I hate telling them.

Went to a psychiatrist today, been putting it off for months. I refuse antidepressants, I'm done with those as long as I have a say in it. But I had to go as an alternate to another neurologist, since my stroke doctor at the Neurosciences Institute is one technically, he won't monitor my meds so anyway, long story short I went to see the psychiatrist for this stupid bullshit...I was told each appointment was like 10 minutes only, and I had to sit in the damn office with him for over 1/2 hour going over history, over and over and over, and I hate that more than anything. Part of me just wanted to get up, walk out on it, but I need these meds. Like I said, been putting it off for months.

And then, after all that, he needs a letter from the stroke doc saying it's okay to be on these meds even though I'm on the Coumadin. Fucker. The stroke doc was the one who referred me. Isn't that enough? Not to mention that after all that, too, like the entire Neurosciences Institute are in Chicago, til 10 June. So I can't even get the letter until after that...if he agrees to write it.

Pissed. Scared. Hating. Thoughts on playback loop. Those who know me, know the history (histories?) and it gets complicated when outsiders are involved. This is going to fuck with me for awhile. Whose goddamn idea was it for me to go there anyway?