They're Back

Psych took me from 600 Lithium to 300 because I was showing side effects. And while Lithium at 600 seemed to stabilize my mood, it stabilized it at a moderate depression. The 300 Lithium, however, doesn't stabilize me. I've had one 3-4 day period of hypo/mania, and I crashed afterward into a moderate depression. This is hell on my relationship with Jb. It's hard to feel close--for him, as well, I imagine. I don't know how to get closer to him when I feel like this. I feel so self-centered and day-to-day. The financial situation doesn't help. We argue over spending $5. That's how bad things have become. And the IBS just gets worse and worse.

Never Say Never

Raggedy edge, my ass. Got stopped last night by the police because my tags were one month out of date. We explained to him that we'd just moved and that the mail hadn't caught up with us and thanked him for letting us know, thinking all the while, if we were lucky, he'd let us off with a warning. No such luck: $60 ticket. On top of that, I had to renew my car registration to the tune of $120. I want to be like, "God. Seriously. C'mon."

Jb's got holes in his jeans, and we can't afford to buy him a new pair, though he can only go so long before work makes him get a new pair. His boots were so wrecked the sole was falling off, so his supervisor/boss took him to JC Penny and bought him a pair of $90 Timberlands. The one short sleeve shirt I have is demin and has started to fray at the sleeves like a pair of old pants fray at the bottom of the leg. Besides which, I ripped a hole in the arm. Our comforter is 10-years-old and tears at the slightest touch, which means the cat's had a double dose of fun, and there are feathers freakin' everywhere, everywhere. Can't afford a new one there.

We've a budget of $100 for two people for 14 days of dinners. Do the math: that's $7 bucks a day to feed two people. Between the battery in the car, the ticket, and the registration renewal, we've lost rent money. We can borrow from next month, but that's like robbing Peter to pay Paul. God only knows how we'll make rent next month. It's just putting off the inevitable. Gah, some days, some days, you have to wonder what all this is for.

You know, I'd really like to see a Senator or Congressman try to feed his family on a month's worth of foodstamps. I'd like to see him live in a studio. I'd like to see him try to make it.

Raggedy Edge

There's nothing worse after a paycheck than having the numbers not add, than having that negative sign in front of a figure. So, here we are, on the raggedy edge.

Pride Goeth

So this is how it happens: you get slammed with a $200 utility bill you hadn't budgeted for; you then end up with overcharges from your cable and internet company, who, thus, turn off your cable and internet; then your boyfriend accidentally hits a squirrel; and the battery in the car dies when you're barely going to cover your bills this month, which, in turn, throws everything out the window. Now another bill gets shoved off. And so, pride goeth before the fall, or some such, and you're calling your therapist to see if her non-profit really does help out with money concerns when you're in a tight spot, even though you were too prideful to ask for help when she offered before.

That, my friends, is hubris. Or something.

Crazy-Ass Welcoming Committee

This blog is not entirely solopsistic, though it might seem so. But truly -- beyond wanting to bash my head into a wall -- I am putting this down for posterity. Because no one invites you into the Bipolar, unemployed, uninsured, disability club. And frankly, someone should. There should be a full-blown, crazy-ass welcoming committee. And in it, there should be information on FMLA, the American Disabilities Act, the EEOC, and your local Department of Health and Human Resources. Because you will never see Oprah touting the latest diet craze: The Poverty Diet.

Department of Health and Human Resources: Your state has one. It is like the DMV. No one will explain anything to you. Checkmark anything that might give you money. They would be very happy not to give you any resources at all. They are helpful like that.

SSDI/SSI: Whether you are truly disabled or not, you will not get this. If you even apply for disability insurance (i.e. the government's money), they will reject you off-hand, and if you truly want to be stubborn, you need a lawyer and copious notes of dates and days before the government will let you pry any money at all from their cold, dead hands.

Hospitalization: There are good and bad mental wards. Your PCP probably knows something about this, as might your therapist or psychiatrist. Ask. All mental wards are not the same, but they are a little like prison. Keep juice boxes and fruit to trade for other useful items.

Food Stamps: Do not be fooled by the rhetoric. If you want your SO to be able to use the card, he can. No one checks who it belongs to. Do not, however, put their name on your application for food stamps unless you are married. If you do, you will not receive enough money to feed a gerbil.

The Poverty Diet: When the DHHR determines that, though you've been fired and have no money of your own, you aren't eligible for emergency food stamps, become religious. Religious charities are the number one place to receive donated food. Humbling, yes, but your stomach ain't rumbling.

Temporary Disability Assistance: There is such a thing, but you aren't supposed to know. This is why you check every box when you are in the DHHR. This can be hidden under something called Temporary Cash Assistance. Do not be fooled.

FMLA: Yes, you can take nearly 12 weeks of leave under the Family Medical Leave Act. Your employer, however, will not like you, and most likely, they will find another reason to fire you -- if they don't force you into a voluntary resignation.

