Thing One: If you are forced into a relationship with CVS Caremark, guard your medications, especially long-term ones, VERY carefully. Do not let them fuck with you. You are not a sick person, you are a dollar sign, and they will do anything they can to make that dollar sign bigger for themselves. Things like "lose" 90 day scripts and try to force you to pay for 30 day refills that they will not cover. There is a way to get what you need and not go broke, but you must advocate for yourself, no matter what your condition, diabetes, high blood pressure, mental health, whatever. This is not a nice company that cares about you.
Thing Two: I know, for the first time in 14 years, what it feels like to have someone not Doc or Kelli, advocate for me. You may recall, I go through hoops with CVS Caremark every 30 days or so to get whatever med I'm out of. This time it was Cymbalta. And I ran out. And when I went in to see the doctor, I was so messed up that I asked him for a script for Seroquel. I got home and Doc went to the pharmacy and discovered my error. To his credit, he didn't kill me. I started the dreaded phone campaign with my doctor's office to rectify things.
After getting nothing but the run around all day from the CVS pharmacy I go to, and CVS Caremark, my doctor sat down with his assistant to comb over my prescription history and figure out what went wrong. Really long story short, the company was fucking with me to get me to pay cash for a script fill, when there was a 90 day, covered script on file. So one of them, r maybe both, called the pharmacy early this morning and "went off" on the managing pharmacist. As Robin talked to me about the details, I heard the doctor in the background telling her to tell me everything would be okay. Two hours later I had a small brown paper bag full of Cymbalta.
It has taken three hours and five attempts to write the above. My laptop keeps overheating. Go ahead, tell me it's dying, too. That's really all I need to push me over the edge right now.
This month marked the third anniversary of my last trip to the psychiatric hospital. And I am so close to going there now. I'm thinking catatonia might be a life path worth pursuing.
I have the meds in my body now. I have some peace of mind knowing that.
Doc moved me to this house so I could get some peace. The kind I couldn't get in an apartment complex, or even an apartment. But when we lived in the apartment, we had money. I was batshit crazy and miserable. But we had money. Now I have peace. But we're broke all the time. We need a room mate. I don't know how we're going to find someone who can acquiesce to my needs. And they would have to. Or there would be no point living in a house. Hardly a fair thing to ask a stranger.
Hey, I thought we were friends, here. Why did nobody tell me what a great album "American Life" by Madonna, is? I've had it on replay since early yesterday evening.
I'm going to send this before every thing snaps back off again.
Oh, I'm contemplating commting Twittercide. That's where you just don't anymore. I unfollowed a bunch of people, we'll see if that makes the experience less dramatic. I just want to step back from the people, and read the news feeds. I'm kind of feeling over it all.