Why is it so hard to find a new P-doc?

Ever since my old one jumped ship, it has been a complete disaster trying to find a new one. I need someone who specializes in bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. I keep finding ones that treat post traumatic stress disorder or other compulsive behaviors like OCD. What is bothering me so much is that someone is going to look to wipe my slate clean and change my medications around. While I agree they need to be increased somewhat, I don't want someone to say, "Oh no no, that's not how I do things" and then, start me all over again on what they think is a good regimen.

I am so frustrated by this search.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It costs a lot of money to be fucked up.

My pills cost over $400 a month. The Lamictal alone is nearly $300. I have called around to find a new Pdoc. I don't have insurance right now, but the husband makes enough to keep me in medicine and therapy. I am lucky that way. Most of the docs I have called want a 75 minute first time appointment running upwards of $375. I cannot express the enormous amount of guilt I walk around with, knowing that my husband has to pay for all of this. Yes, in some ways it benefits him as well, though falling in love with someone a little less fucked up would be beneficial to him too. I wonder a great deal what my husband thinks of my illness. The man loves me. I know he does, but there has to be a secret part of him that wonders what it would be like to love a woman who isn't carrying around a disease and baggage. I am not the easy alternative. I try to be the best wife and mother that I can, but I always seem to fall short. I try though. That's the medicine doing its job. Before December, I didn't even try. I didn't care enough to. I struggle everyday to make the right decisions and to be a good girl. A good girl. I have never been one and so, this is hard for me. I love my husband more than anyone could fathom. He has been instrumental in my recovery, or at least, my never ending battle to win this war with my own mind. He is with me, every waking hour, to make sure I don't slide. Even when he is thousands of miles away, he calls me to make sure my head is still above water. I try not to cry to him, try to make him believe that his baby girl is alright. Sometimes, I succeed. Sometimes not. Sometimes I just need his sympathy. I am my own worst enemy and he is my best friend. I don't just find myself wanting him, loving him...but I find myself needing him. I think I would have died a long time ago if it wasn't for him. Too many drugs, too much drinking, too many risky behaviors.

I've never been faithful to anyone. Not just in a loving relationship, but in friendship as well. I am a fair weathered friend. I fall in love with the idea of having a best friend but I become restless and bored with it so quickly. That is the way it was with the men in my life too. I bore easily and therefore, I move on easily and without much thought to the other party.

My husband is the only one I have ever been 100% faithful to. He makes it easier on me, but not as easy as it should be. I long for dysfunction and I don't have it with him. He wants my life to be normal, to have meaning and depth and value. I try to be all those things. Yet, there is a part of me that wants to be hurt, physically and emotionally. He won't do that for me. He would never hurt me in anyway shape or form, even if I begged. This doesn't make me yearn for other men, but it makes me yearn for the days when I was beaten on a daily basis. The blood made me feel alive. The pain was a reminder that I still existed. The constant struggling, stumbling was what kept me going. There is a part of me that aches to be a victim. I want to feel numb like that again. I suppose it is because I went through so much with Anthony, my ex, that I can't really break free of it. I miss him hitting me. I miss him hurting me. I don't miss him. Just the pain that was associated with him.

My husband is so gentle with me, so sweet, so full of desire that he conveys to me with delicate touches and soft kisses. I love him so much that it makes me cry. But I also miss feeling alive by being beaten up. That's insane, I know. For eight years, I have reveled in the beauty that is my husband. I bask in it. I love what he has done for me, for our children. He is the kindest soul I have ever known. He is genuinely a good person. I am not. I get off on the misery of others. I love knowing that I caused someone anguish or pain. It is a release for me, an opposite release of sorts. I can't beat myself up so I beat up others and watch in envy as they suffer whatever wrath I brought upon them.

But, back to loyalty.

It's not something I struggle with. I can't imagine myself ever making love to anyone else but my husband. That love we share, it's indescribable. I won't even attempt to validate it with words because I would fall short. And, I am proud of my loyalty to him. I love being able to look in the mirror and know I haven't hurt him, ever. For me, that is a huge accomplishment. I have hurt so many men in my past...or allowed myself to be hurt. I stayed in relationships I know I should have freed myself from because the hurt was so addicting, like a mind altering drug.

I don't have this with my husband.

It is his one flaw that other people would say "are you nuts?" That is no flaw, it is part of the perfection that is him. And it is so hard to live up to it. I wish I could be him, minus the medications I take to make me normal. Normal. What the fuck is that anyway. All I know is that I want to be more like my husband than like myself. He is good with such an ease, a gentle way about him that comes naturally. He is who I strive to be. Everyone loves my husband. His job loves him. He is valuable to them. I can't keep a job because I am always absent, either physically or emotionally. I am vacant. I simply don't care. He cares more than most people should about their jobs. He is studious and meticulous. He is always willing to go the extra mile and he is known throughout his tight knit community as the "go to" guy. In my tight knit community, I am the plague. Don't hire this girl because she is off the wall. A good competant nurse one day, a beligerant mess on others. I am a hazard to myself and to others.

I can't get out of bed sometimes. I curl up in a ball and rot there, not caring that I have a job to do. I don't care that people rely on me. I only care about whatever I am feeling at the time I am feeling it.

This is what makes me a horrible wife and mother.

I can be neglectful. Not abusive. I would never hurt my husband or children physically. I lay in my bed, waiting for days to be over. My children will knock on my door, encouraging me to get up. I can't...or I won't.

It's a stunning revelation to realize that you are only as good as whatever day it is. I am a slave to my issues. I am consumed by my own emotions. The older I am getting, the less necessary it is for me to leave the confines of my own home. I don't venture outside much anymore. A self-imposed agoraphobic is what I am. I stay home, curled up in a fetal ball, waiting for the pain to pass...for the mania to kick in and wake me from the coma I put myself in. I abuse my drugs. I take too many pain pills, because I am in pain. Not physical pain. Emotional pain. The drugs take it away. I convince myself that my knees are aching much more than they are, or my headaches are intolerable.

Things are bad when you lie to yourself.

It is hard to measure up to a person like my husband. He doesn't do these things intentionally, it is just who he is. He makes me feel like a failure every single day. It isn't his fault. He is beautiful. I wish I could be him. That's my dream, to know how to be him and feel it. Really feel it. If I told him I thought he was perfect, he would shrug it off and laugh. He would find me ridiculous and thoughtfully show me examples of how terrible he can be. They fall very short in my book. If I can spend one single day being as diligent and trustworthy and perfect as he is, I would revel in the ecstacy of it.

My daughter just asked me to go to a movie with her. I want to spend time with her. I can't. I am too busy wallowing in my self imposed prison. This is what I created for myself. I sit home, waiting for my husband to call so I can again, feel less than him. In a lot of ways, he is abusive, because his daily life is like a carrot being dangled in front of me. This is what you could be, if you weren't so fucked up.

To me, he is a work of art. To me, I am the discarded first draft of the art that isi him. I am the piece in the garbage can, never to see the light of day, never to be displayed on a wall...ever.

I am not fit for hanging, anywhere.

You know if I leave you now,
it doesn't mean that I love you any less.
Its just the state I am in.
I can't be good to anyone else like this.

All I want is to be somebody elses dream come true. My husband would say that I am. My husband only sees what he wants to see in me. My loyalty to him will never fade. I need this man. He is my safe harbor in stormy seas. My love for him is unwavering and I trust it and him completely.

I just don't trust me. I never have. I never will.