Chemical slave

And here I am feeling better already. Not like, “ready to go out and throw a birthday party” better, but not “counting the minutes till I can go back to bed” bad, either. I’m somewhere in the lower middle. And for that I am thankful.

I have appointments with three therapists next week, because if this has taught me one thing, it’s that I really ought to have a therapist, and I see my psychopharm, who will generously furnish me with a fresh bottle of Abilify, on Wednesday. If my Effexor is costing $80 to fill, I can only imagine how they’ll screw me on this non-generic. Blue Cross of California, you can go suck a nut.



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