My first instinct is to hide.
[I only let it out at night.]
Put a smile on my face and find something to do.
The busy will give me something to hide behind.
It will give me a purpose that will allow me to ignore the ebbing emotions that keep threatening to come out.
I will not give in, I will not let it fuck me up.....I will not let it fuck my family up
A familiar refrain.
I reorganize and schedule.
I try to see all the good in my life and hang on to that.
I try to keep on keepin' on so that I look "normal."
Hiding undercover as a happy person.
I WILL MAKE THE BEST OF IT, damn it!
But there is always something that tips the scale in Depression's favor....and I am made.
Every single time.
By Tuesday's post, I could feel myself losing the stranglehold.
The thought of the ER bill was hanging over me like a sentence, and I just couldn't shake an overwhelming sense of hopelessness....
Wednesday afternoon, my husband left work early so that he could take me to my appointment with the gastro-specialist.
I knew going in, that it would probably not be a very productive visit.
[Which was hard to swallow given that the Huz was losing out on 2 hours of pay and the visit was $200 up front.]
After filling out paperwork and talking to his physician's assistant for 15 minutes, it was clear that they felt that nothing discernible was wrong with me.
When the doctor actually came in, I was basically making my way out the door.
He offered to re-run previous tests, but felt that based on the scans and blood work from the ER that I was perfectly fine:
Maybe I just needed to start taking an over-the-counter antacid.....
I almost lost it right there in his office.
Thankfully, I salvaged some dignity and was able to pay my $200 and leave with out sobbing.
While I don't want to be sick, knowing that we will have to pay ER fees that will basically put us back another 3-5 years debt-wise doesn't make me want to celebrate my supposed healthiness.
But, as I kept telling myself in the car:
I knew this was going to happen.
I hadn't wanted to go to the ER in the first place.
Something was wrong with me, yes, but it was not wrong enough.
A lifetime without stable health care (or any at all) teaches you these things.
But my husband worries... and my guilt over making him worry or possibly being irresponsible about my health, forces my hand and forced me into an ER....
Finally back home, I could feel my panic and anger rising.
How the fuck were we going to pay for this?
And secondarily, I still feel like shit and it is pretty clear that THAT isn't really anybody's problem but mine.
By bedtime, I was crying, and I could feel it flooding my whole body.
but most of all,
Forever stuck in a cycle of a rock and a hard place.
Surrounded by well-meaning people who say things like:
It could be worse!
Someday it will turn around!
Just keep on doing the best you can and you'll see how good life can be!
You have so much to be grateful for!
(Yes, I do. But gratefulness does not take away chronic pain or clinical depression)
You'll figure it out!
Those people don't have a fucking clue as to what your going through, and have never really been in a situation even remotely close to yours.
Not that it's their fault, nor would I wish it upon them, but I do wish that they could recognize that they have no idea what it's like and keep their reality-deflecting platitudes to themselves.
I have said it BEFORE and I will say it AGAIN:
Sometimes life is an unfair shitfest.
Respect those moments and let us grieve them, please.
By 3am, I had awoken in a cold sweat and started crying.
The crying pretty much continued until about 2pm Thursday afternoon.
Not my finest moment, and the FIRST time I have ever let that happen in front of my son....
But I just couldn't pull myself back together.
I am a fucking mess.
My hubs, rightfully alarmed,demanded I call my doctor and schedule an appointment all the blood work the Doc wants me to have done before he'll put me back on meds and to do further blood tests to hopefully wrap up our (and now his) suspicions of Fibromyalgia.
And I did.
I don't know how we're going to pay for it ($200 per office visit + whatever the lab work costs, not to mention the meds), on top of everything else, but I've got to do something.
My depression is not the sum total of all of my health issues, but letting it run wild isn't doing anyone any good.
I've been too stubborn for too long, trying to control it, HIDE it, by myself.
And if Fibromyalgia is indeed an issue, maybe I can finally get some answers and solutions to the chronic pain.
I promised myself I would get all of this done at the 1st of the year, and now we're into May, so I guess I need to get on it.....
It's just so terrifying to know that while you may need it, you haven't got the resources for it.
Everything is about money.
We don't have enough to get me (or us) the help I (we) need, but make "too much" to qualify for help.
People like me with pre-existing conditions can no longer be denied for health insurance, but the type of insurance I qualify for is astronomical and won't cover my basic health needs anyway.
To know that every step you try to take forward to make yourself feel better, only pushes your family back five steps, and down further into the mire of debt.
Especially when you live in such an affluent area, as we happen to, and you constantly watch people take so much for granted.
Dismissing you and your "problems" because they don't want to have to actually be confronted with how hard life can be and lucky they really are.
I have to remind myself of how lucky we are all the time.
So I spend most of my time trying to hide.
Trying to stay busy.
And crying in the bathroom at 3 am, so I won't disturb anyone.
No way to live, and I'm trying to claw my way out, but it's tough...
So far, I am on a losing streak.
Please send me all the good vibes, chants, prayers, luck, you can.
I hate to ask, but I need all the help I can get.
Because at this moment, I am drowning.
Even in the day time.