Fucking Neil Sedaka… Now all I can hear is him singing, “Down dooby-doo down down…” Well, I did it to myself when I put in this blog title…

Anyway, Neil wasn’t completely correct. I mean, breaking up with any person (a significant other, a friend, another person) can be either really hard or really liberating. It just depends on how sick and fucking tired you are of their shit and whether or not you’re getting anything out of the “relationship”. Well, I decided a few days ago. I’m breaking up with my nutritionalist. I’m getting nothing out of this and they’re getting my money. Nope…

So, by now you all know that depression hurts and Cymbalta can’t help. Well… other than to make it worse…

I gained a lot on that med. Now everything is all fucked up. I had to change my diet for a third time even before I saw the nutritionalist because I was “reactive hypoglycemic” (I produce way too much insulin when I eat anything with carbs/sugar/starch). I was told to eat more protein, which did help, and cut out the shit causing the issue. That was even before I saw the nutritionalist, so you figure I’ve been on a diet for 2 months and a very restrictive one for about a month and a half. You know how much I’ve lost so far…? 2 fucking pounds!!! Yup, that’s it… Just 2 fucking pounds… With how I’m eating, I should have lost more, but nope… And every time I talk to that reject nutritionalist, she tells me not to get discouraged, that it’s great I lost 2 pounds. Lady, go fuck yourself… Seriously, just go… fuck… yourself…

I actually find her quite irritating…

When it took me a month to lose a pound, I was so frustrated and pissed. But there’s Miss Perky Ass Nutritionalist, acting like I should throw a celebration that puts Carnival to shame. All for losing one pound… She was just as bad this time, if not worse. Plus she wants me to track everything I eat. Are you serious?! I eat the same foods every fucking day!! Yes, it’s boring, but it’s worked before. When I had a bad case of gastritis, I was on a bland diet for 2 months. Pretty much all I ate was dinner which consisted of chicken, peas and carrots (frozen, not canned). I lost a lot of weight and felt like myself again and was happy. But then your shrink puts you on fat meds and refuses to acknowledge that it’s the pills doing it. Hell, even my nutritionalist said they can cause all my issues as well as my neighbor who works on a psyche ward. So yeah, don’t blow smoke up my ass. The only thing that worked last time that I gained too much weight on a med (which was Effexor, a horrible med for many reasons) was to stop taking the Lexapro they had put me on. I lost enough to get back to my comfy weight and then went back on my meds and all was hunky-dory… until Cymbalta came along…

Now, of course, the doctors don’t want me to get off my psych meds because “You’re not stable enough do that yet”. Yeah?! Why the fuck do you think that is?! It’s because I’m fat!!! Okay, most people don’t think that, but I feel fat and very uncomfortable with my weight. I was always very thin my entire life. Now I’m about 40 pounds over what I feel is a comfortable weight for me. I cry when I look at myself in the mirror because I think I look gross and I feel gross. Being overweight is depressing, so… how are the antidepressants helping, exactly…? I mean, if they’re making me fat and being overweight makes me depressed and upset, it’s kind of counter productive, wouldn’t you say? Besides, like I said before, I learned in an outpatient program that the pills only help 30-35%. The rest is all on you, They just give you a little extra serotonin, that’s all. Like a jump start…

I know… some of you out there are thinking, “God, she’s so vain! She can’t be comfortable in her own body!”

Yes and no… There are certain things that I am vain about. One is my teeth (healthy teeth mean a healthy you), my eyes (because my vision isn’t so great an I need to see to art) and my weight. Being overweight, especially if it’s all in the belly area, increases a woman’s risk for heart disease. So yeah, I’m vain about my weight. Part is because I want to look good (who doesn’t) and part because I know that this fat is in a bad spot that can cause a shit storm of health problems that are much worse than I already have. And no, I’m not comfortable in my own skin right now… The short time it took to gain the weight has left me feeling off balance and clumsy. I feel it when I walk, how disjointed and clumsy I am because I haven’t figured out yet how t move this new blubber. And I have an ass, now, something I never had before. I find myself constantly knocking shit over with it because I keep forgetting it’s there. I don’t expect to be the twig I was in high school. I just want to be what I was prior to taking all these fucking meds that don’t help.

I tried to tell my nutritionalist that this wasn’t working for me at my appointment yesterday. Of course she did the cheerleader thing… But my mind is made up. It’s not helping. And I have to pay this shit out of pocket because insurance doesn’t cover it. Not to mention that they overcharged me when I had already paid for 3 sessions (it was cheaper that way). So yeah, I’m not wasting money on something and someone that isn’t helping me. I have one more session to use and I’m lowering the boom. I’m done. No more taking my money, not delivering results and then having the nerve to tell me they think I’m eating more than I think I am. Fuck you… I know how much I eat. I eat healthy shit only and I don’t even eat enough to sustain a normal person. I’m not overeating.

Admittedly, we’d all like to trust our doctors and their diagnosis, right? But that’s not always the case… I’ve had so many different diagnoses with my knees, it’s ridiculous. One little snooty bitch looked at my X-rays and told me the ligaments and tendons all looked good. Oh really…? Because I’m not a doctor and even I know you can’t see those on an X-ray, only an MRI. So basically, she became a doctor to do as little work as possible and still collect those juicy paychecks. There are a lot of them out there, let me tell you… Even my shrink who vehemently told me it was not the Cymbalta causing my weight gain and sent me for blood work to check my thyroid. Guess what, my thyroid levels were fine. I’m not saying there aren’t good doctors out there. There are a few. But a lot of them are in it for the money and nothing more.

Thankfully, I’ve never run into a doctor that was as big an asshole as the character of Dr. Gregory House. Although, jerk-off that he can be, I’d prefer that to other asshole doctors. His interest is in solving the puzzle. The fact that you’re the one presenting it is irrelevant. He just wants to figure out what the fuck is causing these weird symptoms for weird diseases or conditions you’ve either never heard of or the presentation thereof is not the norm. Honestly? I wish all doctors were like that. At least they’d get to the bottom of things.

Honestly, I can’t tell you how often I was dismissed by a doctor, especially if they know I have massive anxiety. Hell, even way back, 14 years ago, when I had this pinching pain in the same spot in my abdomen, I was sent to a gruff old GI doctor who listened to me for maybe 2 minutes, determined I had IBS and told me to take these pills (which gave me the runs so bad). Well, duh, asshole! I’ve had IBS my whole life! This was different… It wasn’t until my ovary ruptured that they found what was causing the pain, a cyst the size of my fist (it stayed intact at least). So when, a year later, I had the same symptoms, I had a hard time getting a diagnosis. The thinking was it was a one in a million chance for an ovarian torsion to happen. Twice in one person? The odds were astronomical. Had I not pushed for a laparoscopy, that one would have suffered the same fate. It was only 4 days short of exactly one year apart. I must be astronomical…

I think it’s time to break up with a lot of my doctors… I’m sorry, if you can’t handle me freaking out over slightly bad news because of my anxiety (that you know I have) and can’t reassure me, I don’t need you. If you can’t listen when I tell you my pills are making me fat and therefore unhappy or they’re not working, I don’t need you. If you think that losing only a pound a month on a bariatric diet (that I stick to like it was law) is good and not that something else isn’t right, I don’t need you. So… time for the breakups to begin…