Given the popular misconception that ADHD is over-diagnosed, you would never imagine how fucking difficult it would be to get in the system, get a diagnosis, possibly get drugs and get on with your life.

I have had one, count it, ONE asshole psychiatrist call me back. The others never respond. I’ve called about 14 now. I’m getting tired of this, it’s insanely frustrating.

Plus, I’ve fucking got ADD, I’m not good at this kind of shit.

Ironically, it was the whole set of bullshit at this time last year when I was trying to get a primary care physician that prepared me for this. The bullshit with the pulmonary embolism and getting all the insurance crap straightened out was another defining/reminding moment as well.

What I have learned in the last year: when it comes to medical professionals, you are the only one who gives a shit if you get the care and treatment you need. This is not to say my excellent primary care physician, Ob/Gyn, and therapists don’t care, but they’ve got things to do, and all follow up and follow through rests solely on me. Those with ADD tendencies will understand on a very personal level just how fucking ironic this is. (For those of you who read this and *do* have your life together, and it’s *not* a huge revelation to you that you have to work this fucking hard to get what you need: fuck you. It’s not personal, but right now, after weeks of unreturned calls and general bitterness, and days of sitting doing nothing but staring at a list of Psychiatrists still to call that I KNOW won’t return my calls, I’m bitter, angry, and ready to hire someone else to manage my life. Or at least make an ass of themselves on the phone instead of me. Like to that Russian ass-monkey cock-sucker who answers the phone aggressively, says “Yes…” when you ask him if this is the office of Dr. Blah-di-blah, listens to you prattle on for a minute or two, then tells you it’s a wrong number and hangs up. The first time was bad enough, but it’s happened TWICE now because it turns out Pacificare (those fucking horse shit crotch rot scum bags) have the wrong fucking phone number listed. And yes. I should have caught it sooner the second time. But FUCK YOU, it’d been a week since my last call, and I forgot about it until it happened again.)

Well.

Yes.

Where was I?

Oh, right, crotch rot scum bags.

So, the medical profession is over worked, whacked out, and I no longer have a problem with calling and demanding medical offices accommodate me. I try not to be unreasonable, but I do not let myself get swept under the carpet either.

And now that I’m ramped up, and pissed off, it’s time to go make some more fucking phone calls.