WARNING: MASS AMOUNT OF BITCHING AND MOANING ABOUT TO TRANSPIRE! READ AT YOUR OWN WET NAPPIE PERIL!

So, if you were my doctor and I rang your voice mail at six in the morning saying (and, i hate to admit it, but I do quote):

"Hello Doctor. This is ME. (OK, you got me. the REAL quote begisn now: I am afraid I'm experiencing a bad reaction to one of the pharmaceuticals you have me on as I"VE BEEN SELF MUTILIATING FOR TWO MONTHS AND IT"S FINALLY COME TO A HEAD!"

Rather like picking a pimple, wouldn't you say? SPLOOSH! THERE IT IS!

So, if I rang you at six in the morning and told you I'd been self-mutiliating, self MUTILATING, self MU.TI.LA.TING, and knowing you would get your messages by eight a.m. at the latest,

how long would it take you to call me back?

hmmmm????

how long?

there's plenty of time to let me know your answer as I'M STILL WAITING for my doc to return my call (it's now midnight y media my time, a full twenty+ hours after I left my message).

of course, this is the same chick who failed to answer any of my messages for three weeks, knowing I'd been drowning in my own bronchitis-induced mucous for four frelling months.

that time, as it turned out, I not only had bronchitis, but the bronchitis was severe enough to bring out asthma and allergies (which were the likely culprit in the first place, but who knew?).

so, self MUTILATION on the voice mail, I thought, would be an ample way of saying I. NEEEEEEEED. YOU. TO FREA.K.ING. CALL.ME.BACK. TODAY. THANKS.

sigh.

but it's true.

she has yet to return my call. And I have been self-mutilating.

I realize this is a tremendous confession, considering all but two people in my immediate world read this blog, but there you have it.

WHY???? have I been self-mutilating?

ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA.

none.

nunya.

nunka.

nyet.

But it's been incredibly painful.

I crippled myself for two days, by plucking my toenails out. That requires taking your socks off, you know. I bled so much, I marvelled at the blood oozing in my tub as I showered, cringing (much as you are now, only in physical pain) as it slithered along the slanted porcelain and down the drain. When two of my writers group came by early and invited me to dine with them, I just couldn't, and I could not tell them why.

I could not put shoes on those two days and, honestly, i am only now getting to the point that they are remotely comfortable.

I passed up dinner and movie invitations because of it.

AND TWO DAYS LATER YOU KNOW WHAT I did????

I ripped my finger nails off - AGAIN.

I'd already done that a couple of weeks before, and had nibbled on them ever since, but then I caught myself gnawing on my fingers again and thinking to myself "SELF, THIS IS REALLY GONNA HURT IN THE MORNING" and I couldn't stop gnawing.

See that post below? Where mr. zippy is cracking a joke about me chewing his nails off for him? More literal than you imagined, eh?

BUT THIS IS NOT LIKE ME. NOT. LIKE. ME. IN. THE. LEAST.

So i asked myself, as I either rocked in/out of a fetal position, as I tried very very VERY hard not to chew or pluck anything, "SELF! SELF!!! WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING????"

My life is good.

I know I say that, and you think having read this confession that HOW HOW HOW can that BE??? OR you may be thinking HOW HOW HOW can you kick mr. zippy's ass??? but it is true.

my life is so good that, indeed, I really did think I was losing my mind.

and I was rather fearful as, I said to mr. zippy, "it's disconcerting, considering my family history.'

THIS was sooooo UNlike me that I took to investigating all the various prescription drugs I am on and YOU KNOW WHAT I DISCOVERED???

The VA - God bless the U.S.Aaaaaaaaaa! - had INCREASED my prescription for Zoloft BY HALF w/out telling me.

WITH. OUT. TELL.ING. ME.

YOU KNOW WHY THEY WOULD HAVE DONE SUCH A THING?

Because they got it cheaper in the upper mg pill rather than the lower.

And VA doctors are notoriously underpaid so WHY THE HELL SHOULD THEY CARE IF YOUR SCRIPT IS CHANGED BY FUCKING HALF HALF HALF!!!!!!!

(see all those giant letters up there? not a keyboard snafu)>

I called the National Institutes of Health:

them: you should really talk to your physician about this.

us: I'm not asking for advice. I'm asking for information.

them: you should really talk to your physician about this.

us: FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU!!!!!!


so, I called a 1-800 medical advice number (which i would GLADLY GLADLY give out here but they asked me not to, as they are a private practice working mr. zippy's employer and not a public service facility NO. SHIT!!!).

when that nurse confirmed my suspicions about the drug (that it was really fucking with my mind!!!!), I WEPT. Not quite like a baby, but I had not realized just how R-E-L-I-E-V-E-D I would be upon hearing that it REALLY REALLY COULD BE the result of a pharmacuetical chemical imbalance rather than that I was, in fact, the latest casualty of the idiot gene pool wars. I never verbalized it, but I considered buying a gun and confirming my will just in case.

I want to weep again, just thinking about it.

So, this evening I called my old, beloved doctor in Philadelphia, and she confirmed AGAIN my suspicions. (WARNING: BEGINNING OF PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT!!!):

doc: I am NOT an advocate of those kinds of drugs.

me: Why didn't you say something when I first told you I was on it?

doc: You said you were feeling better.

me: Not any more!

doc: They can permanently alter your chemistry. they are NOT good drugs.

me: what can I do?

doc: you MUST cut back to your original dose IMMEDIATELY. RIGHT. NOW. BUT it will still be a few weeks before you recognize a difference.

me: o.k.

doc: in the meantime, never rely on primary care docs to monitor your psychiatric health. it's such a crap shoot, they're all guessing anyway. you're best off just biting the bullet and seeing a shrink.

me: o.k.

doc: and whenever you start to feel anxious, walk your dogs instead.

me: walk my dogs?

doc: exercise. increase the natural saratonin in your brain. it may turn out you really do require a pill to help keep you mentally balanced, but it might not. exercise often works wonders for the psychiatric mind. and one other thing.

me: what?

doc: you can never do cocaine.

me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

doc: I'm serious.

me: hahahahahahahahahhahaha!

doc: you can never do cocaine because it has the same effect that Zoloft and the other drugs in its same class has on the mind; it literally alters your chemistry and CLEARLY you can't handle it.

me; ok. thanks.

doc: when are you coming to see me?

me: not soon enough, apparently.



And I'm firing my VA physician. It's utterly reprehensible that veterans are treated with such disreguard. NOT ME. I am truly one of the fortunate ones as I have means of paying for medical help outside the VA facility. But what about those poor schmucks who can't?? What about the folks like my in-laws who retired expecting the VA to take care of them in their elderly years? What about the shattered folks returning from Iraq, just in the time for even more cuts in Veterans' Healthcare spending?

It makes my heart heavy just to think about.

In the meantime, it has taken me an hour to type this, when typically I type at 170 wpm. With good fortune, I will be able to use my fingers without cringing in the morning.