“I’m just rambling and no one wants to hear the lamentations of the mentally ill, so I’ll just shut up” were the last words written in this blog.
Well, it certainly wasn’t my intent to shut up for damn near three months.
When last I wrote, things were not doing so well for me. And then things got a lot worse. My wife lost her job. We lost our health benefits. And gradually, every single medication that I take ran out.
And things got a LOT worse.
My symptoms were constantly fighting my wife’s symptoms and we were caught in a loop of irrationality, of arguments, of conflict against ourselves outwardly manifested as anger toward our partners. It was a tough time.
And for the first time in memory, I took to sleeping most of the day away.
I’d wake up whenever I wanted, then go back to bed after a cup of coffee. I’d wake up to use the restroom, then go back to bed. I’d eat lunch, then back to bed. Restroom, bed, repeat for dinner, then MAYBE try to stay awake for a few hours in the evening to pretend that I had some passing interest in anything, which was false, then back to bed for the night.
My nights were restless as well. My back had started seizing up midway through the night, so I’d have to get up, set up the heating pad in the rocking chair, sit down, prop my feet up on the footstool, toss a blanket over me, and settle back down to sleep once the heat started loosening my back up. On occasion, my neck would get stiff too, and I’d have dual heating pads working on me to try and get me back off to sleep.
I can’t remember a time in my life that I’ve been that down, that dejected, that isolated, and that depressed. I’ve been suicidal before, but every one of those episodes was an exercise in frantic agitation rather than utter despondency and hopelessness.
I stopped checking my vital signs for my diabetes and blood pressure long ago, and after a bit of a spell best described as “I don’t feel right” I pricked my finger and gave blood to the blood god.
The meter read 281. Normal is around 100. Hospitalization takes place at 400. I was, to say the least, alarmed.
I decided at that moment that I needed to do something, anything, to get my blood sugar under control, and very quickly thereafter my psychological condition. I reached out to very generous friends who were able to help me get the diabetes medication that I needed. I found a doc in the box that was willing to extend emergency prescriptions for most of my medication regimen. The only setbacks were that my psych meds weren’t applicable, and we were still working off a disability check and an unemployment check, and not quite squeaking by with all of our bills.
It’s around this time that my wife redoubled her efforts to find work, and within just a few days had secured a temp-to-possibly-hire-we’ll-have-to-see position that was enough to cover our expenses. Things were looking up.
It’s also around that time that I started looking at alternate Medicare plans that provided Part D, the prescription coverage. I got a plan that looked to be a good one, for not much more than I was already paying Medicare for Parts A and B, and signed up.
That coverage kicked in May 1st.
On May 3rd, I was back on my psych meds.
Today, I woke up and made the determination that I was going to stick to my little black book as closely as possible, something I hadn’t even looked at in a month.
And now, as I write this, I’m looking forward to my first appointments with my new primary care physician and my therapist next week.
Things are still very tight – the position that my wife picked up pays notably less than her last job – but at least there’s the hope that we can still squeak by month to month til she gets something better.
I’m emotionally much better today than I was a week ago. It’s like the fog has lifted and I can see the light of day again. I missed that light. I missed having something to do with my day instead of just moping in front of Facebook obsessively refreshing it, watching everyone else I know live their lives while I was stuck at home afraid to get off the couch.
And more changes are coming. I don’t want to talk about them yet, cause I don’t want to get my hopes up, but I’ve got some things percolating in the back of my mind to help get me off my ass and back to living life again, something I haven’t done fully in over three years.