Expectations of Normality

Sometimes...actually a lot of the time...I wonder how people around me, co-workers, aquaintences, etc., make it through a full day without collapsing in exhaustion after walking through the door after work. And by collapsing in exhaustion, read: hitting the bed at 7pm.

I have to remind myself that, in all likelyhood, they are not throwing back large amounts of psychopharmaceuticals along with large amounts of what boils down to legalized speed and an extra large dose of synthetic thyroid hormone. I really do forget that I'm taking this stuff in order to keep my brain functioning normally and as a result I beat myself up over the side effects.

The other disturbing realization...one that I've mentioned before...is how dependent my mental equilibrium is upon this pharmaceutical cocktail. This luteal week was worse than the ones before and I have to believe it had something to do with the four day interruption of synthroid and the brief switchover to multiples of 75mg Effexor tablets while I was fighting with the insurance company to approve the doseage I need. It makes me more than uneasy to know that, bottom line, my mental health can be upended by the arbitrary decisions of a corporation. Or anyone else for that matter.

The Voice Of God, AKA Morgan Freeman

I was listening to this show (A Better Moustrap, for those who stumble across this link later) and in the third segment they feature a guy who, for some reason that I failed to catch, was hosting a focus group for a new religion.

I had numerous issues with the focus group...one of them being that most of them didn't know jack about what was in the bible...but I did predict the celebrity voice they would choose to endorse the new religion: Morgan Freeman.

I've heard Morgan Freeman recently in March of the Penguins. More importantly, I'd seen him recently in Bruce Almighty, playing, of all beings, God. It was during one of my unstable, ragged periods and I remember crying during this movie, even though it was supposed to be a comedy, because Morgan Freeman made God seem like some One who was 99% everything I subconsciously wished He was like. Specifically he sounded calm, rational, caring yet powerful, threatening...but in a way that you knew wasn't arbitrary or petty. More importantly, it was a voice I imagined could speak a word and instantly heal my mental turbulence.

I've briefly tried to analyze what exactly makes Mr. Freeman's voice so, well, so that way, and came up with diddly-squat. Which is good because maybe if I had figured it out, the 'it' of it would be lost. And I'd rather keep it around because I may just need another dose in the future.

Random Stuff

Sometimes I feel like the dog in this video. Initially I thought this was funny, but watching it again I see a dog trying in vain to communicate but is unable to. Worse, he seems baffled by what is coming out of his mouth; he fully expects to be able to bark and is surprised by what emerges from his throat.

Baggage of a Black Person

I would've posted this sooner but my mental state has been a bit raw and ragged around the edges as of late due to recent stupidity beyond my control.

A while back I posted a loose theory about the correlation between race, specifically the black race, and depression. I have a hard time remembering what I wrote, but I have a vague sense that it was about how the extra burden of a subconcious awareness of one's immediate ancestors being regarded as inferior...along with the less than human status of more removed ancestors...could be a contributing factor to depression.

I caught the tail end of this segment on All Things Considered and it struck me so hard that I hunted it down to listen to the entire feature. This short special brought to life the constant, sub-level pressures of existing as a black person in a "white" society better than I could ever explain it here. Listening to this brought back too many painful memories and made me wonder why more black kids with "white suburb educations" aren't depressed.

Anger Level Rising Or Do Not Screw With My Head

I probably neglected to post about the fact that I recently changed jobs so consider this the notification. This is mostly a good thing, except for the re-registering for insurance process that goes along with any job transfer.

This actually would've been painless had it not been for the insanity created when attempting to fill prescriptions for the medicines that are vital to my mental health. Between the pharmacy...who lied about the number of times they attempted to contact my doctor, and the insurance company...who requires information in triplicate in order to justify authorizing a dosage other than the prscribed limit, and the lady in HR who I had to wrangle with on the phone to convince her the situation was urgent, I'm ready to throttle someone.

It shouldn't be this hard to get meds that are vital to my health. I shouldn't have to pick up partial prescription after partial prescription because I am waiting (3 days now and counting) for the people who dispense this stuff and the people who regulate the dispensing to get their collective shit together and push the paper or whatever they need to do to get me my medicine. I'm pretty sure I used the words "urgent" and "vital" with the insurance company and pharmacist and I'm fairly sure they understood me. So why is it taking so long?

I'd be a lot less angry had I not just spent a sleep lite night because I ran out of Effexor and had to suffer the resultant side effects. Actually, no: I'd still be this angry only I'd be more rested.