(full disclosure, I use the F-bomb in this post, in all CAPS, along with various other French words)
I've had Tom Petty singing to me in my head all week. At first I thought it was because of his recent passing and every time I see a reminder, a song of his pops into my brain. However it's been the same song and the same lines of a song that is good, but has never been particularly a favorite of mine. The song sounds to me like a stalker with a swag and lyrics that are sung with a mouth barely open, maybe just enough to let a serpents tongue slip out. Not very Tom Petty-esque as far as my experience has been. His songs have been the spotlight of fun drunk house party and bar nights in my twenties, yelling it out, lyrics right or wrong, it's just the best. The way these particular lyrics have permeated my inner dialogue lately makes me think it's not Tom at all. I think it's my depression in disguise.
No really, check it out:
Which is exactly what happened this past week. FUCK. Again sorry for my language but I am venting here. So, I've been doing pretty damn good. On a side note, I just got new much better insurance that covers mental health so much better than my previous care provider, whom we'll refer to as The Big Nasty K or BNK for short. This new insurance even covers counseling or therapy to go along with my psychiatrist coverage! GASP! But isn't that how it's supposed to be? 'You don't get the pills unless you do your talk-through-it times and mental homework!'. For some reason the BNK didn't think that was necessary. They referred me to a drug addict outpatient rehab with a permission slip reminding me not to make friends, talk to anyone, bring food, chew gum, and to kindly leave my firearms at home. Here it comes again; "FUCK YOU".
*le sigh*
Anyway, new insurance. Much better in every way. I finally found someone who cares about my PCOS as well so I can get that ultrasound I've been over-due for 4 years. Because, I have no idea if I even have cysts and and that's what PCOS is about, Poly-CYSTIC-ovary-syndrome. Thanks new insurance for making sure I still have functioning organs that aren't filled with precancerous groups of cells having a fiesta in a my ovaries. Here's another sad but funny fact about the BNK insurance. Upon my first gyno visit they told me to not come back until I have "lost copious amounts of weight" or "50 pounds" is the clarification I asked for. They didn't even give me a single test or swipe of anything to gather cells and had the AUDACITY to send me a friendly "all is clear" post card in the mail for a pap smear that I DIDN'T EVEN RECEIVE.
Hooo! It feels good to get that out. If you live in the area and want to know about the BNK, email me and save yourself the wasted time. Especially if you are over weight, or have any mental health problems (welcome to America!) but apparently if you are completely healthy, the BNK is your guy. So who knows?
This past week, I had two new appointments with new doctors from my new wonderful insurance that my husband works so hard for. and I didn't go to either one. I laid in bed. for 4 days. It's been a long time since I've let myself get that bad. I felt I had no reason to get up and every reason to give up. whenever I don't go to an appointment I'm basically saying "I'm not worth caring for" and ouch that hurts because I DO deserve to be cared for. and if I don't get the care that I need, I suffer more and so do those I love around me.
I hope this week I can reverse those wrong doings. I hate wasting people's time. I really, really do. Plus I have a lot of working out to catch up on. I was averaging a good work-out 3-6 times per week for about a month and a half. I don't weight myself, but I have already lost an inch in my waist and hips. I worked out all weekend and worked out on the day of therapy (Tuesday) and the next day, SMACKED, in the face by severe depression disorder. I'll write another post about his later but this is proof that NO, not EVERYONE is magically cured by working out regularly and eating healthy. It's a good start. It helps. but it's NOT A CURE FOR SEVERE MENTAL ILLNESS.
Thanks for listening to me vent. You all are such good listeners and I always appreciate and welcome any feedback, questions, opinions or you can just fart in my general direction and I am happy with that too. Please wish me luck this week. I wish you all the same in whatever fight you are currently battling.
I've had Tom Petty singing to me in my head all week. At first I thought it was because of his recent passing and every time I see a reminder, a song of his pops into my brain. However it's been the same song and the same lines of a song that is good, but has never been particularly a favorite of mine. The song sounds to me like a stalker with a swag and lyrics that are sung with a mouth barely open, maybe just enough to let a serpents tongue slip out. Not very Tom Petty-esque as far as my experience has been. His songs have been the spotlight of fun drunk house party and bar nights in my twenties, yelling it out, lyrics right or wrong, it's just the best. The way these particular lyrics have permeated my inner dialogue lately makes me think it's not Tom at all. I think it's my depression in disguise.
