I’ve been carrying this chip around on my shoulder. The one that sometimes makes me feel like Eeyore. Then boy points out that when I get down I don’t get “oh, pity me,” but more like “fuck the world.” I think I hide it well. sometimes. But I’m just frustrated. mostly there’s just never enough time in the day to get my focus going to have every hour moving toward getting things accomplished.
And mostly because the pills aren’t working how I remember them to work which in turn creates anxiety which defeats the whole purpose, right? My health insurance requires I pay upwards of $1200 before they kick in the co-pay for getting the appropriate doctor on my team to prescribe the right pills and my regular doctor is going to lecture me if I call for a dosage increase without scheduling an appointment with a proper doctor. But really, $1200 verses $5 for the bottle of pills? c’mon.
and the 5’6 135lb nut job wanted to sit down by the copy machine to cry a tear or two when the dick of colleague thought it was nice to say “you aren’t as skinny as you used to be, are you?” I know what he meant (quickly followed up with “but you look good. like where you should be.”) I know I’m not chubby, but just try convincing my self-perception and see what you come up against. A heavily fortified brick wall.
This should be an open letter to the insurance company. B/c obviously, I need a shrink, but instead you made the pills cheaper so I will rely on those instead. Farquwads.