11 Years, and Unceremoniously Dumped.

I have frankly been trying to recover from a fit of rage that overcame me two days ago. It was so bad that papers involved with the problem have now been mashed, scrunched, whipped on my stairs, thrown in the air and otherwise will always be crinkled, no matter how much they have been attempted to be flattened while in a calmer state.

Useless Therapist now, really and truly, has lived up to her name.

You see, every bit of information on Bipolar, whether in book form, on the internet, common sensical knowledge states that the illness is chronic. A Bipolar person never recovers from Bipolar, instead you learn to live with it (and sometimes that is quite a trick) but you can guarantee that there will be beautiful moments and those when it raises its ugly head. Sometimes it raises itself right into an institution. You'll live with it til the day you die. So you need support, duh.

So UT and I agreed that our usual form of therapy (me talking in lightening speed trying to get her updated to my life, her usual answer "Well, you seem to be doing well.") was not working. My suggestion was a more structured time where I perhaps even provided an outline that she could quickly read, and then SHE could yak. After all the bitch has know me for going on EIGHT YEARS. You'd think she could think of something helpful to say involving me. This would be very different than what we have done before, but I was willing to try because I thought there was something to be said, some kind of hope, to be put in 11 years with a crummy Medicare county program and 8 specifically with her and I thought it would be worth it. The thought of change is really f'n me up, pure and simple.

Turns out, she's not interested in doing something different. She's convinced I don't need her. Without a mention of the time I've known her, she's closing the book on all of it.

I have mentioned be4 about the complete ream that this county program has performed on me, now that I got married. Apparently, a mental ill person getting married is not in the plan. So, they say I'm now charged the full rate (which is considerable) until I prove for the forty millionth time what Husband makes, they insist on including his insurance - WHICH COUNTY PROGRAM DOES NOT ACCEPT - it being an HMO. The upshot is they charge more, force the charge to go to an insurance they already know does not accept and THEN send the bill to Medicare who will now for SOME reason likely reject it as well. Pay more for the same shitty services.

This would be the point in the tirade where I might say, Don't get married, live in sin forever, because its actually a screw if you marry. Well, the hell with that - Get MARRIED if you have the chance and screw the bastards. It's so typical though that the system is set up to not let you 'move on up' to not do better economically. I've seen that in friend's Section 8 issues and issues for the mentally ill in general.

Well, the larger point is UT doesn't think 'she can help me anymore.' I am amazed that there is no mention of the years I've gone to her admittedly useless ass just a 'Here sign this paper' saying I will psychiatrist only.

I went into a fit that night that was so huge, I don't recall getting that upset EVER. I attribute some of it to too much sugar (thank you, Mountain Dew) but it was vile, and Husband witnessed it. I have not slept right. I admit I took waaaay too much Seroquel in an attempt to numb myself because I don't have any other prn to take the place of. Tart needs Valium.

Last night, Husband said something very sensical. He said, "You know its understandable that you are having this much anxiety over this because you have been avoiding this since we got insurance." He means that I've been too chicken to leave the county program and pick an individual insurer psych. I am loathe to change. I keep thinking it will get better or that seniority has its perks. Instead its nothing but a screw.

This is not the first time I found out how much they 'care.' After spending 6 months in a state mental hospital we were promised the state would buy our meds for the rest of the time we lived in the state. What they really meant is, they would do this as long as the federal/state gov't provided for the program or when (if) you ever get your own insurance. They then dumped that on me.

So I'm a lucky mentally ill individual cause I now do have insurance. Call me a Princess, (but I'll still hand you a swift uppercut). The point in my mind is this is a crappy state, a bullshit system, there's no such thing as loyalty or even admitting it. There's more but you've beem TMI'd long enough don't you think?

I'll say this. I was so pissed about this, so pissed that nothing I ever say on this blog seems to matter anyway that I really thought about shutting this thing down or at least leaving it alone for a long time. The truth is, this blog is the reason I don't have to see UT for 5 months at a time. Writing my every whim, mood - cranky or half happy has sustained me and made it possible for me to stay as sane as I have. I'm pretty darn sure of it.

So here it is. I don't know where the rage is supposed to go. I don't know where the frustration is supposed to go. I don't understand why series of events become so overwhelming for me that I wonder thinking, "Cigarette, no." "Eat, no." "Cut myself, no." "Hang myself, no (I probably break one of our fan units. But, I did contemplate it.) There is nothing. No vice, no drug, no thing to make it better. And now I am starting to cry. This is my life. I look at others, I look at Husband and it is infuriating that nothing in his life would make him go this ballistic. I attribute some to the fact he has no hormones. He is my example of stunning brain chemicals, this rock of logicalness and sanity. But yet I am left to deal. I keep thinking I want to go back to the time when the world wasn't impinging on MY world, when I was busy with silly things like wanting to learn to knit or learning how to sell on Ebay. I want this all over. I'm getting an insured psych. I just want to burn the county program, I want to tell them they suck and I'm so mad. As if they'll care. I just want it over.