All right, Blogwatchers, this is raw. This is real. This is from the heart. I am frustrated and angry and annoyed and irritated and anxious and all kinds of other stuff right now. If you don't want to read a personal rant about mental health and my absolute hatred of the system at this time, I suggest you leave. Close the door quietly behind you, though. I'm feeling a bit punchy at the moment.
There is NO DOUBT - in my mind or by others who know me - that I have some attention deficit issues going on. As a kid I had trouble sitting still, paying attention, and following through. Always a procrastinator, never on time for anything (see old post on polychronism), and always in some other world half the time. I've pitched tantrums when I can't find something because it's not where I thought I left it. Crying fits because I can't get my shit together long enough to figure out what to eat for dinner...and scorched small appliances when I figure it out but forget I've left it cooking. As I've gotten older, it's only gotten worse (ask me how many tea kettles I've destroyed by dry-boiling them for HOURS. Go ahead - ask. THREE). I make jokes about it, I hide it behind this "scatterbrained creative" curtain, and sometimes I come right out and make direct reference to it. But the fact remains, my attention span is deficient and it is a daily, no - HOURLY - struggle to keep my shit together most of the time.
I don't make a big secret of the fact that I've been in and out of therapy and on and off meds for years. You'd be, too, if you grew up with my parents. But the attention thing was never addressed, except once after it cost me a job several years ago, but even then I never followed through and got the necessary assessments done. Therapists can't assess or prescribe, shrinks can't (or are paid too much to need to) counsel. At one point I was into a psychiatrist for close to $400, and all I ever did was walk into his office a few times, sit across a desk, answer 10 questions about my medication and my opinion on whether I thought it was the correct dosage, and walk out. No more than ten minutes each time. Three times at $97 a pop. For what? THEN I found out that my primary could prescribe my meds. ADHD meds, however, are a different story. As controlled substances, they're not as indiscriminately prescribed. And for good reason.
Now. After realizing that much of my frustration this semester could have been alleviated by counseling and/or medication for my attention issues, I talked to my doctor. "I told you several months ago to go see Dr. Levy," he said to me today. "You clearly have symptoms of attention deficit, and I strongly feel you need to be assessed."
Fine. So I called Dr. Levy. No answer. Closed for the day. Whatever. I pulled up the list on my insurance company's website, and set my fingers dialing. Elmwood Health Services. No answer. Grider Street Counseling Center. Answering service. Buffalo Psychiatric Associates. Answering machine. Lather, rinse, repeat about 16 times. The same greeting over and over again: "Thank you for calling XYZ Psychology Place. Our office is currently closed. Please call back during normal business hours, blah blah blah blah...."
Yeah, see...here's the thing. One of the reasons I never called Dr. Levy back in October was because I forgot. If I didn't get hold of someone TODAY, I was not going to address it again for a while. I HAD to get this done. (This is another symptom of ADHD - the inability to delay gratification in just about any capacity, then a total lack of follow-up).
So anyway, I finally - FINALLY - got someone to answer the phone, and I'm pretty sure Julie was sent from heaven. So unbelievably patient, so unfazed and unruffled by my outbursts and rantings, particularly when we got to the part about how I was going to have to pay $200 for my ADHD assessment, and insurance wasn't going to cover it. Jesus. Like I have an extra $200 lying around. Good thing I'm selling a bunch of my crap off this summer. Maybe that should be the theme of my yard sale:
"Come and buy my stuff so I can afford to pay attention!"
Hee!
She even stayed calm when I yelled, "For Crissakes, I could buy a LOT of Adderall on the street with $200!" I'm not entirely sure if this is true, of course, since I've never actually tried and am not interested in amphetamine treatments anyway (they have alternatives which I am going to look into). But damn, this woman was so fucking compassionate, I just wanted to cry. No one - NO ONE has ever treated me so nicely like that on the phone when I first call. All the ones I've ever dealt with have been rude, patronizing, disinterested bitches. They all hate their jobs and take it out on you, especially when you first call, which is the worst. I mean, you're SO fucking vulnerable, you're finally reaching out for help, and you get treated like a nuisance. I had one receptionist ask me one time "So...What's wrong with you?" I shot back, "If I knew the answer to that question, I wouldn't need therapy, would I?"
But Julie was a friggin' STAR. So I made the appointment, and, well, we'll see. I've quit no fewer than EIGHT therapists (maybe more) in the last 15 years, for various reasons but mostly because I've traditionally felt like a cog in the wheel of a big shrink-mill and always started feeling after the second or third session like I was spinning my wheels. I have been assured, however, that they are a small, independent, caring, and compassionate outfit, and that the doctor I'd be seeing was highly qualified and acclaimed for his patient relationships. Their office is in a little house in the Elmwood Village and not in a strip-mall clinic, a hospital, or a suburban brick box - a good sign.
So, we'll see.
I kind of feel better already. But I still think Blue Cross can suck it.
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