No really, check it out:
Sounds like a nasty mother fucker (excuse my language) that doesn't give a shit how much I fight, he's not going anywhere and he's not scared at all about my upcoming chances to improve my mental health and stay out of debilitating depression. He likes a feisty victim. I'm thinking I'm making distance away from him but he's just around every corner with a cigarette, a word of rejection, and a bed to fall into for days on end.
It's alright if you love me, It's alright if you don't, I'm not afraid of you runnin' away honey, I've got this feeling you won't
-Tom Petty, Breakdown
Which is exactly what happened this past week. FUCK. Again sorry for my language but I am venting here. So, I've been doing pretty damn good. On a side note, I just got new much better insurance that covers mental health so much better than my previous care provider, whom we'll refer to as The Big Nasty K or BNK for short. This new insurance even covers counseling or therapy to go along with my psychiatrist coverage! GASP! But isn't that how it's supposed to be? 'You don't get the pills unless you do your talk-through-it times and mental homework!'. For some reason the BNK didn't think that was necessary. They referred me to a drug addict outpatient rehab with a permission slip reminding me not to make friends, talk to anyone, bring food, chew gum, and to kindly leave my firearms at home. Here it comes again; "FUCK YOU".
*le sigh*
Anyway, new insurance. Much better in every way. I finally found someone who cares about my PCOS as well so I can get that ultrasound I've been over-due for 4 years. Because, I have no idea if I even have cysts and and that's what PCOS is about, Poly-CYSTIC-ovary-syndrome. Thanks new insurance for making sure I still have functioning organs that aren't filled with precancerous groups of cells having a fiesta in a my ovaries. Here's another sad but funny fact about the BNK insurance. Upon my first gyno visit they told me to not come back until I have "lost copious amounts of weight" or "50 pounds" is the clarification I asked for. They didn't even give me a single test or swipe of anything to gather cells and had the AUDACITY to send me a friendly "all is clear" post card in the mail for a pap smear that I DIDN'T EVEN RECEIVE.
Hooo! It feels good to get that out. If you live in the area and want to know about the BNK, email me and save yourself the wasted time. Especially if you are over weight, or have any mental health problems (welcome to America!) but apparently if you are completely healthy, the BNK is your guy. So who knows?
This past week, I had two new appointments with new doctors from my new wonderful insurance that my husband works so hard for. and I didn't go to either one. I laid in bed. for 4 days. It's been a long time since I've let myself get that bad. I felt I had no reason to get up and every reason to give up. whenever I don't go to an appointment I'm basically saying "I'm not worth caring for" and ouch that hurts because I DO deserve to be cared for. and if I don't get the care that I need, I suffer more and so do those I love around me.
I hope this week I can reverse those wrong doings. I hate wasting people's time. I really, really do. Plus I have a lot of working out to catch up on. I was averaging a good work-out 3-6 times per week for about a month and a half. I don't weight myself, but I have already lost an inch in my waist and hips. I worked out all weekend and worked out on the day of therapy (Tuesday) and the next day, SMACKED, in the face by severe depression disorder. I'll write another post about his later but this is proof that NO, not EVERYONE is magically cured by working out regularly and eating healthy. It's a good start. It helps. but it's NOT A CURE FOR SEVERE MENTAL ILLNESS.
Thanks for listening to me vent. You all are such good listeners and I always appreciate and welcome any feedback, questions, opinions or you can just fart in my general direction and I am happy with that too. Please wish me luck this week. I wish you all the same in whatever fight you are currently battling.
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| creativity and some colorful felt help me cope. I never finished these or glued them together to make banners/pennants. Do you think I should? |
Was not directed to pay fee?
ReplyDeletea fee for which service? The faux pap? I don't even know if we paid for it. We were so over the whole thing by that point.
DeleteSometimes, you just can't move, no matter how much you know you should. ♥️
ReplyDeleteI know...I just don't want to be at that point yet in my life. If I still want to have children someday or go back to a normal 9-5 job, I want so badly to be able to move, despite the circumstances.
Delete