grinding the corn in Adaptation

Okay!

SO!

Finished up nine-full-weeks of the brain-zapping.

(NINE!)

If it wasn't so bloody inconvenient and goddamned time-consuming and if the psychiatrist was a little less totally staggeringly incomprehensible, I'd do NINE MORE!!! I feel like the last four-ish weeks in particular have really produced a change in my mood, thinking, overall outlook.

No small feat, yo!

I feel less wildly-polar-opposite extremes and when I do feel them, they're... smaller and easier to contain and pass more quickly.

I'LL TAKE THAT!

Also, some of the crushing-black-pit-of-despair-everything-is-total-shit negativity has lessened.

It's weird!

Like, I wake up in the morning and I don't want to just...

open a fuckin' VEIN as soon as I open my eyes, y'know?

I feel less...

burdened by total.dread. and/or pinned to the ground.

I feel like my thinking is a little more coherent and reasonable and in-touch-with-actual-reality.

I'm less freaky-outtie.

I'm kinda-sorta more relaxed... or, I'm spending a LOT less time levitating-with-PTSD.

It's nice!

Know what's NOT nice?

My bitch-of-a-family-doctor.

She FIIIIIINALLY came out with it.

She finally admitted to me that she "wasn't comfortable" prescribing pain-meds to me based on my "family history".

So, yeah...

I wasn't just imagining her giving me the drug-seeking-dirty-junkie stink-eye these last FIVE FUCKING MONTHS of CHRONIC FUCKING AGONY from osteoarthritis in my lower back, hips and knees. Nor from what I now think is a meniscus tear in my knee - to be confirmed by MRI in July, stay tuned!

Y'know... the injury that has seen me hobbling around like a fucking CRIPPLE since MARCH. The injury that has basically DISABLED ME. The one where she's been prescribing completely ineffective and gut/liver/kidney-shredding non-steroidal anti-inflammatories. The one where I had to wait EIGHT FUCKING WEEKS for a cortisone shot that did fuck-all.

Yeah... THAT one.

Seems that when she took my history and I mentioned the numerous and plentiful cancers and the heart disease and the Diabetes and the Crohn's disease and the high blood pressure and the mental illness and the alcoholism/addiction? Well, that automatically means that I'M AN ALCOHOLIC AND ADDICT.

OBVZ.

Right, right.

Except:

If I WAS, in fact, an alcoholic/addict?

I'D FUCKING LIE ABOUT IT!!!

Thus ensuring a steady supply of habit-forming prescription drugs!

I said to her:

"Correlation does not imply causation... doc. Look it up."

Because: you know what?

Fuck.you.

I've been compliant and agreeable and upfront. I've been labouring under the illusion that you have my best interest in mind, that we've been working together to improve my mental and physical health.

So, then...

THEN!!!

She finally tucks away her ignorant bias and calls in the LOWEST PRESCRIBED DOSE of one of the MILDEST PAINKILLERS AVAILABLE and then, she fucks-off on vacation.

Except:

The drug-store calls me and helpfully informs me that this drug isn't covered by my plan and how do I want to pay for it, hmmm?

After MONTHS of agony and waiting and begging for relief: this.

Last thing I remember is calling her office and getting through to her actual voicemail (unheard of!) and leaving her a tersely-worded (there were swears) message and then, I blacked out from the rage (and the pain!). I dunno.

It's like:

CAN YOU SEE ME AT ALL???

I already feel quite powerless and disenfranchised and beaten down - I'm poor and I struggle with mental health issues. I have very little family/friend/community support. I AM ON MY OWN, here. The last thing I need is another kick in the already-marginalized ass, thanks.

I'm wondering now if my initial assessment of her was wrong. She works at this local-neighbourhood high-volume clinic where it's wall-to-wall po' folk. This is a very poor area of Montreal - just a fact.

When I first met her, I thought she was one of these in-the-trenches bleeding-heart do-gooders - doing her part to actually help the po' folk.

Now?

I'm thinking she's a low-quality graduated-at-the-bottom-of-the-class not-good-enough-for-private-practice dillhole-bitch.

Huh.

Stay tuned for her upcoming reaction to my request for medical marijuana!

BWAAAA-HAHAHAHA!

ANYGAY!

I'll be back in Ontario on Wednesday.

Looking forward to:

• Drew's graduation (today we find out if she's Valedictorian. BITCHEZ.).
• Hanging out with Seanie-boy.
• Getting hammered on MaggieTheCat's deck. (SAID THE RAGING ALCOHOLIC!!! I NEED AN INTERVENTION!!!)
• A brisk hobble along the beach.
• MY GAYBOYZ!
• Hopping on Peter's D.

AND THEN!

It'll be time to pack shit UP and head back here - HOME, to Montreal.

I'm ready to get on with things. I feel pretty good (apart from the knee issue) and I'm looking forward to seeing Drew start university and to feathering my new nest and to embracing (or, trying hard to stop resisting!!!) change and forward motion and the natural progression of things.

My Life: it flows better when I get out of the fuckin' way!

Here I am!

I'm still here!