Long Hard Road Out Of Hell
I think something finally broke my way...instead of simply breaking. Vocational Rehabilitation has apparently agreed to help. Earlier this week I had to meet with a woman who administered all kinds of assessments to determine where I can work. Apparently, just about anywhere. I guess this means that I'm in and they're really going to help me. This is great news because I'll finally have a fucking job! It will be nice to be able to contribute to the household income. The mood in the house has already lightened a little. The only way I can describe my wife's mood is “relieved”. I'm not sure how long this is going to take, but apparently step 1 to step 2 took all of 3 weeks. Hopefully they won't be much longer this time.
Before I knew they were going to help I was basically running myself ragged in my car (whose AC recently died completely) trying to find someone, anyone hiring. I put in for Spencer Gifts, FYE, a local business that deals in exclusively second-hand CD's, DVD's, Blu-Rays, and Video games for all consoles ever called Disc Replay. I hadn't heard anything from them and was even summarily rejected by FYE and their online application process. This, in particular distressed both of us. I don't know if she is aware that I saw it or not but she posted a vlog in which she is on the verge of tears, venting her frustration about my rejection. My ex-sister-in-law has had at least 6 jobs this year alone, as well as 5 different addresses. She has a criminal record longer than some of the novels on the New York Times Best Seller list, mostly drug and alcohol related charges. She was fired from more than one job as a bar-tender because she got so drunk on the clock that she passed out.
I don't know what part of her applications (so many addresses and previous employers in such a short time span should be enough of a red-flag) is apparently so tantalizing. She's had at least 3 felony convictions and they ignore those. I have a friend who believes that employers only ask about felony convictions and then have you sign the release for a background check because they aren't going to do the background check. They want you to do it for them by telling on yourself. When I was with L3 I had to consent to a background check and about 4 days later I received a copy of exactly what they got in the mail. I heard that's something they are supposed to do when someone actually asks for a copy of your criminal record. This is the only time I've ever received one of those. I used to think he just said that because, like a lot of us, he was bitter and angry about not being employed at the present. Now I think he hit the nail on the head. Of course, the only thing in my criminal background is a speeding ticket for 11 over in Frackville, Pennsylvania. I think it's supposed to come off at some point. I know, totally unemployable.
The problem is, I still feel depressed. I don't really know or understand why. I think it's just my anxiety playing tricks on me. I normally credit my elevated anxiety and my inability to handle much more with the day they told me my MRI showed active lesions, indicative of Multiple Sclerosis. That doctor made me wait over a week between we he received the MRI and when he met with me to set me up with a neurologist. I'm still incredibly angry about that. I even blame him for the present state of my right eye. He was opposed to IV Steroids to treat optic neuritis, but said that if it were caused by MS (and it was) then I would have to use them anyway. As such, he didn't want me to use them, and instead wanted me to wait it out. Then, after about 11 days, I get my follow-up appointment where all he does is tell me that I have lesions and then let his secretary set me up with a neurologist. The nerve of my right eye was severely inflamed, he even said that my neuritis was the worst he'd seen in his 30+ years in the field. I believe that if we had acted on it sooner I doubt it would be as good as before, but it could have been a lot better than it is.
I might feel anxious because I was raised to believe that the majority of people who go to the government for help are scum. Now, sadly, in my time dealing with Social Security and Unemployment I have seen a lot of scum. Those systems are no longer truly arranged to help the people who need them. They are arranged to keep people from taking advantage of them. However, this has backfired. The people they are trying to dissuade (in the hopes that they'll just go back to work) now make their careers trying to defraud, cheat, and manipulate these systems. As such, Unemployment only pays the equivalent of one third of your weekly pay based on your earnings from the last 2 quarters, and you have to jump through so many mindless hoops that I can't truly understand why anyone would put themselves through the trouble when McDonald's is always hiring. Compared to a week dealing with the bureaucracy and bullshit flipping burgers and putting balls back in the Play Place would be a step up.
Last time I was there one of the people trying to work out some of her stuff was a black chick who was easily 400+ pounds talking on her iPhone to one of her friends about how inconvenient it was to be pregnant for the SEVENTH TIME. I will say that again: PREGNANT FOR THE SEVENTH TIME. And she said, and I quote (because I will never forget these words as long as I live) “I wish they'd hurry up and get this baby outta me so I can go on”. Obviously this chick was planning on using one of the two “A”s at her disposal: Abortion or Adoption. Either way that just made me sick. It offended me morally, sickened me to the core. I'm pro-choice, but it's hard to be that way when you see someone like this. I mean, if she's at “the clinic” then she has to pass the bowl they have. You know, the one over-flowing with free condoms. Hell, if you ask them for condoms they will give you a fucking grab bag full of 'em. I did a few times in high school. If I had done it a few more times I wouldn't have a 10 year old today. Either way, upon request they will give you a bag full of condoms, latex, sheepskin, lubricated, non-lubricated, ribbed, formed, rolled, shaped, his-side-her-side, warming sensations, cooling effects, and they even throw in several packages of KY spermicidal lube! Is it so hard to either ask for that bag or empty the bowl into your purse? I think couples who can't conceive should work with people like that chick. Those couples can't have kids and she can't stop having kids, it's simple supply and demand.
It might be because having the help of Voc Rehab is, in a way, submitting to my condition. I've had to lay out not only what I have but my symptoms. I have very little control in my life as it is, to admit that I have a disease that could paralyze me or stick me in bed for another month with severe vertigo takes away even the old slogan “at least you have your health”. I don't want to admit that it could happen. It's the white elephant in the room, but it's actually easier to ignore it. As long as my medicine is working I'll be alright. I don't want to deal with those kinds of things if I don't have to.
It might be because I have a lot of trouble accentuating the positive. I've been called, and called myself, a lot of things in my life but never “an optimist”. Not knowing exactly when I'm going to hear back from my case worker is a big thing and that big an unknown starts raising my anxiety level, again. I guess you could say it's a good thing. I used to be able to handle stress. I like to think of myself as one of the last generation of true goth kids, one of the incredibly intelligent group who consciously rejected both the popular crowd and the brainy crowd. Another part of the true goth scene was an over-whelming air of indifference. For the longest time I could handle just about anything. I would react internally, and externally in private to some extent. But I would face it, confront it, and get over it. Now it seems like I face it, confront it, and get crushed by it. I guess I need practice in getting the fuck over it, again.
It might be because the overly negative part of me is trying to convince me that they're still going to let me down. They're still going to tell me they're not going to help me. That part of my brain is small, but it's incredibly loud and terrifically unnerving. That's the part my shrink has been helping me to stop. It's hard, though. I can feel it bubbling right below the surface, waiting for me to drop my guard. It's like an enemy at the gates, waiting and watching with baited breath for some kind of crack to appear in my defenses. And every time one does, it strikes, and I'm left scrambling to force it back out and suppress it again. I keep trying to reassure myself by saying that they sent someone from a distant office to do all the evaluations to determine if I can be placed where I want to be placed. I keep reminding myself that it would be an incredibly pointless waste of resources and money to send someone to meet me to do all the evaluations if they're just going to wait-list me. It doesn't work, but it's because I spent over a decade hard-wiring my brain for the finest in negativity, and I need to undo that.
I never know how to end these damn things. I know I should make some kind of statement to wrap everything in neat little package. The problem is that this isn't an entertaining summation of a single event or series of events with a definite start and clear ending. Nothing I've written about truly has a clear ending. All I can do is try to relay my stopping point. I've been taking melatonin so I can get some sleep, and I took 6mg before I started typing this. It's kicked in so I'm going to post this to my reader-less blog and go to bed.