What Do I Tell The Doctors?

What shall I tell the doctors?  What shall I not tell them?  Today’s the day, Mrs M has insisted I go tell them something about my mood and my chronic negativity.  She wants the magic little pill that will make everything all right, and I already know it doesn’t exist.  Unless it is a capsule holding $100M.   She wants to understand why I’m depressed in cycles, with mixed episodes in between, and she doesn’t want to hear cyclothymia with mixed episodes in both phases.  She wants to hear, oh let’s put Deon on nauseating medications for depression, with other lovely side effects.  She doesn’t want to hear that riding the medication train could potentially cause the cycle to become more rapid.

She also doesn’t want to hear that the triggers for not a few of my “episodes,” during the manic phase are just the facts of life being fucked up and my feeling helpless to fix any of the shit that’s fucked up, and that I should be depressed as a baseline, and my mind is making a herculean effort to put me in a manic phase in spite of the shit of life.

Sunday our speaker at church told us, although Mrs M had excused herself to do some things at home, that Solomon had more money than anyone should know what to do with, and he wrote Ecclesiastes, about how all of life is a vain chasing after the wind.  He said that people with lots of money still have lots of problems.  That may be true, but if I had it I could do a lot of things that I can’t do while I’m broke and we make bills 4,5,6, 7 and so on wait while we pay a little on bills 1, 2 and 3.  And we both work full time.

I don’t have time for looking for a better job while I have this one, and I don’t want to be unemployed while looking for a job and slipping daily into further debt.  I don’t have time or energy to finish things at home when I feel depressed and don’t even really want to get out of bed, but I make myself do the absolutely mandatory things.

I don’t have encouragement or support from Mrs. M because she wants to be in denial and wants to believe a magic pill that costs a fortune and kills me in the long-term will fix me. And I don’t have the kind of encouragement or support I want from Mrs. M because I’m not the guy she wanted when she started this magical mystery marriage tour.  And when I do bother to tell her what I want or need, she’s busy, she’s sleepy, she’s pushy, she’s grumpy.  And the other 3 personalities of the 7 dwarves are lurking in her head too, waiting to take a turn.

She wants to travel to see family and my car’s “service fucking engine soon” button just came on.  Yay, more unnecessary added to what I already knew about that needed to be fixed.

It’s entirely my fault of course, because if I just had a better job that paid a couple extra thousand a month we would meet our expenses.  Um, no shit, Mrs. M.  Trigger number 4,378,261 was earlier this month when my boss, who isn’t even my boss any more, screwed me out of getting any raise this year at work now that I have a new boss, same as the old boss.  Bitch.  I prayed regrettable things upon her head.  Like that she would die of inexorable, slow growing obesity from eating the blessing that I should have received from her hand.  We shall see.  Fat bitch.  But I can’t get more money in this job while raises are denied.  In spite of how horrible my prayer sounds to normal people, if it were answered in the affirmative I would laugh my ass off.  In exchange, I’d rather have enough money to pay my bills, fix my broken shit to a reasonable degree, (teeth and cars mainly,) and maybe have some left over to give to help people I know who are also in need.  Option 2 is a much better answer to prayer than request option 1, I really would prefer to have what I need and leave her alone with her guilty conscience.  Except, I let her off the hook on the phone when she told me what she did.  Instead of giving her the earful I wanted, I kept quiet and said I’d keep looking for a better job and I’d be fine.  Except I’m not fine.  I’m bitter.  And if she dies a fat lonely bitch, I’m fine with it.

I don’t actually need $100M.  I need $50K now to get solidly out of debt, and then in order to not slide back to where I am right now, another $50K annually with cost of living increases.  And I want a college fund for the kids.  But $100M would be great fun to deal with the crises, set up the kids and extended family’s kids, and then help other people with the excess.

The world is a shitty place, with demanding wife and kids I wish I could give what they wanted and needed.  With dentists that charge exhorbitantly for teeth that fall apart.  With HVAC techs charging exhorbitantly for a safe furnace that won’t kill us in our sleep come winter.  Except they aren’t.  It’s my income being too small and them not operating on a sliding scale based on my pay.  With selfish drivers demanding I share the road with them after letting them have my share.  With armed idiots roaming the streets wanting to kill the police who only want to serve the community, but they are too busy trying to protect it.  With politicians I can’t trust talking out of three sides of their two-sided mouths.  With preachers who preach faith and congregants and church leaders who help, but only so far.  With government agencies that will help only so far, and when you think you’re just about to be free, they kick the ladder out from under you so you’re back down where you started, or worse.  Fucking DON’T FUCK with the minimum wage unless I get a commensurate raise, which at the present rate would be about $30 an hour.

What do I say when it seems like the powers of hell are bent to fuck with me, starting with physics and everything falls and tries to break or falls apart, and ending with my teeth and car and heating system and other things falling apart, me being helpless to fix them as they decay, and my wife not knowing how she can encourage me, and me not knowing what to do to help myself.

And, just to show my readers that I’m not completely out of balance emotionally, while I’m busy being bitter about the long-term prospects, my generous work neighbor has provided me with the breakfast of anyone’s best daydreams.  So I have what I need for today.  I have to say, I didn’t ask and God and my neighbor provided, so I’m grateful for the short-term provision.

The question of the day is, what do I tell this doctor when my wife is pressuring the poor man or woman to give me a little magic pill that’ll fix my bad attitude, and pressuring me to not tell him or her I know what this is and I don’t want to be the doctor’s experimental guinea pig?

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7 thoughts on “What Do I Tell The Doctors?

  1. Low dose mood stabilizer. Best thing for cyclothymia. I know you are anti medication, but I think you might be surprised by how helpful something like Lamictal could be. It has an anti depressant property, plus stabilizes. No triggering manic cycles. Oddly affordable, too since it is a generic.

    Consider it a Mythbuster experiment. If it all goes shit like you expect…you can do the “told you so dance”.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Honestly, I’ve read the possible side effects, ntm read about them from them happening to people I know, and I really am concerned. I don’t want rashes, nausea, dizziness, vomiting, tremor, and on and on. I’ve also read it helps some people. Isn’t it back-ass-ward to pay money you already don’t have for a drug that might help your mood and might make you sick, when your mood would be helped if you had more money?

    Like

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