talk to my Mom about me. Ever since I started with the meds, H has gone to all the doc appts he can (including neuro appts), we make decisions about this together. She doesn't like the meds and doesn't think I need them; I just need to decide to stop worrying about things.She went behind my back and asked H about me, my meds, etc. I POPPED off. Beotch...you got questions about me, ASK ME! This isn't the 1940s. I am not property.My sister convinced me to have him talk to her. He was very, Ho, Sit Down, but in a respectful way about. I heard the words, "Well, that is just how she processes information." "She has been diagnosed by a reputable doctor who spent a significant amount of time in psychiatry." Other things were said, it was weird, but I hope now she get up all out of my cheese whiz.I mean, when I was 6 and picked out all of my eyelashes and eyebrows and you (Mom) just decided I was weird. Turns out, I'm not weird and have found someone who is actually trying to help me get better. Beitch, be cool and let me handle my shyt. ::brushes shoulder off::
