Listen, I want to say that emotions pass (hopefully). This is, for me, a very dark post from a very dark place. I share this kind of crap because I hope that in the future, I will be able to proudly say, “Look what I overcame. Look how far I’ve come. I feel better now. I feel good.” blah, blah, blah. It could happen.
I haven’t been writing this week because I’ve been in a deep, dark funk. I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to stop existing. This is not the same as having suicidal thoughts, although I would step over a cliff if I could do it without being seen; but not anything active (versus passive). I was thinking more along the lines of seeing a giant whirlpool open up in the carpet and suck me into non-existence just like some cheesy special effect in a Dr. Who episode. The carpet absorbs me. Whoosh! She’s gone. That would be awesome. Why doesn’t the world work like my fantasies? Why? Obviously I can’t talk about this with real people who know me because I’d be in big trouble. The only reason I can even write about it is because I feel 10% better today. I asked myself what is different today from the last 5 days? And here’s the answer: I drank 2 beers with my brother; I ate a muscle relaxer; and I took one-half a Xanax – simultaneously. Let me digress for a moment… My brother was a meth addict. Crystal Meth is some kind of amphetamine, epinephrine, upper-speedy drug-thingy. Basically, he was running on 40 cups of coffee every day for ten years. He used to literally jiggle, which is to say he couldn’t stay still for 30 seconds. I don’t know why he found that sensation to be pleasant. It has something to do with fearing quiet and the thoughts or memories that come to his mind when he is still. He can’t express his reasons for choosing a life of drug addiction. However, my brother, being the Awesome Human Being that he is, eventually chose to stop using and fixed himself. He did it alone, which is clearly not the best way or the easiest, but that’s what he did. Today he has a good job, a small house, two cars, a big-screen tv, all the crap a successful American is supposed to have – but he’s still nervous as hell. My brother explained that he doesn’t have the chemical sites in his brain that would manufacture “happy chems”. He feels anxiety, worry, fear, and depression at extremely high levels during every minute of his life, even when he is asleep. His doctor will not give him Valium or any decent anti-depressant because of his history of drug addiction, which leaves him… SCREWED. My poor brother, he just suffers all the time. He needs bio-medical treatment, but he can’t get it because he can’t follow through with what he would need to do to make his insurance company assist him because he is too depressed to take proper care of himself because he needs medication (and therapy). Enter me. Recently, I feel like my brother. I can’t take care of myself. I need help and I need to see a doctor. I should not be spending 48 hours in my pajamas, with stinky breath, and sweaty pits – but I cannot muster up the energy to put clothes on. I just don’t want to be here anymore.
Here are my options:
Option 1: Get a full-time job and then I will have medical benefits. Barrier #1: Pre-employment drug test. Every time I take a Xanax, I screw myself out of success for another 30 days. Barrier #2: The application process. It’s too hard for me. Barrier #3: Interviewing. Taking a bath and getting dressed.
Option #2: ObamaCare. I am supposed to be able to go to a doctor and get a legitimate prescription for Xanax and maybe an anti-depressant, but I don’t understand the process. I have 8 letters from the Healthcare Marketplace on my desk. It’s too much for me.
Option #3: Wait to be swallowed up by the void.
Epilogue: Writing out my few options helped me to see the quickest path to seeing a doctor. I opened my 8 letters and worked them, one-by-one.
First, I called Illinois Dept of Healthcare and Family Services (IHFS). They got my name because I tried to apply for food stamps (which I may get $49/month starting next month.) Their robot answering machine directed me to sign-up online for a Primary Care Physician (PCP) who will see me in 21 days. Goal accomplished: I have a doctor’s appointment.
Secondly, I called the Florida health insurance company that I was never able to use because my parents kicked me out too quickly. Just passing through. They want $760 for theoretical healthcare that I had on paper, but not in reality because I was not a resident of Florida. They told me to cancel my policy through the Healthcare Marketplace (AKA ObamaCare).
Thirdly, I called the Healthcare Marketplace. (Do you see why a depressed person cannot handle this government bureaucracy? On the third phonecall, I started crying.) The HCMP will cancel the Florida policy as of August 1st, which will leave me with the bills from April 1st to August 1st, 5 months of premiums for zero office visits.
Fourthly, I called the Florida company again and they said they cannot do anything about the $760 until they receive an official notice from the HCMP. We went around and around for about 10 minutes, until I accepted the fact that I can’t solve it until after August 1st. Well, it sat for 5 months, I guess it can sit for one more.
I feel extremely grateful that I got one burst of energy to handle these healthcare letters and book myself an appointment with a doctor. I have not had any medical care since I left Israel 22 months ago and it’s crap. I did have one doctor’s visit in Dallas when the gynecologist saw me for free as part of the services from the domestic abuse shelter. That was really great, but not enough to keep me well. I think it’s a dangerous sign that I am having extreme moods. I’m sure it has something to do with the lack of sunshine in Illinois, which will only get worse as the seasons progress. I hope this doctor’s appointment will put me back on track. If I can get my depression under control, then I can get my work situation under control, and my weight, and my budget. It’s all connected. Isn’t it?
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