Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Coming Clean...

The past two months or so, I've been having some "inexplicable" health problems. The reality is, I know what's causing at least some of them.

I've been purging. A lot. At least two or three times a week, sometimes every day for a few days when I really feel like shit.

I keep trying to stop and falling right back into it.

The last week or so, I've been throwing up involuntarily after meals. Not every meal, but most of the stuff I've tried to eat in a day, my stomach just doesn't seem to want. I've been living off a lot of liquids, because they're easier to keep down. And my stomach HURTS. Not nausea, just cramping pain.

On top of this, I've been off my meds for a prescription ran out. So the last...two weeks? Ish? I've been extra special.

Yesterday, I got scared and went to a doctor.

As some of you know, I don't have a family doctor right now. My old doctor, who I'd been going to for years, turned out to be a bit of a...well, a useless, unethical fuckstain, for lack of a better term. I tried to talk to him about my disordered eating, the psychological problems I've been having and what I feel is contributing to them, and he just wrote me a prescription for Effexor without even wanting to talk about anything else. When I insisted on going a little deeper, explaining to him how long some of this (specifically the self-harm: about a year ago I progressed from pulling out hair and slapping/pinching myself to actually cutting, and that scared me) had been going on, and how it related to stuff I'd gone through as a kid, guess what he did?

He phoned my mother.

That's right, when your patient comes to you and says "my mother beat me and let her boyfriend rape me," the NEW treatment is to just call the mother. Let her, her ex-husband, and ALL the siblings on that side repeatedly phone and threaten me. (I've changed my landline, but have had the same cell number for years now, and they all got it from my sister.) Let a couple of them actually show up at my house to call me names and intimidate me in person. Let her get a lawyer and try to take custody of my child. Never mind that it'll never happen: Social Services has a file on her a foot thick, I'm sure. The point is, I've been through a metric fuckton in the last year, and now I'm dealing with my chronic physical and mental illnesses without a family doctor.

Anyway, what I did was go to the doctor that we saw last week for Ronin's stuff. He's awesome. He's referred me to a psychiatrist, written me a new prescription for the crazy pills, and also prescribed something called metoclopramide. (Yeah, it's a Wiki link. Deal with it.) It's TERRIBLE for long-term use, but it'll get me re-fed for now.

So, this is me saying....I'm not okay. At all. I've tried to be all "Ooooh, lookit me being so tough," but I'm not. I don't know what to do right now, except just throw this out there and ask for prayers/happy thoughts/love/whatever.

And for those of you sitting there going "I knew she was still fuckin' crazy," good for you. You win. Some things really don't change.

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