I'm glad you figured out that healthcare in the U.S. is a business. I've been all over the globe as an international pro surf bum. In the industrialized countries I visited, they ALL had socialized healthcare, universal healthcare, or similar care for not only their citizens, but even passersby like me. And in the countries that didn't, I paid cash for whatever care I needed; and the cost was always far below what doctors bill you for here.

I can relate well to your post. In fact, at first I thought I was reading something that I'd written and forgotten about. That's how closely your story is to mine. I once asked a psychiatrist who I was seeing reply when I asked him about the long-term effects of Depakote, Zoloft, and whatever Benzo he had me on, he gave a terse reply while typing his notes, not bothering to even look at me, "Can't be good." These days, I'm having to fight for my rights from the VA with whom it takes months to see a neurologist, and usually a quack, in order to get a diagnosis for Parkinson's Disease; probably a result of Agent Orange exposure while serving in Vietnam or drinking toxic water when I was stationed in Camp Lejeune. The young enlistees are being advised on how to get disability claims even before their enlistment period is up. It seems as if everyone one of them got severe PTSD no matter what occupation they have or had while in the service. I'm a Purple Heart vet and these kids enlisted. I'm receiving a 20% disability, which is not much. And the VA is ignoring Vietnam veterans like me, waiting for us to die. I'm currently experiencing withdrawal from years of taking Benzos which were prescribed by the VA, and the VA doctors, acting as gatekeepers tell me my illness is not service-connected, but as a result of bipolar med's I took over the years. Talk about a Catch 22. At my age, it really wouldn't matter much if I was prescribed as little as half a mg of Klonopin, but I am unable to find a doctor who will even consider prescribing benzos. I didn't expect nor did I want to live beyond eighty, but as I close in on that day, I'm wishing someone would put me out of my misery. I'm no longer able to drive, public transport is nonexistant where I live, and I sit at home all day, alone and isolated. This is not a way to live out one's life.