUFQXm:
oh ugh it’s that time of year again when my brain starts shutting down. that explains a lot. Last time I was at the farm there were several occasions where I bluescreened and just stood there while my sister did stuff. At one point she sort of woke me up by laughing at me and saying “when I start paying you, I’ll pay you for piecework instead of hourly!” and I was like yo, not a bad idea, but I don’t know what is happening.
But now it’s progressed far enough that I’ve started to get nameless dread stuff, and I’m realizing it’s just the seasonal brain shutdown I get on top of the normal brain shutdown that I pretty much live with nonstop. So that’s a bummer.
Cut because the rant turned out not particularly entertaining or witty. Eh well!
I would get medicated for it but all I can think about is how Celexa made me gain 30 pounds I have never been able to shed without really making that much of a difference in my quality of life, and my most recent doctor (ok nurse practitioner) gazed thoughtfully at my chart and the only conclusion she drew was “huh look at that, you’re fat, we’ll have to address your weight next time you come in” and that was the last time I went to a doctor because you know what, they don’t fucking know anything, it turns out.
I should go get the ADHD/dyscalculia matrix thing sorted out, but I don’t know where one goes for a diagnosis. My doctor said I’d have to see a… neuro something, and i thought, is that how you do this? His residents, over the years, had dismissed me like four times with “if you really had ADHD you’d know by now”, so my earlier statement that doctors don’t fucking know anything wasn’t actually just about the nurse practitioner’s statement. I don’t know. One of Dude’s friends is a dude who has an ADHD diagnosis and has been getting actual treatment for it for years, and he swears his shrink would actually bother to diagnose me even though I have girl cooties, but calling her would involve kind of a lot of executive function for a woman who had to trick herself into doing laundry this morning.
(I did get three loads done and hung up, and a fourth in, before I had to leave for work, so it was kind of impressive, but I’ve been trying to do it since Sunday and it’s Thursday today. When will the crack in my windshield get fixed? Christ only knows. Probably after it explodes on the highway and fucking murders me. Who knows. I have a great, possibly poignant little photoessay on my phone, of all the photos I’ve taken of the crack trying to get a good enough shot that I’ll be able to look and see if it’s getting bigger. I was thinking of posting it all in a collage and calling it Anxiety Bait.)
All’s I know is, my brain’s in bubblewrap and it’s very tedious.
And my doctor just sent out a letter that he can’t see most of his patients any more, which I mean, makes very little difference to my life because in like six years I’d seen him twice and had mostly seen a combo of residents and nurse practitioners, but it administratively means I can’t see anybody unless I go on the hunt and find another PCP who also won’t actually ever see me but whose okay I need on a piece of paper to access any non-emergency medical care at all, and i don’t actually know what insurance I have or what it covers so there’s that.
I don’t really know where to start, so I figured I’d complain a bit. That always helps.
oh ugh it’s that time of year again when my brain starts shutting down. that explains a lot. Last time I was at the farm there were several occasions where I bluescreened and just stood there while my sister did stuff. At one point she sort of woke me up by laughing at me and saying “when I start paying you, I’ll pay you for piecework instead of hourly!” and I was like yo, not a bad idea, but I don’t know what is happening.
But now it’s progressed far enough that I’ve started to get nameless dread stuff, and I’m realizing it’s just the seasonal brain shutdown I get on top of the normal brain shutdown that I pretty much live with nonstop. So that’s a bummer.
Cut because the rant turned out not particularly entertaining or witty. Eh well!
I would get medicated for it but all I can think about is how Celexa made me gain 30 pounds I have never been able to shed without really making that much of a difference in my quality of life, and my most recent doctor (ok nurse practitioner) gazed thoughtfully at my chart and the only conclusion she drew was “huh look at that, you’re fat, we’ll have to address your weight next time you come in” and that was the last time I went to a doctor because you know what, they don’t fucking know anything, it turns out.
I should go get the ADHD/dyscalculia matrix thing sorted out, but I don’t know where one goes for a diagnosis. My doctor said I’d have to see a… neuro something, and i thought, is that how you do this? His residents, over the years, had dismissed me like four times with “if you really had ADHD you’d know by now”, so my earlier statement that doctors don’t fucking know anything wasn’t actually just about the nurse practitioner’s statement. I don’t know. One of Dude’s friends is a dude who has an ADHD diagnosis and has been getting actual treatment for it for years, and he swears his shrink would actually bother to diagnose me even though I have girl cooties, but calling her would involve kind of a lot of executive function for a woman who had to trick herself into doing laundry this morning.
(I did get three loads done and hung up, and a fourth in, before I had to leave for work, so it was kind of impressive, but I’ve been trying to do it since Sunday and it’s Thursday today. When will the crack in my windshield get fixed? Christ only knows. Probably after it explodes on the highway and fucking murders me. Who knows. I have a great, possibly poignant little photoessay on my phone, of all the photos I’ve taken of the crack trying to get a good enough shot that I’ll be able to look and see if it’s getting bigger. I was thinking of posting it all in a collage and calling it Anxiety Bait.)
All’s I know is, my brain’s in bubblewrap and it’s very tedious.
And my doctor just sent out a letter that he can’t see most of his patients any more, which I mean, makes very little difference to my life because in like six years I’d seen him twice and had mostly seen a combo of residents and nurse practitioners, but it administratively means I can’t see anybody unless I go on the hunt and find another PCP who also won’t actually ever see me but whose okay I need on a piece of paper to access any non-emergency medical care at all, and i don’t actually know what insurance I have or what it covers so there’s that.
I don’t really know where to start, so I figured I’d complain a bit. That always helps.
