First of all, I want to thank you for clicking the link and checking on a young thug. I know I have been dormant on my site for almost a whole year. That’s 365 days, 52 weeks, etc. The reason for the hiatus is coming soon. Not in this post though. Anyways, just know I love every single person that has visited my blog and/or bought my book. I have not forgotten about ya’ll. I pinky swear.
Now, that I have that out of the way, let’s talk about this broken ass mental health system. This is a personal account. I promise I have abbreviated some shit because I was not live recording people. I’m not a damn reporter and I damn sure was not expecting this shit.
So look.
My therapist of like almost a decade has diagnosed me with Bipolar (2) disorder. The court appointed psychiatrist diagnosed me with bipolar (2) disorder. This current nurse practitioner has diagnosed me with bipolar (2) disorder. Just to make sure we are all on the same page, I have 3 professionals diagnosing me with the same illness. Okay, so yeah, no one will ever believe me because everyone else is fake ass bipolar. Or falsely blaming stupid ass behavior on bipolar disorder.
So what? Now, I can give this shit a name. Cool.
Moving forward I tried to do it the organic way. I was off my meds for months. Shit! The court appointed psychiatrist said I was on the wrong shit anyway.
I am a bad ass black goddess out this bitch! I can fight this shit without this fuck ass “pill high”. And I did for awhile. It was hard. No lie. But I was that bitch. I used lavender to help with anxiety and alcohol to put me to sleep . I wasn’t eating but that’s okay. I was getting off that so called happy weight I gained with Carl. I wasn’t even going to include his name but that felt damn good to write it.
Fast forward.
This illness took control. The good part is I could feel it coming. I knew my depressive episode was going to be bad but I refused to let it get as bad as the last time. I finally approached those days when it was becoming harder and harder to leave my house. The panic and anxiety attacks were becoming harder to fix with a damn breathing exercise. SO my coworker refers me to a nurse practitioner. (Side note: my damn psychiatrist retired on a young thug. Also, it is hard as fuck to meet a new nigga and tell him all of your fucked up issues all over again. Possibly because my shit is dark. Like I am getting into a new relationship and ripping the Band-Aid off just for you to write me a damn Rx.) So I meet this bitch because the anxiety is taking control. Of course, her Caucasian ass doesn’t feel comfortable prescribing me Ativan for my anxiety. I am black and I’m going to leave it at that. But she finally gave in and gave me a couple. No worries! I knew her ass would give pushback.
The part that KILLED ME…The part that is actually the purpose and title of this post is…
She diagnosed me with bipolar (2) disorder. For some reason, it’s a toss up between whether its I or II. But this bitch had the audacity to ask me how long I was going to be depressed. She mentioned some people make a plan. FIRST THE FUCK OF ALL, I do not walk the fuck around wanting to be depressed. I don’t want to have to take pills so I can do any type of function outside of my house, including work. This is my issue with her question. (Side note: I am a psych major dropout) Bipolar disorder whether I or II is a cycle of depressive episodes and manic episodes. Both cycles are depression. Manic episodes are still depressive but there is more energy to do reckless activities. It causes unusual shifts in mood, energy and activity levels, etc. If you have been following me there is no set timeframe between each episode. There is also no cure for this disorder. It can only be treated. I know that and I dropped out of college.
this Bitch.
This bitch had the audacity to ask me how long I planned on being depressed because “most people have a plan.” Well damn! Who the fuck decides they want to be depressed? Who the fuck wants this life? If we even look up the true definition of bipolar disorder, you are always depressed. You just have a period of time when you feel better but lowkey you are still depressed. It is a constant cycle of good depression days and bad depression days.
You being a medical professional that prescribes meds should fuckin know this information. I looked at her like she was stupid while lowkey she made me feel like shit. Why had I not made a plan and scheduled my depressive days? Well, my manic days. I should invest in a damn calendar and mark the days I WANT to be manic or the days I want to be depressive.
LONG STORY SHORY….FUCK THAT BITCH!
You will not make me ashamed of an illness I never asked for. I barely have control of my mind and you think I can tell that bitch “Oh, look, let’s be manic today cause I am tired of being depressive” OR “Okay! It’s been long enough! It’s manic’s turn to fuck up my life”. I’m not even going to add an additional 1000+ words because I had to beg her to give me anxiety meds even though I needed them to go to work. Not once did she offer alternatives to the meds. She just doesn’t want this black woman to use them every other day.
I AM GETTING A NEW PSYCHIATRIST. period.
P.S. I will be posting an excerpt from my next book on Friday the 13th 😉
Just Kaz LLC 