I lost myself in 1991 when I turned 31. The first diagnosis was bipolar depression, but years later another doctor amended that to severe depression. To me it doesn't matter - either way you slice it a huge chunk of my identity was torn away in a matter of months.
We all carry a self-image of who we are and what our impact is on the people/events that surround us. I had not been aware of this self-image until I looked in the metaphorical mirror and didn't recognize myself anymore. Its kinds scary, not to mention life-altering.I first noticed the symptoms soon after I started divorce proceedings with my first husband, Donald. Strangely enough, the idea that I could have been symptomatic during my marriage didn't occur to me until the last few years. To this day, I wonder if the onset of the symptoms were a major or minor contributor to my perceptions of my happiness with this man who is really a pretty good guy... yeah, there were problems, but I wonder if the depression affected my thoughts as to whether is was a salvageable situation or not. Hard to say.
If you refer back to earlier posts, you may understand the HUGE gulf between being dependent on a mind like a steel trap and finding myself confused when I sat down in front of my computer one day and agonized over turning it on. It was as if the action was a pivot point that would force me into a further series of actions and reactions I wasn't prepared for. Weird, right? I remember sitting in front of a blank screen and agonizing over the consequences of pressing a button. I knew that if I turned on the computer, I would be faced with using it. To put this in perspective, my first computer was a Commodore (1979) that hooked into the TV set (as the computer screen), in my 20's I was in charge of IBM System 32 mainframe computers (input and data mining), and had been a beta tester for numerous proprietary programs developed in many of the companies I worked for. I have a gift for sitting down in front of the computer, opening a program, and figuring out how it works. I have taught myself database programs, spreadsheet formulas, and website design - so I am not a shrinking violet when it comes to a computer challenge.
It was very frightening to sit in my chair that one morning and find myself intimidated at the idea of turning on my desktop. It was the day I realized I was [literally] losing my mind. I don't remember if I turned it on or not. What is frozen in my mind is the fear and the confusion of not being able to make a decision. I just remember sitting in the chair, staring at a blank screen.
Very soon after this incident, I started to see a psychiatrist as I recognized I wasn't acting like the person I wanted to be. We started experimenting with drugs (the prescription kind)... lithium is NOT my friend! Damn, that stuff made me physically ill. I also was told I would never be the person I was. I no longer had my "total" recall, and I was confused when I tried to recall info that I KNEW. I was frustrated with myself. I lost my self image, the person I identified as a contributing and vital person. I still remember the shock when the doctor told me I would never be that person again. It can probably be compared to looking in a mirror one morning and finding I was a tall blond (instead of a short brunette). How do you make sense of something like that?
Sometime during the beginning of treatment, I started to get suicidal thoughts. I would image how fast I would have to be driving when I hit a tree or drove off an overpass to guarantee I would not survive. There were a lot of scenarios that ran through my brain, usually when I was driving, or walking. None of the thoughts drifted towards firearms or anything that would involve the guilt of another person (like stepping in front of a vehicle). The main consistency was that my death would be final... I didn't want someone to "find" me later and save me. My thoughts weren't a cry for help (that's what I was seeing a doctor for), I wanted it to be over. It was bad enough that I was no longer a person I recognized, I was just terribly unhappy. I was also in mourning for the old, familiar me. I didn't want to be a new me-- I wanted the old me back. I didn't want to drag myself through each day, fully cognizant of what was missing.
I don't remember thinking of taking pills to commit suicide, but it must have been there somewhere... I remember making an appointment to see my doctor, gathering up all the medicine in my medicine cabinet, and taking it all with me to the appointment. I remember saying to him, "you need to take this stuff or I'm going to." Very dramatic, I know, never let it be said I was boring. We discussed whether I should check into a hospital, but I told him I think the anxiety of not being able to work (which has always been a big part of my identity) would be more detrimental, so we agreed I would check in with him daily (by phone) and our appointments were escalated to weekly (maybe every couple of days). We both agreed I didn't want to kill myself and that I recognized I was in distress, and that these thoughts were not how I normally felt. We put more focus on the meds, and at some point, the thoughts started to go away.
There is a lot of time in these years that I don't remember too well (such as events, timelines, etc). To this day, I am still confused by lapses in my memories; its like portions of my life are missing completely, jumbled or disjointed to a point I wonder what is real and what were thoughts I had when I broke. I suppose at this point it doesn't matter.
Twenty years later, I still miss the old me. That was a person I liked. The new me is not so bad, but who is to say I won't wake up one day and find a chubby redhead looking back? There is a level of trust that is gone. And if you can't trust yourself, then what's left?
