Well, I am still crying over EVERYTHING (seriously: this morning Chigger wouldn't sit in my lap, INSTANT TEARS) and hacking up a lung, but my GP, bless her, was compassionate and helpful, and asked me what my shrink had done in the past for me when I was in this kind of state. I told her he felt the ADD drove the anxiety, so he'd treat that, give me a bottle of emergency antianxiety drugs, tell me to get my thyroid checked, and caution me against making any major life-choices until I felt better. To my surprise she said "well, I have a working prescription pad, which drugs did he use and how much? Long-term you do need to see a psychiatrist for these meds, and I'll refer you to one, but you're a mess now. Do you feel like you're having any thyroid symptoms?" I said it was hard to say, but since I was fat and depressed and my hair was thinning a little it was tantalizing to think that she might be able to fix me by tweaking my Synthroid. She nodded and ordered a boatload of bloodwork to test for everything medical that even MIGHT be making me fat, anxious, or depressed, wrote for Ritalin and Xanax, and then asked me what was up with the cough. I said the cough was the least of my problems, but she listened to my chest and said it sounded like I probably had walking pneumonia on top of everything, and that that wasn't going to help me feel any better physically or mentally. So I left her office with four prescriptions, the number of a psychiatric group that is supposedly taking new patients, a bandaged arm, and something resembling hope.
Now I just need $300 to fall out of the sky and for my ex to get a fucking hobby besides frivolous litigation, and I feel like maybe someday I'll smile again.