Jun. 27th, 2012

naamah_darling: The Punisher skull with a red ribbon barrette. (Punisher Ribbon)
I have had a lot of unhappy feelings today. And now I physically feel shitty because my stomach hurts for no discernible reason. Again. There's no way this is not stress-related.

Went to talk to the clinic doctor today about meds, and got an extension for my lovely new pills, which are working really well. (I feel better than I did, since apparently people -- not y'all -- seem to think that means I feel okay, which I do not.) This, in theory, should have been painless. I waited for over an hour in a crowded waiting room playing annoying television (more on that some other time), hungry and feeling progressively sicker, and afraid to go to the bathroom lest I be called and miss the opening and be shunted to the back of the line again (I don't know that they do that here, but I didn't want to risk it). I was already stressed and unhappy when I went in, so when I came out of there I was genuinely in a shitty, pissed-off, queasy, bitchy, frustrated, door-kicking mood. And things have not really improved, because I have shit to look forward to tomorrow. And by "look forward to," I mean hate and fear.

Thank y'all for being supportive and there for me. I know I didn't reply to everyone, and that isn't because I didn't want to, but because that entry was really fucking painful to write, and is painful to revisit, and I just . . . don't wanna go there.

I think I was not clear enough with one thing, which led people to worry about stuff they shouldn't worry about just yet.

There is CRS, which is the clinic I'm going to and is where I'm getting new meds and so forth. This is the place with the case manager who said this shit was "mild."* (Short version: umm, fuck no.)

Then there are the disability people, who have not yet reappeared onstage, but their presence is felt because I know for a fact that they will be looking at the records the CRS people have.

Now, I thought I was going in tomorrow to see my new therapist, but no, I don't even have one yet. What I am doing is going in tomorrow to the clinic to meet with my personal case manager, who is not the overall case manager who decides who gets sent where and who put me in the sorting hat and mistakenly assigned me to Hufflepuff. (This is confusing, yes, with the two case managers.)

So from what I understand, this person I see tomorrow will discuss what I need in more detail, what my goals are, what is going on. A more detailed assessment. Much like that last appointment which, if you will recall, kind of ground me into the dirt, even though the lady was a total sweetie and was super-nice about it, and acted appropriately appalled at all the scary parts (which mental health people sometimes don't, and that can get really disturbing, just FYI).

I don't want to do this. Especially after today, which has just been shitty.

Still, it will be an opportunity to present the paper, point meaningfully, and make this face:



I looked at the rest of the paper, and while I have not been able to look at the paper again since then, there was another bit where they were like "client is unable to function without meds and therapy."

They got that part right. Sort of.

What they didn't say is that even with meds and therapy, I am not "functional." I am merely less unhappy about being broken. So I get to try to explain this, and how that makes me not "mildly" impaired, but "not fucking around" impaired. Disabled. Not "now I have drugs and therapy, and I am functional WHEEE!" Genuinely fucked for life, but potentially not fatally miserable about that if I get the proper help. Unable to provide for myself, period.

I am looking forward to this so incredibly little that I kind of want to cry about it. Objectively, if I can manage to break down on her tomorrow at a critical moment, well, that will probably help long-term, but short-term, man, I kind of feel fucked no matter what I do. Holding it together is easier than letting it all crumble and then having to put it back together again before I can even drive the fuck home.

It's another hoop to jump through, and while I know this is to make sure I get the care I need, it's . . . well, this has officially become more than a three-step process, and I am not happy about it. This will be the third time I have to say the same things to different people, and while I am genuinely not sensitive at all about 9/10 of the shit that happened in my past, and am able to be open and articulate about my needs (even if I may not state them forcefully enough to get the point across), it still stirs up a lot of shit, and it fucks me up for days after. And when I get a new therapist? AGAIN. Can they just record the one interview, listen to it, and then ask relevant NEW questions when I come in? Just to save me the repeating myself, which makes it feel like nobody is listening at all.

I just . . . I'm grateful and all, I really am. I have hope that this will work out. But . . . damn, you would think people used to dealing with mentally ill folks would have more consideration for mentally ill folks. "Just get help" becomes more complicated the poorer and worse off you are, and it should really not be that way at all, for anyone. There's no "just" about it. And nothing about it is just. It isn't fair. And I am not the sort of person who takes comfort in a system that is unfair to everyone.

