I Need Some Hope

I am getting very ‘in my head’ and need some distraction…but I cannot handle just anything. I have wrecked the car, Social Security is questioning my disability, the school is questioning my FAFSA, my medication is not working, and I have already had too much sleep. I need something to read. 99% of what I have stacked against my bedroom wall is too painful…too stressful. I cannot handle characters dying or battling disease. I cannot take slapstick either. What I need is something gentle but influencing…something like the lilacs in bloom outside my bedroom window.

Several years ago I clung to the Mitford series like it was fresh water. There were conflicts and even crises but the dark was never too dark and never as dark as my own mind. Living through the diabetic coma with Father Tim was a little discomforting, but survivable. Then more recently I have devoured Alexander McCall Smith’s The New No.1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series. Mma Ramotswe is even ‘traditionally built.’ How satisfying is that! Her father’s ordeal in the mines was very difficult to get through and may have been a bit out of place but, again, the series as a whole was never too dark.

The situation is this…when we are spiraling down, caught in the squirrel cage of our minds, or mired in the dark muck and in need of comfort, there may not be anyone there to bring us a cup of tea…or a cutting from the lilac. We may know we need some hope but not know where to find it. These are just some thoughts I had.

Disability

Who decides if I am disabled?  The Social Security Administration thinks it does.  If I work too much, then I am no longer disabled...or so they say.  Bull $#+!.  Just because I took too many shifts at Chicos, against my better judgement, does not mean I am not disabled.  As far as my doctor is concerned, I shouldn't be working at all.  The idea that one's condition is decided and defined by bureaucratic convention is ludicrous. 

 As much as I am loath to say it, I am disabled...not able.  Not able to cope.   Not able to function normally.   I feel guilty saying it because there are times when I feel ok...but something happens and I get confused, disoriented, shaky, and forgetful.  I need lots of sleep and down time.  I need structure and simple tasks.  During a rather memorable manic phase in my forties, I was able to multitask on several webpages, projects, reports, and tasks...brilliantly.  Not any more.  I'm tired, burned out, my circuits are fried.

Does the SSA ask me about that?  No.  They just see that I earned $50 more than the allowed amount one month and decide that I am no longer disabled.  They cut off my benefits and say I owe them $8466.05 in back pay.  I don't have that.  I'm struggling to make it...which doesn't help my stress level.  Do they care what they've done to my life? Of course not.

I have since quit Chicos and work two days a week addressing envelopes at a financial investment firm.  It has been eight months since the SSA cut off my benefits.  I have applied for reinstatement.  In the mean time, they are accepting small payments towards what they say I owe them.  I call weekly to ask the status of my request for reinstatement and I'm told the agent is "working the case."  I used to work for the Federal Government and resent derogatory remarks about the bureaucracy...but I must admit, this is ridiculous.

So the struggle continues...who decides whether or not I am disabled.  The SSA may decide if I am entitled to benefits or not but the fact remains, I am unable to deal with the normal stresses of an everyday life.  I can't do it.  I am not able.  I am disabled.