Robot on the Trigger
I think the worst thing to come from natural language processing is the implementation of NLP bots in telephone IVR (interactive voice response) systems. There is nothing worse (to me) than having to convince a glorified chatbot with only a handful of canned responses that “no, I didn’t ask to be sent to voicemail, and yes, I do want to make an appointment.”
So, I haven’t had health insurance in a few years. I do now, but I didn’t. Anyone from a civilized nation reading this, that means I get to choose between virtual bankruptcy and ignoring my health. But I have insurance now thanks to my state doing the whole ‘medicaid for anyone who asks’ thing.
The worst part about having insurance suddenly after not having it for years, is that since I’m on medicaid now they’re teaching me how to actually use my insurance. Y’all ever heard of a care coordinator? Turns out they’re awesome. I paid for insurance for almost a decade and never got offered one (despite being entitled to one) and as a result I never found a PCP, a therapist, a psychiatrist, or anything like that. In fact, if you (yes, you, the reader) go to the BCBS website right now and click “find a provider” you’ll see that the page hasn’t been updated since 2024, most of those providers aren’t in network anymore, and all of them have a 6 month wait before you can get an appointment.
I don’t think rage was the incorrect response. Anyway, after sifting for hours and hours to find a doctor (I couldn’t) I had a panic attack on the line with mr insurance helper person on the phone and he said “Sounds like you’re having a mental health crisis, let me transfer you” and lemme tell ya, those were the magic words to finally get me some help.
I’ve got my first therapist appointment today since I was 16. I’ve lived a lot of life in 13 years. I’ve been married, divorced, moved 1300 miles across the country, then moved another 900 west. I’ve been abused by employers. I’ve been taken advantage of, lied to, cheated on. I dated someone who looking back should be in full time inpatient (this girl needs help) because I needed someone to share rent. I lived in a 400 sqft shoebox downtown for two years. Every single time I looked at the pipes on the ceiling I thought about how easy it’d be to tie a rope to them.
I’ve got a lot to talk about. I need a lot of therapy. I’ve done everything I can without professional help, and the thing with realizing you’re stuck, is that you can finally ask for help.
If you’re a trans person, or an egg (trans person who has yet to realize it), you need to go get therapy. like seriously. NOW. I should’ve done this years ago.
If you’re a teen reading this (why are you here? how did you find me?) I have a few pieces of advice. Make your parents teach you how your insurance works. Get a therapist, you don’t need to keep the same one forever, find one who you like. There is no shame in chemical help.
Lemme say that last one again, in case you weren’t reading:
There is no shame in chemical help.
There is no shame in chemical help.
THERE IS NO SHAME IN CHEMICAL HELP.
Sometimes brain chemisty gets all fucky-wucky. Sometimes the glands in there go all “oopsie-poopsie” and decide you don’t deserve seratonin anymore. Sometimes you can only get dopamine by doing things that detriment you. Sometimes corporations realize this and design apps to force this condition to abuse your brain and turn it into a money printing machine (infinite scroll is a sin, at some point I’ll write about why it’s evil and link it).
Not everything sucks. Some things are good. I’m hoping they keep getting better. And I really hope I get some PT soon.
Love y’all,
Nora
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