EEOC: You will spend half your day waiting for the three appointments they have available that day. In your appointment, they will listen very kindly, then tell you they cannot help you -- unless you wish to make your employer conform to the American with Disabilities Act.

ADA: The American with Disabilities Act does, indeed, protect your right to certain accommodations within reason. Your employer, however, has a much different definition of "within reason" than you do.

Unemployment: If your doctor has signed a paper telling the State that you are unable to work for a year and if you receive temporary disability from the state, you cannot get unemployment. Unemployment is only for people able and willing to work (i.e. though the body may be willing, the mind is not; your mileage may vary).

Medical Assistance: You can apply for this, too, from your local DHHR. While you're virtually guaranteed some sort of declaration about your food stamps and temporary disability within 30 days, medical assistance is a totally different beast. The medical assistance board is always backed up, and apparently, no one has -- or will divulge -- their phone number. You will rot for three months or more before you hear anything about this. Once you do, you'll understand why it's worth the wait.

Medicaid: Your medical assistance has been approved. If you're lucky, you get a nice shiny packet explaining things. If you're not so lucky, you get a phone call telling you that you have two days to find a Managed Care Organization and a PCP. However, once this is achieved, you will realize that when politicians talk about the Health Care Crisis, they are not talking about Medicaid. Medicaid is what it must be like to live in Canada. Your prescriptions are $1, your visits to your psych, therapist, dentist, and doctor are free. As are a host of other disasters.

Bankruptcy: It happens. You can't get unemployment, the state barely pays you enough to eat, and it could be months before you get medical assistance. In the meantime, you are accruing debt and medical bills as if you can afford to. Call your Credit Counseling Service. Then call your local Legal Aid office. They will waive all fees for their assistance. Go figure.

Psychiatrists/Therapists: Believe it or not, the title does not always fit the figure. Psychiatrists and therapists, the ones with the shiny credentials, may suck wombats. Most nurse practitioners and licensed social workers are far more caring. It can leave you dumbfounded when they actually listen to you.

Seriously, these are all things I wish someone would have told me. I learned it all the hard way, and not everyone wants to self-educate. These tidbits are valid, however, and have been learned through harsh real life experience or from other patients in the mental ward.

Success!

Very brief post here, but I wanted to jot down what happened at the Department of Health and Human Services today. I got there an hour early (Because, face it, it's not the kind of appointment you want to miss; they can give and they can take away.) My new caseworker was so much better than my old caseworker, who made me cry. Of course, at the time, I'd only been out of the hospital a month. But this caseworker wasn't trying to tell me that a cell phone bill didn't count as a phone bill and yada yada. In fact, when I told her I never meant to have Jb on my food stamps account, she went ahead and took him off, even though I'm technically supposed to send in a form. And get this, with him off, my food stamps go from $58 to $168. Wee bit of difference.

As for the Temporary Disability/Cash Assistance, that's reviewed in December, and she's going to review the food stamps in December, too, since she wants to be efficient and not make me come in more times than necessary. She also said that as my medical assistance (i.e. health insurance through Maryland) lasts until April, my food stamps and cash assistance will probably be approved and renewed until then as well. Whew. One less thing to worry about.

On the down side, I still haven't received the packet from the medical assistance program that has my card or the information I need to start receiving those benefits. And the two therapists I was referred to through the mental health program don't work for the assistance program anymore. So yet another set of strike-outs. I swear, getting a therapist has been the hardest thing I've ever had to do out here. One guy offered to take me, but only for $350 up front and another $200 each session. I nearly cried I laughed so hard.

Oh! And my stimulus check came from the government. $600 big ones. And all of it is already spent. Go figure. But it's on necessary things. Some very expensive, out-of-pocket medical things, a couple new blouses to do interviews in when I'm ready for that, and a haircut that I've been dying to get. So, things are looking up. And despite the nerves, I felt okay today.

Morning Check-In

Sleep: Up since 8:30ish. Not so bad. Had Jb still been around this morning, I'd have begged him to take a day off. Don't want to be alone today. Slept fairly well last night, though, I think.

Dream: Had a dream about my ex-husband. How we were both dating now, how we'd both changed, seen the changes in each other, and wondered if those changes would have made a difference when we were still together. Sure that they would have. But that all passed us by.

Cigarettes: Still smoking. Probably a good 4-6 yesterday. It's good I bum off Jb so they're not around during the day, though I could use some later when I go to the DHHS.

Weight: Don't want to look. No need to ruin an already stressful day. Besides, we ordered in last night and I had a P'zone, so that can't be good.

Meds: Compliant. Took them last night and this morning.

Food: Protein Boost Special K (the psych says I need protein) with a little milk and an apple.

Mood: Enh. I'm here. Like I said, this morning I was a little grasping, would have wanted Jb to stay home, which he wouldn't have and couldn't have. I'm intensely lonely and isolated right now due to the unemployment. It's made me needy and restless. Think it might be time to find that part-time job when I get my stimulus check and can afford a new blouse to interview in.

