
Angst Filled Fuck Up
Visionary
- Sep 9, 2018
- 2,985
Is there some unwritten rule that in order to work in the mental health field, you have to be a loathsome bitch with the bedside manner of a school headmistress goaded beyond endurance? I recently had the misfortune of running out of medication with no re-fills left, prompting me to have to run around town jumping countless mental health related hoops just to get what I need.
Every step of the way I was scolded and told that I should've done such and such before running out of meds. This, that, or the other - anything was better than how I was going about this. How I'm so wrong and that I could have planned this all out without inconveniencing such and such (whose job it is to help people). I gently remind them that I'm a relatively fresh immigrant to the United States, and that part of my health condition involves massive brain fog. I have great difficulty remembering things like where I put my shoes, or recalling the last time I brushed my teeth. That I can't keep things straight in my mind no matter how hard I try, and that I am not familiar with how things work over here. But none of it matters, it all falls on the deaf and ignorant ears of those who only care about being right.
I'm so utterly tired of being treated like toxic waste by snarky old hags in New Balance sneakers - who are paid by my and other patients' money. It's only when my urine test comes back clean and they learn I have no criminal record that they start talking to me like I'm something even resembling human. And that's the problem - if you show up at a mental health center, it is automatically assumed that you're some junkie or homeless schizophrenic, and a risk to yourself or others. I'm not. But even if I am, I still deserve to be talked to like a human being, instead of being treated to rudeness, snide remarks and endless smugness all for a $9 bottle of antidepressants. I wouldn't even bother if the withdrawal symptoms weren't so awful.
In any case, it's quite the humbling experience, being talked down to and told off by surly, menopausal harpies when you're just trying to sort out what you need. I could sense very strongly that some of them were just itching for an all-out argument despite me remaining calm and reasonable all throughout. There seems to be an epidemic of these people. And this constitutes mental health treatment. It's so far beyond a joke I don't even know what to say except that bus just keeps looking better. I would rather die than sit through another garbage appointment feeling like an errant schoolboy at 34 years old.
Every step of the way I was scolded and told that I should've done such and such before running out of meds. This, that, or the other - anything was better than how I was going about this. How I'm so wrong and that I could have planned this all out without inconveniencing such and such (whose job it is to help people). I gently remind them that I'm a relatively fresh immigrant to the United States, and that part of my health condition involves massive brain fog. I have great difficulty remembering things like where I put my shoes, or recalling the last time I brushed my teeth. That I can't keep things straight in my mind no matter how hard I try, and that I am not familiar with how things work over here. But none of it matters, it all falls on the deaf and ignorant ears of those who only care about being right.
I'm so utterly tired of being treated like toxic waste by snarky old hags in New Balance sneakers - who are paid by my and other patients' money. It's only when my urine test comes back clean and they learn I have no criminal record that they start talking to me like I'm something even resembling human. And that's the problem - if you show up at a mental health center, it is automatically assumed that you're some junkie or homeless schizophrenic, and a risk to yourself or others. I'm not. But even if I am, I still deserve to be talked to like a human being, instead of being treated to rudeness, snide remarks and endless smugness all for a $9 bottle of antidepressants. I wouldn't even bother if the withdrawal symptoms weren't so awful.
In any case, it's quite the humbling experience, being talked down to and told off by surly, menopausal harpies when you're just trying to sort out what you need. I could sense very strongly that some of them were just itching for an all-out argument despite me remaining calm and reasonable all throughout. There seems to be an epidemic of these people. And this constitutes mental health treatment. It's so far beyond a joke I don't even know what to say except that bus just keeps looking better. I would rather die than sit through another garbage appointment feeling like an errant schoolboy at 34 years old.