So today I spent two hours at the Social Security offices followed by four hours at Washoe County Mental Health.
Decided to try and accomplish two odious tasks in one day.
This is to make up for a serious crash and burn that occurred during the prior 48 hours.
Naturally neither venue provided a satisfactory answer to any of my questions. I do feel the need to bathe in Lysol however. Am I the only person on SSD who fucking bathes and wears neat clothing?!
Social Security: Yes Virginia I’m due the back benefits. No, no one knows when this will be fiscally determined or paid. My caseworker is not in on Fridays.
Doogie Howser (the eerily pre-pubescent looking employee with whom I dealt) said it has something to do with my applying for SSI almost two years ago. Which I did after Social Security insisted I do so. It was the same day and appointment as the application for SSD. I was never granted SSI benefits nor did I ever hear anything back about it. I asked Doogie what the hell SSI actually was. I still don’t know.
Doogie suggested to just keep ‘trying’ to contact my caseworker.
Exact quote: “it’s her job”.
Well hell at least there IS a mysterious caseworker’s name now.
Bottom Line: Two hours to obtain the following information; Mrs. Reyna is my close personal caseworker and by the way she doesn’t work on Fridays.
Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.
Washoe County Mental Health: Stopped by to pick up a scrip and decided it was imperative to see somebody to help deal with
1. The overwhelming grief and guilt over my dad’s death last week
2. The horrendous gag reflex brought on when I was taken off the anti-depressants and started instead on the lithium last month. After all if I ever begin dating again this would present quite a problem.
I see a nurse and my blood pressure is quite high. No shit. Dad’s having a slight problem calling in my prescription for that medication.
Been off of it for two or three days.
I see a doc: he is grumpy and harried. He reviews my meds and takes me completely off the lithium. He is not my regular doc because guess what?
My doctor doesn’t work on Fridays.
Hmmm this is starting to sound suspiciously familiar.
New doc ups the xanax (hell, already did that on my own. like ‘duh’ dude) and prescribes another anti-depressant.
No counseling, no referral to any resources. Another in the line of pointless medications.
I’m told by a nurse and a doctor to wait at least 90 days, maybe six months, before seeking grief counseling.
What. The. Fuck? This sounds like bullshit to me but hell I’m the neophyte here not the ordained expert.
Bottom Line: Four hours to obtain the following information; today’s doc hates his job, writes me a scrip for another pointless med and prays that I don’t stroke out on the carpet after reviewing the nurses notes.
Oh and by the way Dr. Yasur (that’s my baby) doesn’t work on Fridays.
Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.
On the bright side I did avoid Lizzie Borden’s entreaties to play poker for six hours and picked up some yummy bread and sausages at Trader Joes.
This is seriously wrong. I’m reduced to living life vicariously through Lizzie Borden.
My cat.
Blasphemous Rumors 