A Fucking month Ang? My gawd. Way to get back to blogging.
I have been busy. I have been working a lot. I have been really tired.
Blah Blah I know.
I’m here now, that’s what matters. Yeah.
My pdoc is leaving the practice. Going somewhere I can’t follow. I am crushed beyond words. I love her to death. I would not have made it through my son’s diagnosis without her. Or dad’s death, my sister’s cancer, and my cousin’s murder. She’s the reason I don’t have nightmares anymore. She’s the reason I don’t have to check in every month – I decide. Every three month or so. Sometimes longer. I’m ok now. She gets that. More importantly, she believes that things could get ugly real quick, so she really listens to me about the meds. I want to take them, they make me feel better. They make me a better person.
Someone else isn’t going to understand that sometimes I need the propranolol and sometimes I don’t. Same with the adderall. Shit, no psychiatrist is going to let me keep my adderall. Me, bipolar. Yeah, no. I can hear it now. Hopefully my 5 year history proves that I only take it when I can’t get my shit together mentally. I’m not hooked on phonics. Personally, I don’t see what the big deal is. I feel nothing when I take it. I simply think clearly. Calmly.
WTF am I going to do. When the receptionist called and told me, she said that the doc had her schedule last appointments with a few and I was one o them, so at least I get one more appt with her. I’ll ask recommendations and such. All while I try not to bawl. 8 years. A sixth of my life. Dammit.
Enough of that. I get this feeling like I’m about to be pushed out of the boat – and I’m not sure if she taught me how to swim well enough. Sheer fucking panic. THat’s what I’m feeling. So… enough of this shit for now.