Aight, fine. It's only 10:30, and I have truly staggering amount of beer left, so I'll tell you a story.
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I would play racquetball, badly, with my friend, and I'd come out all exhausted and sweaty, and he'd condescend and such like.
But then when I went to the van, and levered myself up in to the seat, my forearms would be thick deep owwie.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, my ex- (and bff) had been away on walkabout after we did hospice for her mother.
And she was back, and she stayed in my spare bedroom.
And we had a big argument.
I have no idea what it was about, no clue.
But I do know that I was in the wrong.
Sooooooo, fuck me, I went to her room, and crawled up the ladder to her loft bed, and apologized.
And I told her about this physical ailment, and my trips to the (seriously major hawt) doctor, and how we'd got *nuffin* so far.
And bestie said, "Did you tell her you were miserable all the time?"
Of course I didn't tell my doctor I was miserable all the time. Don't be ridiculous.
But.
But, you know, I had just had a big fight in which I was in the wrong, so I couldn't really quite rationalize telling bestie to fuck off.
So there I am, at the doctor's office (my goodness, she was a lovely woman), and you have to picture me, I'm maybe 25, 26, 27, it's unclear, but you have to picture me like a third grader.
I'm avoiding eye contact.
I'm digging my toe into the carpet.
I mumble, "Helen says I have to tell you I'm miserable all the time."
And she said, "Oh! That's interesting."
She asked me to wait a minute, cuz she had a little survey she wanted me to fill out.
And she brought me this little questionnaire, twelve questions, and asked me to quickly fill it out.
It was a mental health survey, 12 questions, and I gave the wrong answer to 11 of them. (I was still horny.)
And the doctor said, "Oh, honey, you have depression."
And so I began the journey through formal depression and formal prescriptions. It was '85, or so, and Prozac (flueoxetine) was very new, and I got my first prescription for depression.
Somewhere around the age of 26 or so, I began to experience sharp and deep pain in the bones of my forearms.
I was rich then, so I went to the doctor.
She was DO, all of my best doctors have been DOs, and to be entirely transparent, she was *gorgeous*, and I had a huge crush on her.
And we did numerous tests, and we got nothing.