Yeah, there's a name for that...

So the actual day of my "independent exam" has passed and one would think that would give relief. Instead I am enraged about change, inconsistency and the unknown. I am not doing well mentally which tempts me to request a appointment at the new psych place before my disability review is even done. Getting essentially blank pages however, I am not sure would help when I rather tend to believe that the government is against me. Or it would be more accurate to say they are against spenditures. 

I am spinning out between wanting to just stop existing now and actually taking a peek at job listings. There are so many opportunities for having fucked myself at this interview. I have a feeling still having my drivers license might even be used against me. I felt absolute shame when I looked at my old proud list of specialists cross referenced with diagnoses and treatment plans only to realize that I only see three of them anymore. To be fair, some were temporary stops and that relationship wasn't meant to last anyway.

My dumbass has always made it a big deal about 'not being suicidal' and that I only really had that feeling during the blood poisoning incident. While it did take almost a year for that to heal up and wear off I don't feel posioned right now. Turns out at least as far as up to date mental health practitioners feel, its the same thing. The wanting to disappear now before the agony and suffering of myself or those around me is called 'passive suicidal thoughts'. 

Poor nice fella at my review I don't think understood that even if I factually understand he doesn't come into this opera with malice...I know the next steps of what happens once my disability is turned off.  My house becomes unstable, the car is lost, I go under in debt and maybe slower than I think we lose our home. There is also of course the SMALL problem of losing all of my medical care. I have technically thought about this before that there are really only two of my meds I will die without. Not having them would make me a piece of glass on the edge of a wire. Won't matter what knocks me down or where I fall, I will crash.

Lord I was so irritated by the changes of the office structure that I don't think I even sounded like myself in that exam. If I am being watched at all times then why are we cornered off? where is the camera then? Why is the floor not swept? why are people happy and loud? Jesus christ, I smiled and laughed at random things but I wanted to strangle everyone by the time I was out of there. Who didn't put the objects back front and center where they belong?

Having had to find dates in my medical files for a personal project doesn't help either since I saw how little information doctors have been writing down about my ER visits. That created an interesting data thread though. From what little I could find together, I seem to be on some sort of 2-3year trend of sudden  depression and cognitive function. I am still not thrilled about needed mandatory therapy and drugging when I come out the otherside of this. Yet, working was originally my dream at one time. Now its a nightmare cause I know the pain and failure of my mind and body.

Non-compliance versus Poor Case management

Another mediocre visit to the local emergency room has passed. While my body does not feel back to its status quo, I find today my mind is more bothered than anything by nagging problems. (I can't be too mad over a lackluster hospital visit because they really pulled out all the stops for me last time when my vision was in danger.) I knew awhile back that my disability case was strewn with hidden agendas and omissions. It felt however that that was behind me until recently. A phone call came in today to remind me that my CDR was in fact not done processing. So the threat of becoming homeless and having my medical care taken away is being strung over my head again. 

So adding the resentment I feel over my stroke being hidden from me, along with now a myocardial infarct around 2 years later-- to the being pushed out of a hospital without care. Well I was already suffering a depressive episode from bodily decline, this may just double down. What annoys me about my review is that it wasn't until I discovered the information regarding my stroke that I confirmed I was approved for disability under a psychiatric condition. This means for ten years now I've either flew mostly under the radar or been viewed as non-compliant. People who are non-compliant are probably among the 3-15% that get kicked out of the program. I cannot afford that to be me as I know from testing the waters in hopes of using ticket to work that my body always breaks down after as little as a week. 

Recently, I've given up two of my few remaining hobbies. Gardening and genealogy, though to be fair most of my genealogy work is already done anyway. After moving my plant plot to the back corner though last year I had a bad dizzy spell that felt far too much like a sudden stroke it scared me being that far from the house. It's ridiculous because its just the backyard but my lot is a quarter acre. The changing weather in Michigan also screwed up the season start and stop times. So plants aren't doing as well as they should. Even the ecology of are yard is changing. I can't keep up with weeding and we are reaching the peak of needing real laborious repairs. That's the bad things about houses eventually you have to sink big money in. 

I was at the very least able to get the shower walls redone but it still needs paint and the caulk I used is failing. Yet another thing to make one depressed. At the moment, I only have the energy for one task a day and I cannot explain the sleepiness. My night terrors have been gone for awhile at least but my sleep quality since my sudden biliary problem (cause of my er visit) has been very poor. The doctor who said she was in charge of my pancreas is suddenly playing hot potato now that there is a problem and my gp has so much to worry about already. He doesn't need to see me months early. Makes one a bit nihilistic that it would be fine if everything just disappeared like a switch turning off. 

From my childhood and twenties experience, I don't trust a psychiatrist to do right by me and diagnose correctly. From my neuro and post-stroke care, I know most drugs don't work correctly on me. From my random encounters in the er-wild, I know there is maybe one or two safe medicines for me. I would be so exhausted though seeing a therapist once a month. Lord I pace my doctor appointments out months from each other. Having a month with two events in a row is awful. This is however what I am going to have to do. I need a paper trail, I have to manage my case again, which may mean ressurecting the giant medical binder. I've made word documents before of timelines and notes-- organizing used to be fun before someone threw it back in my face. 

If I wasn't a bleeding heart, maybe I wouldn't be so susceptible to the "you don't deserve it" crowd. 

"The Month After You", a catchy title for a book, eh?

Well that moment of triumph which punctuated what happened was not in fact a honest ending. I feel like I need to go back and write a whole book report on all of this. The hospital was so sure of what was wrong with me but then again most symptoms overlap or are generic. That's just how the body in fact works. What has happened since is that my hemochromatosis diet along with working kidneys pumping out heavy metals has rid me of supposedly half my excess iron. Along with that the new symptoms are shedding off like a costume left on too long. Tearing away in long shreds. So my most trusted specialist physician has held up the stop sign on all of this.

What I am coming back too is familiar at least but the haze in between the two is easier running downhill this way, than up. Something I have never had seriously was depression. My blueness prior to this was always situational or at least reactionary. While my Iron loaded on however I found myself idealizing suicide. I could simply step in front of a cops gun or run the car into a wall. Instant off switch and out of my control. This is why I had finally checked into what mental health services were around me finally. It never occured to me that what was going wrong was physical. I thought maybe it was a weird aspect to my agoraphobia worsening.

So what did Iron poisoning take from me? My happiness, pieces of my willpower, my concentration, my sense of time, the use of my hands, my ability to dream and my relationship: good or bad with food. When it comes down to the exact moment I fear death like any normal person but I have in the past thought of suicidal ideation as the stupidest thing because you lose all your precious options. Something that terrifies me now is the knowledge that if I die my partner will more than 50% likely kill himself to follow me. That's an interesting panic inducing thought. Also a bit less selfish than the old one I had as a teenager about not trusting my cat to anyone else. Of course, the cat never said she wanted to die...

There were positive things from this experience though. I had for almost two months no sleep terrors or even nightmares. My dystonia also disappeared though it was simply replaced with shaking fits from hypoglycemia. Both of those are coming back now... but so are my amazing vivid dreams. The kind that inspire you and make you feel glee. Even if they turn out to be fantasies alone. Those are also the inspiration for my writing so hopefully that too will come back too.