I told a good friend of mine a couple days ago that I can feel the depressive vortex sucking me in.  And it is; I’m not even sure if I care enough to fight it.  It’s almost 6 am and I haven’t been to bed yet because I’ve been crying and can’t shut my brain off.  Even two Klonopin couldn’t take me down.  I might have to take a third if I want to get to sleep today … which I really shouldn’t do, because Mom will wake up and need my help.  She’s made small progress but is still in an intense amount of pain.

But so am I, the little girl inside me whispers.  I wish someone was helping me.  I hurt so much and I don’t know what to do.

God, I’m a selfish bitch.

Mom’s Painful Start to the New Year

I’m sorry that I haven’t responded to comments, etc.  I had to take Mom to the ER on Wednesday because her back had gotten so bad she could barely move.  Turns out she has “significant arthritis,” sciatica, something wrong with “a couple disks” that I can’t remember what they called it and she had burst a cyst; the pain of the latter  is what finally got her to stop being stubborn and let me take her somewhere.  I kept begging but she waited until she couldn’t walk without screaming before she let me step in and get her to the ER for help.

Anyway, she’s tired, I’m tired, Sam and Lucy are whacked out because everyone’s routine has been interrupted … And seeing Mom in the hospital bed looking so pale and fragile is sticking with me.  When they were doing the X-Rays and the MRI, I was almost floating above my body from the strength of the stress; I had to keep flicking my wrist with a rubber band to keep myself present.  I might be an adult in chronological years, but I don’t know how to handle things like an adult would.  All of this has made me think about what I’m going to do as Mom ages and more responsibility is put on me.  That’s actually the cheerful thought, because when I continue the scenario it takes me to Mom’s dea** and I refuse to go down that road of thought.  If I even think it, something bad could — and probably will — happen.

Word to the wise, 2015:  You’d better straighten up fast.  A mother in agony, and a frightened Lauren, is not a good way to start the new year.

Goodbye Psychiatrist, Hello Panic

I received mail from my insurance company a few weeks ago and I’ve been avoiding it because I was afraid of what it would contain.  Even I realized I’m at the point where I couldn’t ignore it anymore, so I opened it today.  And got exactly the news I expected: My premiums are going up.

Since I had worried this would happen, I know what my next move is and I’m prepared.  The new plan will have a lower premium and some of my co-pays will be lower as well.  Great news, right?  There’s just one small problem.  My current psychiatrist, who I like and actually have a rapport with, does not accept the new insurance.  And I can’t afford to be a self-pay patient.  Which means I have to find a new psychiatrist.  And over half of the psychiatrists who are on the provider list for my new insurance are not accepting new patients.

As I said, I’ve been planning for this, so I titrated off my meds the day I received the correspondence from the insurance company.  I’m not sure how well I’m coping without them but there’s nothing else to do, and now that I realize I do indeed have to switch, it seems I made the right decision.  Like most cities, our mental health system is overstressed, overwhelmed and underfunded and who knows when or if I’ll be able to find a new psychiatrist.  It took me over a year to find my current pdoc.

I cancelled my appointment with her for this month because I saw no reason to see her again since I can’t continue with her.  I can’t deal with losing someone else I liked and who seemed to care about me.  I can’t deal with saying goodbye.  She didn’t treat me like a borderline, she treated me like a person who is in pain but who could (would) recover.  I’ve been trying not to think about this too hard but now that it’s real, it hurts way more than I’d expected and I’m scared.  I made the fatal mistake of letting myself care for her and I’m kicking myself because I should have learned by now that’s dangerous.  I lose everyone, one way or another.  I didn’t want to lose her.

I don’t know what else to say.  My heart is bleeding.