Monday, April 16, 2012
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Government 1 - Me 0
The arthritis is getting to the point it is hard to use my hands (thank goodness I only use a couple of fingers to type!). My arthritis symptoms are almost non-existent if I can afford the weekly Enbryl injections. I never thought I'd be giving myself shots- its amazing what pain levels can do to one's attitudes and perceptions.
Depending on the pharmacy, you would probably be quoted about $550 per shot. I need shots on a weekly basis to keep the swelling and pain under control. Except for a little swelling, one would never know I had arthritis when the drugs have had a chance to build up in my system. I had applied to the Foundation that supplies Enbryl at reduced or no cost to those of us without medical insurance, but I was told that since I make UNDER $10k per year, I would have to be rejected by Medicaid before they could continue my application process... Note: If I made OVER 10k, I was led to believe I would qualify for 1 year of Enbryl - after which time, I assume I would be reevaluated.
I finally decided to go to the DSHS office (back in the day, we called it the Welfare office) to see if I could get medical benefits. The lady at the information counter was nice enough to tell me that if I was only there to get Medical benefits, it would take approximately 3 months to get an appointment [at this point I think I growled and showed her my "mean" face, but she bravely continued], if I applied for food stamps (i.e. EBT food card) or cash benefits, then the medical benefits would be tied into the same interview which they could conduct that day. So began the first time I have ever applied for Welfare.
After almost 2 hours waiting, The interview (it may have lasted 15-20 minutes) went fairly smoothly with me answering all the questions (The woman, maybe mid-twenties, verbally asked every question on the form I was required to fill out and hand over to her. Why fill out the form? Obviously they had to keep a printer in business; it sure wasn't so she could refer to it for information when she had a question). I told her I had no income and have not had income for the past year- I have been living with my sister Laurie who pays the rent, utilities, and some food bills. I pay the assorted bill whenever I garage-sell something from storage (from when I had a life) - refrigerator, water heater, dresser, collectable... whatever.
I was rejected for Medical benefits - I can't prove I didn't have income. Yep, only the government could come up with a phrase like that. The fact I sold personal items to keep myself afloat (in conjunction to Laurie's footing the living expenses) does not compute in their vast, far-reaching, tax-payer paid computer system. On the aside, I was also rejected for monthly cash, because I can't prove I can't work - I guess the swollen, arthritic hands were not, in her medical opinion, reason enough for me to be granted a reasonable doubt. I will add at this point, she never once asked my if I had a doctor's slip to confirm the severity of the condition... I had at one point mentioned that if I had the medication, my disability would go away and I could work (and would be happy to do so). I DID get $200 in food benefits- I guess the fact I wasn't completely emaciated was proof enough that I was able to eat food.
Such is the irony of benefits. I've worked hard and continuously since 1977, paying into the tax and social security system - yet I can't get medical benefits when I truly need them. While a 23 year old kid I know was telling my sister how his government benefits would be paying to get the 26 cavities (I kid you not!) fixed.
Needless to say, I'll be submitting my appeal. I'll probably lose because I still won't be able to prove I didn't have income. Sigh.
(Note 8/9/12): I forgot to update that the medicaid, cash benefits and foodstamps were all allowed. When I went to appeal, it turns out the processor had indicated that I could work, not that I was unable to work. So I have the medical insurance, but we are still doing the arthritis medications dance... Argggg! So frustrating. The war continues.
Depending on the pharmacy, you would probably be quoted about $550 per shot. I need shots on a weekly basis to keep the swelling and pain under control. Except for a little swelling, one would never know I had arthritis when the drugs have had a chance to build up in my system. I had applied to the Foundation that supplies Enbryl at reduced or no cost to those of us without medical insurance, but I was told that since I make UNDER $10k per year, I would have to be rejected by Medicaid before they could continue my application process... Note: If I made OVER 10k, I was led to believe I would qualify for 1 year of Enbryl - after which time, I assume I would be reevaluated.
I finally decided to go to the DSHS office (back in the day, we called it the Welfare office) to see if I could get medical benefits. The lady at the information counter was nice enough to tell me that if I was only there to get Medical benefits, it would take approximately 3 months to get an appointment [at this point I think I growled and showed her my "mean" face, but she bravely continued], if I applied for food stamps (i.e. EBT food card) or cash benefits, then the medical benefits would be tied into the same interview which they could conduct that day. So began the first time I have ever applied for Welfare.
