24 April 2009
I had an appointment with the VA on Tuesday. It's something I agreed to do after my dad (who has dementia among other medical problems) yelled at me for a day, then calmly told me in so many words, I was crazy. What does one do when they are told they are crazy, by a crazy person? It can't cancel each other out, that's too easy! It must mean, time for a visit with my psychiatrist again. Woohoo!
The way the VA works is, you call a number, and some dipshit fights with you about getting an appointment. They want to know why you need the appointment, "Because I'm fucking crazy, asshole!" Then they pick a day and time, then send you a letter in the mail. My winning lotto date was Tuesday at 3pm.
Well, Monday was a pretty shitty day because me and my crazy dad argued all day. Seems when I took a muscle relaxor for my neck, he woke me up too soon to fix dinner, and I burned it a little. Hey, have you ever tried to cook while half asleep? You'd burn something too! Ass.
So that got the bitch ball a rollin, and it just escalated when I told him I had less than $500 in the bank. You would have thought I murdered a litter of puppies in front of a gang of school children.
I had a job interview scheduled Tuesday morning, but since I was depressed and feeling worthless about myself all night, I didn't go. I did go to see my Psychiatrist though! But before I went, my dad asked if I had anything to say to him. I told him no, I'd talk to him when I got back.
So, I go see my shrinky-dink. To recap: my Psychiatrist is from India, sometimes hard to understand, and not very personable. Usually, my visits consist of my answering yes and no to her never changing questions. This visit was different.
Keep in mind, I'm a big ball of depressing girly tears, so right off the bad her first question makes me cry. "Did you come here from work?" *cry* "I don't have a job!"
Don't you feel like an ass now? Ha! Bitch.
I tell her what happened, she seems uninterested, but says she wants to help. I tell her I feel like I'm on a bipolar rollercoaster of emotions, so she increases my happy pills. Hoorah! She also gives me something else for nerves and to help me sleep. Double hoorah! Then she walks me down to talk to some guy with lots of hair, about getting a job. He was of very little help, but hey, I have more happy pills coming!
Once that was over, I had to go to the OTHER VA hospital on UK's campus to pick up my drugs and get blood drawn. For some weird reason, I feel comfortable around all of the other vets. No matter what, I know most of them probably have a crazy mental status like me. They don't judge me because we're all fucked up in some way. Ahh, home! Only with the smell of vitamins and pee.