Txlentlesswriter

I’m not entirely sure why I feel like sharing this story or why now, but here it is. A story of my struggle to get mental health care.   I was diagnosed at 9 with severe anxiety, later in my life I was diagnosed with bi-polar depression as well.  I’ve been in and out of therapy and on various different medications, for the past 2 years i’d been taking clonazepam and it seemed to be working really well for me.  Then earlier this year, the place that I had been getting my medication prescribed closed my case without warning. I was not told that my case was closed, I was not told I couldn’t get any more medication. So I kept calling them and my pharmacy for refills. The Pharmacy was saying the doctors wouldn’t send the script and I couldn’t reach the medication refill services at all.  I drove to the office that prescribed my medication, they told me that my case had been closed out and they would need to reopen it. The closest time they could see me though wasn’t for another month and a half. So of course, I accept this, because what other choice do I have? Meanwhile, my anxiety is flaring up something awful. I’m feeling constantly paranoid, my throat feels like it’s closing off, I can barely eat or sleep. I want to scream. I need some kind of medication, but nobody seems able to prescribe me anything.  The mental health clinic tells me to call my primary care doctor for medication. My primary care doctor says she can’t legally prescribe me the meds I need, go to the Urgent Care. So I drive to the urgent care [having to stop, have a mental break down and almost throw up along the way.] with my mom. We arrive there and see a nurse and what do we hear? “We can’t legally prescribe you anything, we can give you something to feel better now. Nothing past that though. Go to the mental health clinic.”  At this point, I want to sob. I know what the mental health clinic is going to say. It’s going to be the same damn song and dance that landed me here in the first place.  My mom, bless her, brings up the fact that two days before we arrived at the urgent care on top of my anxiety, my depression had flared up as a result of all of what was going on and i’d told her I wanted to drive my car into the river. This changed everything, rather then give me a bandaid and throw me out the door, they sent me to the Emergency Room and gave me some real help.  So when people say that others only give a damn about your mental health when you are going to die. That’s what they mean. It took my mother mentioning that i’d been suicidal [despite the fact I wasn’t still when we were at the urgent care] to get me any kind of real help.