What a lovely ride.....

....I had in an ambulance this afternoon.  I went to the appointment downtown to be evaluated for disability and had a pretty good melt down.  All I have wanted, since that first appointment in January, was for someone to listen to me.  NO!  To HEAR me.  Well, the doctor heard me loud and clear today.  I just couldn't handle anymore.  I have talked to countless people on the phone and in offices until I was blue in the face.  I had let that infected tooth go for so long and I stopped talking my bp and sugar meds.  What more do you want me to do so you see I don't want to be here like this anymore???  Ya wanna see blood?  Ya wanna see broken bones?  What is the difference??  I am a woman brought up in the subservient sixties.  The one the doctor pats on the head when you get stitches and calls you a brave little girl for not crying.  Well now I am crying and crying hard so why did it take more than six months (here in NYC, a lot longer if you count MI too) to get some help when I did finally ask.  I know it is almost 5pm and your lovely wifey probably has dinner waiting, or reservations and you have a timetable, but it is really disrespectful to talk to so fast and keep interrupting me when I am trying to tell you why I am here in your locked up psych ward.  The cloud of dust you left as you handed me off was visible.  Way to make someone feel good. 

When you see...

...a doctor, aren't you supposed to feel better when you leave than when you got there.  I saw the "psychiatrist" on Tuesday and you would think that as I left the office, I would finally have some hope of getting the help I have been seeking for over 6 weeks.  Instead, once again, I felt the sting of humiliation and despair.  "you won't get the emergency assistance and you will be homeless, you better face up to that, and I really don't think you qualify for disability either"  My interpretation...  Why don't you get off your fat lazy ass and get a job you loser.  Oh yeah, and no meds either.  Just go home and cry some more, who cares.  I don't ask for help until I really need it and then to not get it is just......................

When you get a letter.....

that tells you to go to 125th street because your case has been moved there, that is where you go.  The letter does not state that only your case for food stamps is there and for anything else you need to go to 14th street.  The receptionist points out to you on the letter, "oh, you see this letter F up in the corner, that means food stamps"  And..... you expect me to know what your code letters mean in the corner of the correspondence.  So I left the house at 7am and got home at 3:30pm.  Needless to say, my back was screaming in pain and I am out of ibuprofen.  The good part about all the pain is that I should be getting emergency funds to pay my back rent and thus, avoid getting evicted.  Yay!  I have three appointments to go to next week, I hope they give me some good drugs at the doctors appt on Tues to get me through court on Weds and HRA on Thurs.  I'm going to need all the help I can get.

On one hand...

... it was a good thing to go to the appointment.  I was evaluated and found disturbed enough to warrant 2 more appointments.  One for introduction to a group therapy leader and the other one for the actual psychiatrist, the one with the drugs.  On the other hand, I was reminded of how far I have fallen into the pit.  I'm thinking now would not be a good time to re-read "the Bell Jar".