Fabulous Las Vegas.

major depression, medication, rapid-cycle bipolar disorder, stigma

Paul took me to Las Vegas for our anniversary this weekend, which I loved! What I didn’t love, however, was the continued downward slide of my emotions into a Deep Depression.

Let me explain.

On Thursday night, when we landed and walked the Strip a bit, I said to him, “I feel like it would be impossible to be depressed in this town.” (Ha!)

I felt okay on Friday. Then Saturday happened, though it might be more accurate to say that nothing happened at all–externally, at least. I woke up early on Saturday (thanks, jet lag and associated temporal shenanigans!) and felt a little off but was fairly certain I could shake it off. It was a beautiful, sunny day, which ironically has always been the toughest kind of day for me. Sometimes, I feel as though I’m genetically hardwired to hate sunny days, because they tend to make my moods worse. (More on that in another post.)

I took a bath in the fantastic tub in our suite at the Cosmopolitan, all the while ruminating on how the world was just going on around us. We spent lots of time talking and cuddling. I went back to sleep around 10 AM until almost 1 in the afternoon and didn’t feel any better.

We went out and explored a little, which distracted me enough to lift my spirits a little. Then we went back to the room for a few hours to rest up before going to Zombie Burlesque–which, by the way, was fantastic!

My fella napped peacefully for about an hour and a half. I, meanwhile, was miserable. I cried for a while, then went out on the balcony to smoke, then cried out on the balcony, then cried when he was in the shower, then tried not to cry while we were out and ran into a snafu with the tickets.

The show was wonderful and made me feel better because it was a very welcome distraction. The rest of the night was wonderful and I thought to myself, “Maybe I’m getting better. Maybe it was one of my weird one-offs.”

We woke early on Sunday morning to catch our flight and I felt strange and out-of-sorts in a way that I knew was a warning but stubbornly ignored. I cried on the first plane. I cried on the second plane. I cried in the car on the way home. I cried when we got home. I cried in the tub that night. I cried before bed. And this morning, I really cried.

I found out that not only was my psychiatrist unwilling to refill my meds, it was that, despite reassurances two weeks ago that it would be taken care of, my chart had been closed due to my inability to pay because, hey, divorce and unemployment and not being able to pay for insurance on your own can really mess things up.

I managed to fork over the almost $400 required to even find out if my doctor had a same-day available–thankfully, he did–which means my Chapter 7 filing is now even further away. My little nest-egg of over $1,000, which I had so carefully saved up and budgeted for, will be completely gone after rent this month. I will be back to where I was a year ago.

I took an Ativan and another bubble bath, Paul and one of the cats at my side to make sure I was okay, and am now calm enough to blog about this. I plan on doing some research this week on how temporal changes and jet lag can mess with bipolar symptoms, but now all I’m doing is biding my time until 6:00 when I can finally get in to see my psychiatrist and get my medications refilled.

I’m left with an overwhelming dread, however, and a fundamental disappointment in how the healthcare system is run. I’m not sure how it’s even legal to deny someone access to what is, quite frankly, life-saving medication on the basis that they are unable to pay due to a whole bunch of awful circumstances that are completely beyond their control. Even if it is, it’s definitely not ethical.

But it appears that, for now, it’s just one of those things. Wisconsin, where I currently live (but hopefully not for long–my fella is applying to grad schools around the country and I plan to follow) is definitely not a progressive state when it comes to mental healthcare. It’s like the entire government is violently allergic to even the idea of reform. And unfortunately, it looks like I, and many others like me, are going to be stuck in this (leaky, shoddily built) boat until it finally sinks. I’m just hoping I can jump ship and move away before it gets really bad.

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One thought on “Fabulous Las Vegas.

  1. Jet lag really messes with me too. I live on the west coast and when I fly to New England to visit family, it brings all the symptoms I try so hard to suppress with copious amounts of medication right to the surface. I need a very regular and full nights sleep to function. It makes a difference every time that is disrupted.

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