I found this page, and while I don’t hate people, most of these spoke to my agoraphobia with panic disorder.
I know it’s not the anniversary. But, I’m watching Good Morning America’s 40 year celebration and they showed the impact into the first Tower.
And I started to cry.
I abandoned another post that I really want to write, because I had to get this out.
We all remember where we were. We all remember who we were with. I did not know anyone who died. I didn’t know anyone involved. I knew people who knew people who were there. I knew people who knew people who died.
I used to follow a blog called Tomato Nation that I loved. She lived in New York and she was there. Her post from that day is an amazing look into what it was like downtown.
Now, we are at a point in history where we need to decide if we are going to help the refugees from Syria to come to America. You know, the one built on immigrants backs. The one that welcomes the huddled masses. The one that was founded on the freedom of religion.
And the one that was scared shitless on 9/11/2001.
Now, Muslims are bad. Immigrants are not to be trusted no matter how they got here.
Our enemies are winning. They are winning because they have succeeded in making us terrified. We no longer just live our lives. We are patted down at the airport and don’t find it a problem any longer. We cringe if there is a middle eastern person waiting to get on the same plane as us. We have turned middle eastern people into people to fear, without getting to know them.
We have allowed the terrorists to continue to terrorize us. Yes, they are still active and attacks still happen. But, bad things have always happened. And people have always bounced back.
I don’t mean to be insensitive. I have the utmost respect for the first responders and the subsequent responders. If my employer would have let me take the time off, I would have been there helping. I have the utmost sympathy for those people directly affected by the events of 9/11 by the loss of family and or friends.
The images from that day are burned into our brains. I know people who have vowed to never fly again. And there are people whose agoraphobia is likely to be attributed to terrorism.
I know I’m just kind of babbling, but my thoughts are very disorganized today.
I just had to get it out.
And Sars still has never located Don. (if you read the link you’ll understand)
I took my sling off for a few minutes, because I just needed to write. The cast is actually easier to deal with than not being able to straighten out my elbow. But, I am keeping my elbow bent while doing this.
Today I had to go to our electricity co-op’s general elections. Now, I think it will be a few months yet before I really start delving into how our nation’s presidential race is shaping up. You gotta know I couldn’t give a shit about the electric co-op presidential race. But, if you go and you vote you get $30.00 off your next electric bill. Awesome. Sign. Me. Up.
MIL took me. We were actually going to hang out for the meeting (not required to get the $30). There are lots of door prizes and there are usually not that many people who stay. So, you can collect the “must be present to win” vouchers off people that are leaving and get a better chance at winning something. Grand prize – Jeep. So the plan was to stay.
Until I went into the room where the meeting was to be held. No. Way. Just…not gonna happen. There were a couple hundred people already in there. Loud music was playing and the temperature rose 10 degrees from the outside temperature. I got 20 paces into the room, turned to MIL and said “We’re leaving”.
To her credit, she was game either way.
One of my favorite things used to be going to the mall at Christmastime (never ever ever ever Black Friday…ever) and doing my shopping. I would find Santa to see if the mall had hired a “good” Santa. I would wander through the Hallmark Store. Find the Pepperidge Farm stand and buy some sausage and cheese for my grandparents (they loved that stuff). And shoe store surf for cool boots and 4″ heels.
There were people everywhere. And it was warm. And there was music playing.
Apparently those three things are my kryptonite now.
I never particularly liked the warm temps. But the rest? At Christmas I relished it and at other times had no problem with it.
Now? Well, now I can’t deal with any of it.
And I hate it.
I always have been a homebody, but still, I did enjoy those things as well. Now, I couldn’t be bothered to leave my house except for the basics. Doctor appts, grocery shopping and that’s pretty much it.
And I hate it.
I structure the days I leave the house very very carefully. I must go around to the various errands in order. I must always start at one place and circle around, never ever backtracking, until I come back home.
MIL’s plan of attack for how we would accomplish the day’s errands, including voting, was not in the “proper” order. I’m in the cast for 6 weeks so she has drawn chauffeur detail. Now I have to teach her that there is a proper order for doing things. The less backtracking that you do, the faster you get home. It’s crucial.
I like to pass it off as time management. But it’s not. And no amount of wishing is going to change that.
This is the agoraphobia with panic disorder part of this mental diagnosis soup.
I don’t particularly care for it honestly. I will be looking forward to doing something and as the time approaches I start looking for excuses for why I can’t go. I know I might have fun, but I have also sabotaged so many outings because I have become angry that I couldn’t get out of it.
I think that not having my own transportation is probably why this is at the forefront of my thoughts right now. I’m noticing it more. The insurance company called today and told me how much I would be receiving. It’s more than I was expecting so…YAY. The penny pincher in me feels like I should not replace the car and use that money on bills.
But the Mental Illness is demanding and it wants a car.
Once again the logical side of my brain and the emotional side are at war. Pushing, pulling, back and forth, until I want to throw up from the motion sickness.
I wish that I had been able to sit through that meeting today.
But I wish I could experience the mall at Christmas time more.
I wrote a little bit about my odyssey with the Social Security Administration a little while back and it appears that it is time for an update.
Today I received my second rejection letter in the mail.
My initial reaction was a mix of shock and anger. I yelled at my husband when he asked what the letter said (not my finest moment).
I have, within the past few days, been able to come to some kind of peace with the psychological testing that I had done last month. That testing, and subsequent hours of interviews, came to the very sure conclusion that I am severely mentally disabled. I cannot now, nor is it likely that I ever will, hold down any type of gainful employment. My mood swings are too often, and too severe. The depression has too deep of a hold on my mind. The anxiety is near constant. The initial assessment is that I’m merely treading water psychologically. I’m not getting better, but at least I’m not in the hospital (which I do take as a bright spot!).
My attorney sent this (what I thought was a fairly compelling) report along to Social Security on July 1. On July 9, the rejection letter was
crafted generated through the SSA’s “Kiss our Butts” form letter department. My testing results were listed as evidence received.
Now I have 13 months invested in this process and I have nothing to show for it, except an ever increasing pile of paperwork.
My attorney tells me that this is normal. Expected. Typical.
I think that it is ridiculous, slipping right past insulting. In the words of my grandson, it is “Stupidy poopy”. (That child is brilliant!)
I haven’t drawn a paycheck in 18 months. I’ve been working on disability for 13. An appeal to have a hearing in front of a judge is the next step and is expected to take anywhere from another 12-15 months. All for a sum of money that will be well beneath the poverty line even though I have worked for 30 years and always made good money.
I feel defeated and small. I feel humiliated. I feel like crawling under the covers and not emerging for the next few days.
But, I’m also seriously pissed off. I want to punch something. Hard. It’s probably a blessing that my right foot is in a cast right now as it does take away the urge to kick something. I should mention that I am not violent. Rarely (once in the last ten years) does my urge to kick or punch something actually end in me kicking or punching something.
This is resulting in a new goal for me for the future. I don’t know when I will be able to handle it, and I for sure don’t know how, but this system has GOT to change. We need to remove the stigma associated with needing disability. I’ve said it before, but this is not something that I want. This is something that I need. And I’m not the only one. But it is humiliating. And it shouldn’t be. It just shouldn’t.
Why is my doctor’s opinion not good enough? I have two opinions and they both say the same thing (Bipolar, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Panic Disorder, OCD, Agoraphobia etc). But someone’s government job is dependent on telling my doctors that they are wrong. I would love to compare everyone’s credentials. *ha!*
Stay tuned folks! Updates as they arrive!
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