"That dog? Nah, it's not you. He just bites everyone." Yeah. THAT would fly.

I am going to start documenting this crap kind of exhaustively, because I may need it. So, you know, I am genuinely sorry to be loading you all up with this shit when I know some of you are here for cat pictures, art, and the occasional blistering rant. And there is nothing wrong with that whatsoever. I don't think less of you for wanting to be entertained. We are just approaching an "ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!" moment here, because things are getting kind of dark for Our Heroes, and I don't want y'all to feel guilty if you just aren't down with watching what you thought was going to be a fun-filled romp in the woods turn into a vampires vs. werewolf nuns bloodbath. If you want to go, go. I won't think you are an asshole.

Those of you who are here because you are interested in the chronicles of my insanity, and the Incredibly Stupid Journey I am having to undertake to get help and support from people whose job it is to give me those things, are welcome to stay. Y'all give me help and support for free, which is really not making these other people look good in comparison. Except the clinic people, who are coming off pretty damn well as far as generosity goes, considering I have spent a grand total of four dollars on this whole venture. (No, really. And I think that is fucking fantastic. I realize I sound bitchy and ungrateful, but I am truly not.)

I appreciate you all. I appreciate that you care. And I am glad that it helps some of you to read about it -- please never apologize for finding what I write helpful or meaningful or healing or hilarious, you aren't ignoring my pain when you feel that way, and I know that -- which is the other reason I am basically going to be live-blogging this whole fucking freakshow.

And, frankly, those of you who have been through the wringer and come out the other side, it helps to know you're there. It can be done. I will try to do it, and I will make sure that shit gets written down, real-time, so that if I ever need to present evidence of just how fucked up I am, even when I am doing really, really well, I will have it there. Also, so that those people following me will know that they can at least get as far as however far I got.

If all goes well, on the other side of this morass of bullshit, red tape, and waiting, there will be more cat pictures, art, and blistering rants.

I would like my "nothing to give a fuck about" life back. I am not very fond of this "not a single fuck to give, too tired" shit.

Right now, I need to find something else to do. I have to write up a bunch of shit tomorrow to give to this person, or cull through relevant entries, and I need to save some strength for that. Because that is going to scrape me raw, right to the bone.

I wanted to say so much more, and there is too much, and . . . ugh. It shouldn't be this hard. It shouldn't be this hard. It shouldn't be this hard.

Have some naked cats. (Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of skin. Naked kitty, goblin kitty, win, win, win.)

* To be clear, I absolutely don't blame her for assessing me wrong after meeting me for one hour on a day I was obviously able to Cope With Shit and thus probably came across as far better off than I am. She's probably used to people who are not as articulate as I am, who are not as smart as I am, and who are significantly fucked up by drug abuse or recent trauma. Comparatively, I am sure I look like Tweety Bird.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
Etrigan loves Twilight Sparkle

Coloring books are just the thing when you are feeling sick or sad. Thanks, Grey. We love it.

Etrigan is feeling punky, still, and we are trying to determine whether that's lung infection or asthma or what. This is a game we will be playing for as long as we have him, and you know, I do not care. He is a good cat, and no matter how much he worries me or how sad it is to see him coughing and breathing hard, he will be our special little dumbass. He is a happy cat, despite his health troubles, and despite those troubles, he is very sweet with everyone, even the vet. Really, one of the most good-natured cats I have ever had and I've had, at this point, about 25 over the course of my life.

Also, this sneak peek at what I will be posting tomorrow:

Amor Volat 08

That's Amor Volat. Her cute little butt, anyway. She, cute butt included, will be for sale. (I love her, she came out beautifully, but someone else out there needs her, I know they do, so off she goes.) I am thinking about just doing an auction in comments to her post (not this one), rather than eBaying her, because of the hassle. If you have opinions on the matter, please, please speak up!

Pirate pony will require a more elaborate photo shoot (an excuse to break out ALL THE PIRATE LOOT AHAHAHA!), so I will get right on that starting Friday, and you will have pics next week. Ask the gaming group how cute she is. Go on. Ask.

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naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
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