Bright Shiny Day of Ministering to the People

Yesterday was pretty amazing.  Snazzy, Jazzy, Voo-doolicious even.  Yah.  I went to see the VooDoo Lady.  I have to say I had a tough time following the matron in black complete with awful snow boots into her den without laughing, but I managed.  Man, you had to be there to understand.  But anyway, I think she is beginning to understand my sense of humor, because I gladly told her I was thrilled Vybrid didn't cause me to want to knit a sweater!  This realization is kinda scary and on the other hand, a compliment of such.  In other words, she hasn't locked me in the loony bin because she hates my sarcasm.  *whew*  I say that in advance because we were discussing the only side effect I disliked and I had to really grasp for language at this point as not to be vulgar and say the word Fart.  So deadpan I told her that it occasionally makes me afraid of Flatulation.  Her eyebrows went up and we both shared a three second stare and moved right along with my happiness that sex is still on the menu. *snicker*

After that I decided to go grocery shopping.  My mom decided to call me and I had to answer the phone because she had threatened me in voicemail form that translated to:  You are a douche if you don't call your mother.  Nobody wants that, so I answered.

People my mother decided to discuss God and the Gospel.  I pulled my buggy over and sat down on a recliner deciding on how to get her to stop talking about the whole subject.  She advised me to read the gospel if I had any questions about life.  Really?  OK, Who is this woman and where is my mom?  So I told her I didn't think God brought up nosehairs in the Bible.  Behind me I hear a pink panther like *hhehheheheh* and the guilty party laughed openly at my obvious discomfort of being in the middle of Big Lots thinking blasphemy.  My mom picked up on this finally and asked me to call her later.  I sagged in the lazy-boy, stuffed my phone in my purse and continued on shopping .. all the while wondering how God decided to talk to me through Big Lots.

WOW.  I found personality at Big Lots.  This is highly unusual for me.  Sadly though, I needed candy.  Yeah, he was 18 and thinking I was hot stuff, and told me so.  I tried to be grown up.  I failed.

On to shop at the Dollar Tree.  Then stopped at the ABC store.  Tom Jones' What's New Pussycat was playing.  I just had to comment I had that on vinyl.  The lady behind the counter said Ummm HUmmmm I loved him and his tight assed pants growing up Ummmm  HUummmm.  Which prompted me to say I feel the same way about David Bowie and then we both smacked our gums and had it not been in the ABC store, we probably would have high fived each other and bumped hips.  It was a transcendental moment.

I got home and was a hero for thumping my chest and hunting and gathering much food and laughter.  Life was pretty shiny huh?

The Stigma Surrounding Being Medicated

Hello.  My name is Twotablesnotime and I am medicated.  I have been medicated since 2002 when my sister Lynn passed away from an overdose of Oxycontin.  The horror of watching my sister die for a week was too much for me.  I circled the drain self medicating and finally landed myself in a psychiatrist's office.  Then the merry-go-round of prescription drugs began.  I don't know which is worse,  the dangers of street drugs or a doctor attempting to find the perfect recipe using me as a main ingredient.  I had a lot of tests done.  That was when words like ADD, OCD, PSD and Bi-Polar whirled around me.

It was misery.  Coping with loss and attempting sanity.  Then getting pregnant and having to go cold turkey was torture.  If there is such a thing as hell, it is being trapped inside your head and not being able to cry out.  I suffered through that without telling my husband how horrible it really was and how close a friend suicide seemed to be.  I just wanted it to stop.  However, I wanted to be a mom more.

There is a stigma attached to being medicated.  Truly.  I have asthma and severe allergies.  I went to emergency care over an asthma attack and the doctor tried to tell me it was in my head.  Can I just say he looked at my chart and saw my medications and said this?  I called him a worm and told him it took me all night to get where I was and not to fucking tell me what he thinks is in my damned head.  Then I guess he saw I had insurance and wanted to run a battery of tests on me.  This is where I told him to basically go fuck himself and that I was leaving.  How insulting can a person be?

Another doctor, my podiatrist took anxiety personally.  How dare I cry in her presence.  How dare I be anxious.  Lady there is nothing wrong with me other than the fact my foot hurts and I waited an hour to see you and I think you are a sadist because there are no stools in the waiting room to prop my feet on.

Which leads me to the whole reason I'm writing about this.  I just called about having my prescription written for pickup early since its due while I'm on vacation.  I was told my voodoo doctor refused this.  I was ok with that until I was informed that more than likely I won't get a refill until January.  So I must go a whole month without my medication.  WTF?  I have been a patient for ten years.  This is bullshit.

So now I'm freaking out that I won't be me for a month because its too bad my doctor won't see me.  My head doctor.  How am I supposed to cope?  Good luck with that Faye.  Bite down hard on the shit sandwich.

Say ummm and thank you.

Something about that Voodoo and the Toilet Paper

I have realized I'm hungry.  Hungry to know why things are.  Why people are what they are.  How all those things work together for the human condition.  Mostly I'm hungry to navigate in a world that appears to overflow with knowledge, but in truth, the fundamentals are lost.

 

I lovingly call my psychiatrist the Voodoo lady.  You would have to see her to understand.  That and you would have to be at the lowest point in your life and need to talk to someone and the secretary tell you all they give is medicine.  Wow.  But the short video I added is kinda fun.