Don’t ask me why I wait until the last minute to call in a refill for my antidepressant prescription. Maybe I’m still in denial of being bipolar, if that’s what you can call being on and off medication for over a decade.
I ran out on Friday, called in to find out there are no refills left. It was too late too call my doctor for an emergency refill and waiting until Monday seemed like a lifetime away. I guess I thought if I didn’t care, it would go away.
Today is Tuesday and I got nothing done yesterday because I got called in to sub for a kinder class. I completely forgot all about that.
I called in to my doctor’s office to make an appointment to get more refills. No fax from the pharmacy, the receptionist said. But I called into the automated system twice, I said, and it gave the same reply: we will let your doctor know about your request.
She said to call the pharmacy back.
I hung up in tears, flustered, confused. Why are both places telling me to call the other? Why did I need to do B before I can do A but I can’t do A because there’s B and fuck you very much?
I have been without my pills for four days which translates to basically “Hi there, get out of my fucking way!”
I’m nutty at best and a ticking time bomb at worst.
I exploded with my husband in the bathroom.
I was at a dead end. I didn’t know what to do or what to say. I couldn’t think straight. Withdrawal is an evil bitch.
He picked up the phone and talked to the same receptionist. Our insurance status was changing in a few days because of his departure from the military and we didn’t know how long we’d have to wait before it went through. She said she didn’t realize that.
But what the fuck?
So now it’s more important that it get taken care of because there’s money involved? How about it be important because I’m a goddamned person? How about it be important because the person just told you she’s TAKING AN ANTIDEPRESSANT FOR GOD’S SAKE?
All I can do now is wipe my tears and make a slow withdrawal from society for a bit. Walk in eggshells so others don’t have to.
I wouldn’t care as much if I knew how fucking judgmental people were about depression from actual people I know as if people with depression have the plague or are missing something from life. Uh, yeah, it’s tricyclics. Duh.
Without them I feel like my dendrites have been magnified a gazillion times and made supersensitive which leads me to be wide awake at 3 in the morning and unable to go back to sleep. And then of course, I am a nightmare without enough sleep and the cycle continues. Exhaustion makes me worry about things I shouldn’t and forget about things I should.
Like refilling my medication in a timely manner.
When R was at his PTSD clinic in DC, he told me they had therapy dogs who were retrievers bred to be empathetic. One gentleman in particular had severe symptoms of PTSD. He needed to constantly tap things around him and cringed at the slightest sound. All of the dogs flocked to him whenever he was around. I don’t have PTSD but I know how it feels to have animals try to connect with you on an emotional level. We often curse our collection of animals in jest but we know our children have connected with them on inexplicable levels. Buddy and I went out on a long walk last week.