After almost 2 hours waiting, The interview (it may have lasted 15-20 minutes) went fairly smoothly with me answering all the questions (The woman, maybe mid-twenties, verbally asked every question on the form I was required to fill out and hand over to her. Why fill out the form? Obviously they had to keep a printer in business; it sure wasn't so she could refer to it for information when she had a question). I told her I had no income and have not had income for the past year- I have been living with my sister Laurie who pays the rent, utilities, and some food bills. I pay the assorted bill whenever I garage-sell something from storage (from when I had a life) - refrigerator, water heater, dresser, collectable... whatever.
I was rejected for Medical benefits - I can't prove I didn't have income. Yep, only the government could come up with a phrase like that. The fact I sold personal items to keep myself afloat (in conjunction to Laurie's footing the living expenses) does not compute in their vast, far-reaching, tax-payer paid computer system. On the aside, I was also rejected for monthly cash, because I can't prove I can't work - I guess the swollen, arthritic hands were not, in her medical opinion, reason enough for me to be granted a reasonable doubt. I will add at this point, she never once asked my if I had a doctor's slip to confirm the severity of the condition... I had at one point mentioned that if I had the medication, my disability would go away and I could work (and would be happy to do so). I DID get $200 in food benefits- I guess the fact I wasn't completely emaciated was proof enough that I was able to eat food.
Such is the irony of benefits. I've worked hard and continuously since 1977, paying into the tax and social security system - yet I can't get medical benefits when I truly need them. While a 23 year old kid I know was telling my sister how his government benefits would be paying to get the 26 cavities (I kid you not!) fixed.
Needless to say, I'll be submitting my appeal. I'll probably lose because I still won't be able to prove I didn't have income. Sigh.
(Note 8/9/12): I forgot to update that the medicaid, cash benefits and foodstamps were all allowed. When I went to appeal, it turns out the processor had indicated that I could work, not that I was unable to work. So I have the medical insurance, but we are still doing the arthritis medications dance... Argggg! So frustrating. The war continues.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Startling similarities?
Dog Ownership. I have always been a dog person, but as any responsible owner can tell you, its important to research the type of dog you want before making a commitment to it. For me, a Jack Russell Terrier or a Lab are too much work... hyper dogs that require lots of me, me, me time. I've always gone for the German Shepherd Dog (GSD) with its mellow but protective presence.
But always remember, a dog is a dog. If your dog messes on the carpet because you didn't get home in time to let him out, or your leather slippers get chewed up because you haven't taught him "Leave It" or "this is YOUR toy box", or he follows you from room to room trying to get your attention because you forgot to fill the water dish... he's only acting according to his nature, and according to his needs. By accepting the responsibility of caring for a dog, you are accepting the quirks of his nature and you must be willing to live with your pet's needs. When my dog does something annoying such as barking, marking territory on my newly planted flowers, chasing cats (or, in my case, yanking my arm when he dashes to the end of the leash in an ATTEMPT to chase a cat), I always remind myself a dog is a dog. Your pet will act according to its nature and you signed on knowing this in advance.
Mmmmm, there are a lot of parallels between dog ownership and living with a man. You need to research them (dating?) and get a little back ground to discover his nature (stalking, err... I mean check out facebook, meet friends and family), check out living quarters (clothes strewn around, or a neat-freak) and make decisions as to if its a guy you can take out in public with you. But be aware, the dog may have the perfect nature for his breed but they also have a few idiosyncrasies that may not be readily apparent-- but its all part of responsible ownership.
Yep, a dog is a dog (and a man is a man), so don't be frustrated when it acts according to his nature.
But always remember, a dog is a dog. If your dog messes on the carpet because you didn't get home in time to let him out, or your leather slippers get chewed up because you haven't taught him "Leave It" or "this is YOUR toy box", or he follows you from room to room trying to get your attention because you forgot to fill the water dish... he's only acting according to his nature, and according to his needs. By accepting the responsibility of caring for a dog, you are accepting the quirks of his nature and you must be willing to live with your pet's needs. When my dog does something annoying such as barking, marking territory on my newly planted flowers, chasing cats (or, in my case, yanking my arm when he dashes to the end of the leash in an ATTEMPT to chase a cat), I always remind myself a dog is a dog. Your pet will act according to its nature and you signed on knowing this in advance.
Mmmmm, there are a lot of parallels between dog ownership and living with a man. You need to research them (dating?) and get a little back ground to discover his nature (stalking, err... I mean check out facebook, meet friends and family), check out living quarters (clothes strewn around, or a neat-freak) and make decisions as to if its a guy you can take out in public with you. But be aware, the dog may have the perfect nature for his breed but they also have a few idiosyncrasies that may not be readily apparent-- but its all part of responsible ownership.
Yep, a dog is a dog (and a man is a man), so don't be frustrated when it acts according to his nature.
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