My bank account.
On May 2nd, I was hospitalized for major depressive disorder and panic disorder. I was released on the 5th, and notified by my employer that I could not return to work without getting medical clearance to do so. I thought that would be simple. Well enough to go home, well enough to work. I was looking forward to working. Anything to get me back to a sense of normalcy.
My doctor decided that was a bad idea, because I’m depressed and have panic attacks and I’ve spent 7 years without medication and they want me to be stable before I introduce the stress of working.
When he told me, in his warm-colored office, brown and red with a view of the mountains, I had been sitting up properly and explaining how it was just time to get back to work. When it became clear that the option was off the table, I crumpled in on myself and with my face in my hands I whispered, “But, I don’t want to be disabled. I can’t fail like this.”
It does feel like a massive failure. I hang a lot of happiness on looking at where I came from and where I am. But right now, where I am is dire and lousy and it just sucks. The medical bills pour in. My phone is about to be shut off. My disability claim was denied because the doctor made a mistake on the paperwork. He resubmitted, but I have heard nothing. I call every day. Rent is due. Bills are due. This depression and panic is giving me even bigger issues to be depressed and panicked over.
And I feel so sick of myself, because it’s always something with me. I’m always in a hole, always struggling. Most of the time, the struggle is downright exhausting. Right now, I don’t have anything to give.
I don’t feel like anyone can really hear me when I talk about how I think and what I’m going through, but even if they could, how would it matter? What could they do? I’m the only one who can help me right now, and I’m not up for the job. It’s like, why make the bed if it’s just going to get unmade again?