To Do: Should call HealthChoice and see if they sent my insurance package yet. Need to reschedule psych appointment. Need to schedule a PCP appointment for blood work. Need to find a therapist, which means making some calls.

The Bad Part of My Day: Have an appointment at 4:30pm at the Department of Health and Human Services to review my need for food stamps and temporary cash assistant/temporary disability assistance. Both rather important things that are helping us get by right now. So, of course, the stress about this started last night.

Relationship: Jb and I are snapping at each other a great deal. I'm ugly and mean a great deal of the time, irritated by everything and hateful. It shows in contempt and so many other ways that I feel like if I can't control this, get even somehow, I'm going to ruin everything. I used to treat my ex this way, and it's little wonder he never wanted much to do with me. He was always happy to go his own way. I'm sure, toward the end, he never felt loved. How could he?

I miss friendship, though. Not the constant caretaking of a relationship, but the ease of a friendship where you're allowed to be who you are without having to worry about stepping on someone's overly sensitive feelings. Everything becomes internalized in relationships, when I'd really rather just have someone to listen and say, "Yeah, that really sucks, you know?" And affection, an arm around the shoulder, a hand at the small of my back, some actual caretaking, the kind you get from a parent if you have good ones: a shoulder rub, a smoothing back of your hair, a body to curl up into and hug, a sense of safety and being loved. I get tired of paying bills, doing dishes, doing the grocery list, cooking, doing this or that, being responsible for this or that. I feel like I'm only good for the things I do in this relationship, and I'm tired of taking all the responsibility for these things. It's too much, and I resent it.

Still Here

I am . . . here. Which is to say that I have nothing to say, despite feeling somewhat better than I have, mentally speaking, since the hospital. My body, however, not so fine. First period in fourth months, non-stop IBS during the day . . . it's really more than I can be buggered to say that I actually swept up some and have a load of laundry going down in the basement. The dishes and dinner are waiting, but I can't quite bring myself to that yet.

Overall, I'd say I'm very . . . meh. With a bit of restlessness and random anxiety thrown in. Maintenance was supposed to be by to fix the tub and oven. No show, of course. And I've been sitting here waiting for them all day. Thus, no doubt, the anxiety. I still don't like the idea of having to deal with strangers or having people in my "space." I actually was resistant enough to the idea of leaving the new apartment that I rescheduled last week's psych appointment for this week. And I still don't want to go.

I don't care to write anymore either. That's be supplanted by reading. I'm reading again. And with that, the writing's dried up. There is nothing intelligent in my brain to say, no spark of personality to put forth. These are clunky words put together by a clunky mind and typed by clunky fingers. We're broke. I have no job. I have no idea what I'm doing with myself. Epic fail.

By the by, when I went down to do the laundry, I really took a good look at the basement, and promptly wished I hadn't. There are, I'm certain, the largest cockroaches I've ever seen down there. They're all dead, which is a good sign, I guess, but dear god. As long as they stay down there. The spiders are welcome to them.

Back to moving around the apartment and random futzing with this or that to pretend I'm being productive. If I were working, this would be one of those days when I couldn't be buggered to do my work because I'm too distracted and unable to focus. My body feels leaden, and I'm utterly unmotivated, except that I owe it to Jb to do something. Feh.

2:04 p.m. I Quit!

You would, too, if you saw our toilet bowel. Got halfway through the bathroom, realized the sink drain is clogged, and I ain't about to remedy it. Hell, after doing some dishes and the bathroom, I can't even get myself up and over to the store to get toilet paper. It is a sad day when I can't walk 2 blocks. And if Jb says anything, "Bang, zoom, straight to the moon!" (Gotta love the old sitcoms that encourage domestic abuse punchlines.)

Okay, dammit, I will go to the store, but it's because of the toilet paper. Not for any other reason! Because, you know, toilet paper is a female necessity of dire importance. Guess I'll get some stupid drain unclogger stuff, too. And finish the dishes, and cook dinner, and, and, and... Makes me exhausted just thinking about it. But, here's the kicker, Jb went out to a flat tire this morning, so the car's in the shop, and ain't no one else gonna go do these little "domestic" lovelies. The fact that we've, maybe, three days until we can start moving stuff to the new apartment and aren't at all completely packed up, well, that's no stress or motivator at all. Nope.

This is how it happens. Every time. I'll take on far more than I really should, work myself up to a frenzy, not sleep at night, wake up far too early, and utterly fizzle once we get into the new place. Once I work myself up with worry and anxiety and cranky resentment, I'll stay uber productive and hypo until I overstep myself, and... crash. With all the fanfare and pomp of my overproductive climb. I honestly don't know how I'm going to pack up some of this other stuff. It's either stuff I need Jb to haul out or down, or it's stuff we'll be using until we actually move. Thankfully, he's been a great help.