Mess
My uncle used to call me "Mess," because I was a perpetually disheveled, dirty child who never left a room less messy than when she went into it. I always kind of liked the nickname, since I never felt it was meant cruelly, and I pretty much knew I deserved it and mostly did not care. Now I find myself feeling a lot like that little girl again. I am a mess, my brain is a mess, and it makes everything around me messy. It makes a mess of my habitat, my relationships, my health, my dreams and everything I wish for.
It's like containing a toxic spill, all this fear and anxiety and depression and freaking-outing. I spend all the time between one spill and another cleaning up from the last, doing damage control, fighting not to let it poison me. And every time, my buckets get smaller.
This sucks, and it will never go away. And it is genuinely, for-real, ruining my life, because I cannot work to support myself. It sucks to have life be, basically, one big Katamari-like ball of Shit I Do Not Want. There's some nice things rolled up in there, but they aren't things I can live on. The people who say that money can't buy happiness need to fall off a cliff. You can't be happy when you're broke and sick and hungry and running out of rope, and also, let us not forget CRAZY. In such a way that makes it very difficult for you to be happy at all.
And you know what galls me the most? People will point to "happy" homeless people as examples of how people can be happy with nothing. They will point to starving people in third-world countries who are "happy." They will say "Look at all this Buddhist shit. You can be happy without having anything. You just need, like, yourself, and all your one-ness with the universe and shit. There's lessons there, and understanding, and if you can't see it, you're just ungrateful and unenlightened and not one with the Universe and your inner, like, soul."
It's offensive. It's offensive in so many fucking ways. Mostly it galls me because waving at a problem and saying "No, those people are fine, look at them, they're smiling! I heard an interview with one where they said they were happy! There was this TV episode where the guy didn't want help to not be homeless anymore!" is really fucking disgusting.
It bothers me because it overlooks the fact that a lot of homeless people are mentally ill. A lot of third-world people are mentally ill, too, and don't have the resources that even I have. Like a diagnosis.
It also bothers me because comparing the two at all is icky. Comparing oppressions like that is usually not okay, especially when one party (me) has way more advantages despite sharing some setbacks.
And, finally, it bothers me because it uses the people who are best at dealing with the very worst to try to shame me into being less crazy, because apparently it's inconvenient or disturbing or it conflicts with their little worldview or something where everyone can be happy if they just try not to be depressed really, really hard.
Assholes.
I have an appointment with my case manager this week, one I'd forgotten about completely, so that's good. I'm still waiting on test results for the medical crap, although those will not tell us anything but "more tests," which are not negotiable at this point anyway because there's very obviously something going on.
I also found out that my mom had all kinds of weird shit going on with her uterus. I mean, I'd known that, but getting it confirmed is interesting. She definitely had endometriosis. So there's that. I might end up getting a hysterectomy, which would be awesome. I just hope I can put it off until the health care act thing comes around, and I can maybe see about getting it paid for.
I'm scared, though. Less of test results than of the cost, and of our dwindling supply of rope. Sargon is as bad off in his way as I am, if not worse, because I am used to being broken. I am fucked up in eleventy different ways. Jobs? Not in the picture. The writing and what little art I can make to sell is all we have, and it's not helping much.
I should not be wishing for a train to run me over just so I can avoid going into debt over things that aren't my fault, possibly losing my house because I had the bad luck to be born with scrambled brain chemistry.
I am clinging to the disability thing like a fucking life raft, but the water's so cold, and there's no help anywhere to be seen on the horizon. I don't know if we can wait it out. It may be too late. And when it comes, it may not be enough to support us both. We may still be fucked.
I'm scared, and I am so fucking angry. I am so fucking angry, I am not kidding.
X-posted from Dreamwidth. Comment count:
It's like containing a toxic spill, all this fear and anxiety and depression and freaking-outing. I spend all the time between one spill and another cleaning up from the last, doing damage control, fighting not to let it poison me. And every time, my buckets get smaller.
This sucks, and it will never go away. And it is genuinely, for-real, ruining my life, because I cannot work to support myself. It sucks to have life be, basically, one big Katamari-like ball of Shit I Do Not Want. There's some nice things rolled up in there, but they aren't things I can live on. The people who say that money can't buy happiness need to fall off a cliff. You can't be happy when you're broke and sick and hungry and running out of rope, and also, let us not forget CRAZY. In such a way that makes it very difficult for you to be happy at all.
And you know what galls me the most? People will point to "happy" homeless people as examples of how people can be happy with nothing. They will point to starving people in third-world countries who are "happy." They will say "Look at all this Buddhist shit. You can be happy without having anything. You just need, like, yourself, and all your one-ness with the universe and shit. There's lessons there, and understanding, and if you can't see it, you're just ungrateful and unenlightened and not one with the Universe and your inner, like, soul."
It's offensive. It's offensive in so many fucking ways. Mostly it galls me because waving at a problem and saying "No, those people are fine, look at them, they're smiling! I heard an interview with one where they said they were happy! There was this TV episode where the guy didn't want help to not be homeless anymore!" is really fucking disgusting.
It bothers me because it overlooks the fact that a lot of homeless people are mentally ill. A lot of third-world people are mentally ill, too, and don't have the resources that even I have. Like a diagnosis.
It also bothers me because comparing the two at all is icky. Comparing oppressions like that is usually not okay, especially when one party (me) has way more advantages despite sharing some setbacks.
And, finally, it bothers me because it uses the people who are best at dealing with the very worst to try to shame me into being less crazy, because apparently it's inconvenient or disturbing or it conflicts with their little worldview or something where everyone can be happy if they just try not to be depressed really, really hard.
Assholes.
I have an appointment with my case manager this week, one I'd forgotten about completely, so that's good. I'm still waiting on test results for the medical crap, although those will not tell us anything but "more tests," which are not negotiable at this point anyway because there's very obviously something going on.
I also found out that my mom had all kinds of weird shit going on with her uterus. I mean, I'd known that, but getting it confirmed is interesting. She definitely had endometriosis. So there's that. I might end up getting a hysterectomy, which would be awesome. I just hope I can put it off until the health care act thing comes around, and I can maybe see about getting it paid for.
I'm scared, though. Less of test results than of the cost, and of our dwindling supply of rope. Sargon is as bad off in his way as I am, if not worse, because I am used to being broken. I am fucked up in eleventy different ways. Jobs? Not in the picture. The writing and what little art I can make to sell is all we have, and it's not helping much.
I should not be wishing for a train to run me over just so I can avoid going into debt over things that aren't my fault, possibly losing my house because I had the bad luck to be born with scrambled brain chemistry.
I am clinging to the disability thing like a fucking life raft, but the water's so cold, and there's no help anywhere to be seen on the horizon. I don't know if we can wait it out. It may be too late. And when it comes, it may not be enough to support us both. We may still be fucked.
I'm scared, and I am so fucking angry. I am so fucking angry, I am not kidding.
X-posted from Dreamwidth. Comment count: