On Friday I gleefully posted about how the Blargh had hit me, but that I was doing really well emotionally and pretty well physically.
I never should have posted that.
You know why? The Universe was listening.
And do you know what the Universe gave me? An anxiety attack that led into a suicide spiral. That’s usually how these things go for me. I’ll break it down.
I get into a situation where I stop seeing possibility. I stop seeing opportunity for things to change. It can be for any number of factors, but generally involves: 1. My physical inabilities currently to work in a full-time environment; 2. That I live in the desert in the Middle East; and 3. Bills. Damn bills.
Money is usually the trigger that sends me straight into the darkest places I can go. See, I know what plans Mr. Lyndsy and I have. We want to buy a house in the US (we were going to do that this summer, but it’s been tabled for reasons that have nothing to do with me). We also want to save as much money as possible before going back because it’s highly unlikely that Mr. Lyndsy will make what he does here. We also have no idea what kind of condition I’ll be in.
So on Friday, the trifecta hit and my anxiety shot through the roof. I have a student loan I cannot get rid of no matter what I do. It’s $500 month. Most months, I barely make that. Which means that the other various bills I have – hospital bills from the little trip I took to the ER in February, credit card bills from business expenses (sadly, direct sales haven’t gone super well lately), and personal credit cards (which are my fault, some, and stupid shit), don’t have much money to fund them.
Then I have to ask. I hate asking, because it puts me into the expense column.
My brain starts scrambling to figure out what I might be able to do. Then I get caught up in the fact that my body is not so good to me all the time. I have constant fatigue from fibromyalgia. I have insomnia which I only overcome when I take one of my antidepressants. The problem with that antidepressant is that it knocks me WAY out. Even if I fall asleep around midnight, it’s not unheard of for me to sleep until noon. That would make getting to work on a bit challenging. If I try to get up before my body is ready, it won’t move and I end up falling back asleep. I’ve learned it’s better not to fight it.
The thing is that here I couldn’t have any of the accommodations that I would have in the US. They don’t have an ADA. If you can’t do exactly what they’re asking (and most jobs work 6 days/week) they have no reason to hire you because there are people lined up behind you to take the job.
“So Lyndsy, just move back to the US!” Ah, but you see, the US is a problem now – healthcare. It’s too up in the air to risk it. Mr. Lyndsy’s anticipated job doesn’t have healthcare. *I* would have to find a job with insurance (the exchange plans where we’d be aren’t the best) and be able to work and make enough money to cover it. Right now, I don’t see how that’s physically possible. Knowing that any protections I would (no lifetime caps, pre-existing care coverage) would either go away or become unaffordable freaks me out. I see a rheumatologist, endocrinologist, nephrologist, and a shrink (and you know how Republicans hate treating healthcare!). I take 7 medications per day, well, 8 right now, plus one more weekly. I don’t even want to think about what those would cost if I had to come up with the out of pocket funds.
Herein lies my problem. Whether I’m here or there, I’m kind of screwed. The only saving grace would be a successful SSDI claim, which is unlikely the first go through. They often take 2 years to fully litigate. What would I do in the meantime?
This is how I end up feeling trapped in a dark place I cannot get out of. Where I hear from a voice in the back of my head, “The best thing to do would be for you to kill yourself.” And it starts to sound downright LOGICAL.
YES! Kill myself! Then all of this doesn’t matter. I stop being a expense! I no longer have to worry!
Friday night was the closest I’d been in a long while. I mentally wrote my goodbye note to Mr. Lyndsy and my obituary. I thought about messages I’d like to send people. I don’t want anyone to feel bad. This is just my life and how it rolls.
After a while, it’s too much. Knowing now, after almost 3.5 years of constant pain, with other worsening attributes, that any kind of traditional work environment would be too much, is demoralizing. I feel guilty about spending money on fun things. Because if I spend money out of my accounts on anything fun, I’m going to have to ask for money from Mr. Lyndsy. But, if I try to not spend, I grow resentful. I hate losing my independence.
So here I am. I made it through Friday night. It’s just a one episode at at time kind of thing.