Tuesday, 10 February 2015


I was trying to do the math. 
I agree, it’s rude to ignore someone while they are speaking to you, but I didn’t care. Just how I didn't care about all his diplomas hanging on the wall or the stacks of client folders, that would suggest he’d been around the block...doctor wise.

I get it. Your a doctor.

But the math was staring me in the face. At the time, I was 25 and he couldn’t have been much older then I was. Five years tops. So if what they were telling me was true, and I was Bi Polar, how in the fuck would Dr. Pubescent have the leg up on ME, when it came to mental illness? He couldn’t possibly know more then I did, when I’d supposedly been living with it my whole life.

Cause he studied it?
I AM the study.

I saw him 5-10 minutes a month.
I told him about all the horrible side effects I was experiencing, side effects that outweighed anything I’d pick up at a drug store. But he was giving me the impression that, until I zombie-walked into his office, empty and moderately excited about life... he wasn’t going to stop with the pills. 

Within 5-10 minutes, you think you can concoct the answer to all my problems? Who the fuck are you? Ursula? No.

The more frustrated I grew, the crazier I looked. The crazier I looked, the higher the dosage and the quicker the switch. As he continued to make it rain prescriptions, I was realizing that nobody was listening to me. I fought them all so much, that I became white noise. “Defiant.” 

From the moment I met that doctor he treated me like I was insane and expected me to be. He reeked of:

 “I’ve met you a million times. See all my folders?”

Let me tell you something about me. 
I’m smart
I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, 
Girl genius. 
I’m with it. 
More then you know. 
You haven’t met me before doc. 
I assure you.

Taking myself off the meds was not smart.
Or safe, cause I withdrew like a mother fucker.
But I couldn’t put my trust in people that saw me as a folder or a study.

The straw that broke the camels back was when he continued to insist on electro shock therapy, and drugs that might ruin my shot at ever having kids. It’s moments like that I wish it was legal to smack a bitch. 

I lost it on the guy. 
I called him out on everything. Told him I had stopped taking the drugs he was supposed to be monitoring. The drugs that required blood work that he didn’t even fucking notice I wasn’t getting done. I told him if he wasn’t monitoring shit, how could he possibly know what I did and didn’t need and how could I trust him. 
He ignored me.

“If you are not going to take the medication, I don’t think there is anymore we can do for you here" he said as calmly as he possibly could.

I laughed.

“So you guys just finished building this brand new hospital expansion...for what? Because you needed more space to prescribe pills?”

We never saw each other again.

Once I took the holistic approach, the brain fog began to lift. Running was my therapy and food and vitamins became my drug. I let very few know why I was doing what I was doing, I wasn’t ready to talk about everything I suppose. Whether I was ready to talk or not, it didn’t matter. People were ready. It was amazing how many of them began to poke fun at my new found eating habits, and comment that my gluten free diet was a crock of shit and yoga was just another trend. 

I’d smile politely.

I was told I wasn’t enjoying life cause I was depriving myself of treats. That my drastic weight loss wasn’t healthy. I was “obsessed” and a “skinny bitch”, and a “traitor” (traitor to being fat? I don’t really get that one) I’ve been lectured on how, if I’d loved myself to begin with, I’d never feel the need to change. How my use of coconut EVERYTHING is pretentious. 

I’ve heard it all. 
And I’d always just smile politely. 
I wanted to keep my privacy.
Up until now.

Why do people care so much about the other side of the fence?

When I was a hot mess, I heard crickets.
And now that I’m...well...hot, everyones got something to say.

If I want to run around the block 86 times, meditate on my lawn, cut out wheat  and eat my fucking weight in coconuts.... WHAT’S IT TO THEM!?

It’s not like I’m showing up on everyones doorstep preaching the good word of the coconut, pushing local farming. I speak highly of nutrition, not because I’ve got my new found head up my ass, but because it saved me from being a folder on someones desk.  

People will always take a peek into your life and pass judgement. But don’t worry, they won’t peek too long, they’ll keep moving. Those are the people that are looking for something they're never going to find, because they keep looking into other peoples lives to find it. 

Just smile politely.
Works like a charm. 

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