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I'm pissed off because after trying to do everything by myself for so long and only now having to rely on Tom (yes, longer than my brain realises; I know), these assholes have the nerve to basically tell me that I'm simply lazy, when I ask for help.

The ER doctor laughed at me and mocked me in his discharge report (2016, March 19). I told him (and everyone) that I had been waking with night sweats from really bad PTSD nightmares each hour for an entire day and night, as well as what I tried to describe to them, which I now believe to have been a night terror, which is when I finally went to the ER. That's around 24 nightmares and night sweats, along with panic attack-like symptoms, narcolepsy-like symptoms, confusion, dissociation, and dehydration. I had been unable to care for myself properly (and still cannot)... I told them I had PTSD, and that I was on Effexor, which made the night sweats much worse. My heart rate was through the roof and wouldn't stop. The doctor basically just chuckled and looked at me like he thought I was pathetic. He all but flat out refused to treat me, but I refused to leave. I said that I wanted to see their psychiatric team. They wouldn't arrive until morning. I would wait, and wait, and wait... The night crew would not treat me.

I was not attended to until after the morning changeover, around 12:00 PM. I had arrived around 3:00AM the night before. I was finally given a saline drip (3 bags, I think), and a potassium supplement, because they found me dehydrated. Imagine that. I had been drinking water all night too, so it would have been much worse when I arrived, but fuck me, I guess. I was also given a benzo fucking finally. Jesus. The place wasn't very busy. All I had to do all night was eavesdrop on what was going on around me, drink water and be helped to the bathroom over and over again from drinking so much water. I was too afraid to sleep, even though I was extremely exhausted. It simply wasn't busy. I worked at a hospital. My father worked at a hospital. I almost died in an ER from an asthma attack because they were so busy. I know what busy looks like. It was nearly dead in the ER and short-term unit when I was there.

I hate the ER. I found out my sister died in the ER (after not being picked up at school until a detective came much later & told me there was an accident, but wouldn't tell me who was hurt or if they were alive or dead). I've nearly died from asthma attacks several times in the ER. When I worked at Walmart, if I got sick and had to take a second day off, I had to get a doctor's note or I would be flat out fired. I worked nights. The only thing open at night was the ER, and they hated me for it. What the fuck else was I supposed to do? I couldn't afford to be fired. I didn't have time to fuck around trying to get an appointment in the morning, while I was very sick and needed sleep. I hate even going near the ER. People are sick and hurting and angry and tired, scared and contagious. Why the fuck would I go there if I had just wanted attention? The ER is a horrible place.

And that doctor is an asshole, was creepy as fuck and looked like he was on drugs. Fuck him.

There was more dumb crap after that, but I'm just fed up talking about it right now. It's just so fucking hard for me to ask for help, but especially when assholes who are supposed to help me just hurt me. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of everything.


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June 2016
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