No news is no news.
No check in my bank account yet. Haven't heard from anyone.
It's going to be like this. Calling people, bothering them to keep the wheels turning, re-applying for things when necessary, letting them look at my financial records whenever they want basically forever, never saving money or owning anything of great value. No assets.
I'm trying to reconcile myself to a life spent waiting for other people to do their jobs so I can lick up the scraps they throw me, trying to live off those scraps, and I'm not having a lot of luck.
I got approved, and I'm supposed to be happy. Things are supposed to be getting better. And I'm reacting to this whole thing really, really badly. I didn't expect that. Maybe I should've. I mean, there are about a thousand reasons for this, and they are all completely legitimate. I'd just expected . . . I don't know. I'd expected that maybe things wouldn't be so bad.
I'm trying to just . . . let it go until we know more. Until we have a chance to sit down and crunch the numbers and see how badly we're screwed. So I'll save my enumeration of all the ways in which that is very likely to happen for another time.
There is no "should", when it comes to how you feel about something like this. You don't get anywhere by telling yourself you "should" feel differently, that you "shouldn't" be angry or hurt or scared. I know that. I do. But this bleeds outward. It's affecting my husband, who has his own serious issues to deal with, and doesn't need my relentless grieving over the whole mess. It's affecting my ability to do anything constructive. It's making me angry and bitter, extraordinarily so. It's affecting my attitude toward just about everything. I'm having a hard time, just now, understanding why I wanted this. I don't understand how it can possibly help, long-term.
I don't know what to do. Because honestly? Killing myself is not an option, lord, no, but . . . I feel like I'm having my life taken away from me. Again. And when I do die, eventually, I don't want it to have been . . . like this. I'm tired of being helpless and having no options. I'm tired of feeling guilty for hating my life when I have so much more and am so much healthier than other people I know who are going through similar things. I'm tired of digging my claws and teeth in and being able to do nothing but slow my slide toward the edge.
I'm tired of being scared. Tired of being unable to want things, because I've forgotten what it feels like to be able to dream bigger than what I can do tomorrow, or maybe next week. I'm tired of being melodramatically upset. Tired of being sick. Tired of everything.
I thought the hard part would be getting approved. Turns out it's the part where I have to live the life that limits me to. Who knew.
Note: I don't want to hear anything even remotely "WELL HERE'S A STORY OF HOW I GOT SCREWED" or "HEY HERE'S ANOTHER WAY THEY COULD FUCK YOU SO MAYBE WATCH FOR THAT OKAY." No advice, either, please. I'm not in a place where I can even contemplate making a phone call because it's all just leading to more shit I can't fucking handle. Questions they won't answer. I fucking hate this.
X-posted from Dreamwidth. Comment count:
It's going to be like this. Calling people, bothering them to keep the wheels turning, re-applying for things when necessary, letting them look at my financial records whenever they want basically forever, never saving money or owning anything of great value. No assets.
I'm trying to reconcile myself to a life spent waiting for other people to do their jobs so I can lick up the scraps they throw me, trying to live off those scraps, and I'm not having a lot of luck.
I got approved, and I'm supposed to be happy. Things are supposed to be getting better. And I'm reacting to this whole thing really, really badly. I didn't expect that. Maybe I should've. I mean, there are about a thousand reasons for this, and they are all completely legitimate. I'd just expected . . . I don't know. I'd expected that maybe things wouldn't be so bad.
I'm trying to just . . . let it go until we know more. Until we have a chance to sit down and crunch the numbers and see how badly we're screwed. So I'll save my enumeration of all the ways in which that is very likely to happen for another time.
There is no "should", when it comes to how you feel about something like this. You don't get anywhere by telling yourself you "should" feel differently, that you "shouldn't" be angry or hurt or scared. I know that. I do. But this bleeds outward. It's affecting my husband, who has his own serious issues to deal with, and doesn't need my relentless grieving over the whole mess. It's affecting my ability to do anything constructive. It's making me angry and bitter, extraordinarily so. It's affecting my attitude toward just about everything. I'm having a hard time, just now, understanding why I wanted this. I don't understand how it can possibly help, long-term.
I don't know what to do. Because honestly? Killing myself is not an option, lord, no, but . . . I feel like I'm having my life taken away from me. Again. And when I do die, eventually, I don't want it to have been . . . like this. I'm tired of being helpless and having no options. I'm tired of feeling guilty for hating my life when I have so much more and am so much healthier than other people I know who are going through similar things. I'm tired of digging my claws and teeth in and being able to do nothing but slow my slide toward the edge.
I'm tired of being scared. Tired of being unable to want things, because I've forgotten what it feels like to be able to dream bigger than what I can do tomorrow, or maybe next week. I'm tired of being melodramatically upset. Tired of being sick. Tired of everything.
I thought the hard part would be getting approved. Turns out it's the part where I have to live the life that limits me to. Who knew.
Note: I don't want to hear anything even remotely "WELL HERE'S A STORY OF HOW I GOT SCREWED" or "HEY HERE'S ANOTHER WAY THEY COULD FUCK YOU SO MAYBE WATCH FOR THAT OKAY." No advice, either, please. I'm not in a place where I can even contemplate making a phone call because it's all just leading to more shit I can't fucking handle. Questions they won't answer. I fucking hate this.
X-posted from Dreamwidth. Comment count: