Disclaimer: you are about to read the ventings, histrionics, rudeness and foul language of MIS. Sensitive eyes need not apply to this information. Please scroll down for today’s gratitude. Thank you, and have a nice day.

So today I got up early (okay, 10:00) and went to see a new psychiatrist, at least I thought I was seeing a new psychiatrist. We didn’t get off to a good start. The front office gave me a freakin’ novel to fill out under the guise of paperwork. Page after page I completed. It took me an hour to fill in just a fraction of my history.(Me filling out the damn mountain of paperwork.) So a nurse comes and brings me back and begins to interview me. She must have seen the bewilderment on my face because she tells me once she had all my information down (isn’t that what the novel was for?) she would “relay” it to the doctor and then make the recommendations regarding medication. Again, not a good start. Thirty minutes into my interview she says they don’t prescribe to and treat people like me. WTF? What kind of people would that be, I wonder to myself. People with pink streaks in their hair? People who swipe Splendas at Dunkin Donuts? People who think your hair is fucked up and from the fifties? Apparently they, like the other two psychiatrists and nurse practitioners, don’t see people who have dissociative disorders, eating disorders, or people who have recently escaped from the loony bin. Well, in the words of the late Chris Farley, whoopty-freakin-do! Excuse the hell out of me. I didn’t realize I was so f’ed up and that I was such a safety risk that 3 out of 3 doctors couldn’t treat me. What the hell do I do now? I have been rejected by 3 doctors and 2 nurse-practitioners. *Insert sarcasm* Thanks, guys! I’m sure your patients are really lucky to have you. In addition, after I was told they didn’t treat people like me, the bitch kept asking me questions about my history. She asked about abuse, parts, dissociative symptoms, etc. I asked her why she needed to know if they weren’t going to prescribe medication. That info is on a need-to-know basis. Dumb bitch. If you can’t prescribe me medication, what the hell am I still doing in your fucking office?So my attempt at finding a new psychiatrist was a flaming, fat, fucking fail. (My professor would love the alliteration. I digress.) In other news, I saw Dietician last night (put me in a bad mood so I didn’t blog) and went to see Secondary Therapist today. I arrived at Secondary Therapist’s office early, so I drove around the neighborhood to kill time and found, to my delight, a Dunkin Donuts (no I didn’t swipe Splendas this time. The clerk was watching me.) So I crossed three lanes of traffic, cut a mustang off, and was the recipient of some very nasty hand gestures, but I didn’t care. I got my iced coffee fix. (Nothing makes therapy more palatable than sipping an iced coffee while therapist tells you you’re a lost cause.)(Finished with therapy! But out of iced coffee. Boo.) Lastly, we miss Primary Therapist. He’s on vacay this week and we didn’t see him last week either. Not sure WHY we miss him, but we do. No wonder psychiatrists won’t treat us. We really must be sick in the head. Today’s gratitude: We set a new PR in our running today!Got the letter today we made President’s list for Spring semester! Husband is continuing to improve with his ECT treatments. He even suggested seeing a movie tomorrow!