Erf.

So, after the huge energy, anxiety rush yesterday, couldn't get to sleep until 3am. Woke this morning feeling like I had the worst hangover. Sleep schedule this weekend totally screwed.

Twitchy

Started getting twitchy this morning around 11am. The anxiety sits like a knot in my stomach. I've been extremely productive: cake, calls, insurance, resignation, appointments, legal aid. I've been on the phone nearly all day, got up all the trash and even washed out the trash can. Did all the dishes. Baked the cake. Still feel like I could keep going. Something inside me feels like it's galloping, and as soon as Jb gets home, I'm snappy. Things aren't moving fast enough. Chop chop. Send out your IRS payment. Here, let me do that for you. Not getting done quick enough. Gotta move, gotta get things done. Want a smoke, can't wait. Alt-tabbing. Looking at five different sites at once and playing WoW. Tossing off e-mail to mom. Thank you for the birthday gift. Have fun in AZ! Scanning forums, listening to Pandora, twitchy, twitchy. Need to get things done. Need to do things. Everything in order. Right now. No depression in sight. Quite fine. More than fine. Better than anything recently. Slight elation. Can't listen to the music I've been listening to. Too slow. Too about depression and down. Not down. Up. Up up up. Need up music. Something fast and smary. Amy Rigby maybe. The Flogging Mollys. Let's go. Let's go. Vamonos! I got the pistol, so I get the pesos! That seems fair.

On That Note

I feel pretty good today, though I forgot to take my meds last night, and I haven't taken them yet this morning. There's a false sense of not needing them in that, I know. Because I feel fine. But that's probably because they're still in my bloodstream. The half-life of most drugs isn't short enough for one missed dose, or even two, to end in the drug completely leaving your system. But I will take my meds, I will try to make a cake I've been determined to make for weeks, and I'm going to try to mop, and maybe vacuum, while I have the energy and motivation.

N.B. This is when I wonder why I need to go in to see the psychiatrist or the therapist, now that I have one. I'm afraid I'll have nothing to tell them. That it'll be a waste of time. That I'll be fine, and no one will believe me about how I did feel, have felt. It causes me genuine anxiety.

Depression: How Do You Know?

Jb's comment from yesterday made me stop and think: how do you know someone's depressed? And it struck me that it's a bit like applying for college. There's a standardized test -- ACT/SAT -- in which you are compared to other students by a set standard, and how well you do on the test is determined by how aptly you're able to mold yourself to this set standard. But as a potential applicant, what does that really tell a college about you? You fit a standard, the way a depressed person may fit the DSM-IV-TR, but it's a very structured, impersonal assessment. Of course, then there's the personal statement. This is where you tell the school a little more about you, but mostly, you tell them what you think they want to hear so that you're accepted. It's not unlike the way those who are depressed try to move through their days, through their doctors' appointments, through therapy, through the workplace. For the doctor's, the psychiatrists, the psychologists, you try to tell them what they want to hear in order to get help. Because how can you voice what and who you truly are in a 30-50m doctors' visit. Around those you love, around strangers, around co-workers, you go one further: you put on a mask, as much as you can. For those few hours, you try harder -- to be what people expect you to be, to be fine. Because, like that college personal statement, only some statements are acceptable, and you're still hoping to live up to a standard that equates to acceptance -- into college, by your co-workers, by your loved ones. And still, no one ever knows how you feel alone in the dark, or during the day shut in by four walls, or curled up in bed for hours at a time, or when you smile that fake smile to pretend you're still there. You listen, you go through the motions, you try to do one or two things to make it seem like you're okay. But there's only so much anyone, other than you, can ever really know about how you feel.

Of course, sometimes, there's no metaphor for depression. That's when nothing at all matters.

Frustration Personified

I've been med compliant for at least two weeks now. So no weird ups and downs in meds, and the last few days I've been depressed as hell. Spending too much time in bed, not caring about anything, not even enough to make food. Just sort of let the hunger gnaw at my stomach because I can't be buggered to feed it. I have all these good intentions: straighten up in the front room, maybe sweep, do dishes, keep bathroom picked up, mop in the bathroom and kitchen. Doubt any of it will get down. Jb has the cigarettes at work, and I can taste them in my mouth, it's how I know I'm missing them, and I hate that, hate the way the taste comes in to remind me. I'm in such a mood today that I really think it's best for everywhere if I just keep to myself.

Jackpot!

I have a therapist appointment. It's with a Jewish Social Services agency, which feels vaguely weird for a non-practicing Catholic, but they take Medicaid, and she can see me as soon as next week. It's going to be a bit of a haul, nearly 2 1/2 hours by train and bus, but I need this.

Medicaid

After a three month wait, my medical assistance application was approved, and I've been accepted into Maryland's Medicaid program. It sounds like an amazing program. Free doctors visits, lab work, x-rays, gynecological exams, dental cleanings and fillings, surgery, inpatient and outpatient hospital stays, transportation, emergency room care, cheap prescriptions, mental health providers, including psychiatrists and therapists. Who could complain about that?

Except, there seem to be a few bumps in the road. First, I try to get a prescription filled, and they tell me Medicaid is my secondary insurance. I don't have a primary insurance, so this is, understandably, confusing for me and the pharmacist. Then I'm told, oops, they can't fill it because they're a DC store, not a Maryland store. (They're literally two blocks over the DC border line. But that's what you get in an area where three states converge in some weird Bermuda Triangle of politics.) So, on to getting the prescription transferred to a Maryland pharmacy. Roadblock #2: Medicaid does not allow prescriptions to be transferred. So back to calling my doctor to get another copy of the prescription sent to the new Maryland pharmacy.

Then there's the issue of my PCP. When I chose my Managed Care Organization -- UnitedHealthCare -- I called my PCP to make sure she was enrolled in it. Her office said she was. I get my insurance card with the name of a completely different PCP on it. I call Medicaid and they say my requested PCP's enrollment has expired. But that most offices with more than once doctor bill a patient's visits under the name of a doctor that is enrolled, and that as long as they do that, I can see any doctor in that office. So I call about this. They transfer me to the business office, which immediately disconnects me.

So. Medicaid should be a lifesaver. If I can every get the damn thing sorted out.