Picking up where I left off last time, there's still chaos in my world. But, it seems like it's at least coalescing into the familiar and typical kind that surrounds me like a dyson sphere. If we were in a movie, the screen would dissolve into a flashback where you'd see me moping around in a muu-muu, knowing something was wrong in my head, but not having whatever it took to do anything about it. Everything in front of me looked like Everest, and my sherpa is 90, asthmatic, and I've got to carry his gear. This is why. I'm employed. Heck, I'm doing quite well for myself. I've got insurance, so I'm not going to lose all my pennies should I get hit by a bus. I'm doing ok. Until I have to do more than live paycheck to paycheck. Which, I've had some emergencies, hastily planned big expenses, and some genuinely splurgey moments in the last 2 years. My savings are not fat. My medical flexpay account is depleted, and has been since July. And here I am headed up the incline of euthanasia mountain in my mental theme park of horrors. I’m not quite working poor, but I’m certainly working on eggshells.
When my episodes of my flavor of crazy gets to be a little more than I can handle with the medication I'm on at the time, all it usually takes is a couple of visits to the doctor and maybe a tweak to the dosage. Problem is, each time I walk into the office to talk to a doc it costs me roughly $150. I could swing that every couple of months, but not every few weeks. Not to mention I don't know what any new medications will cost. I'm lucky that Zoloft works for me because it has a generic I can get for $7 a month. So, I'm crazy on budget. Woo.