On The Edge

…and my fingernails are breaking. I am back in school. And I’m glad I’m back in school. Whether or not I make it to retirement age, there’s no point in making choices that will leave me unhappy, or ones that I might regret. I’ve done many things in my life of which I’m not proud, and been in situations and relationships I’d rather forget, but I don’t have any true regrets. Maybe that’s why I went back to school, because I don’t want regrets.

But now, I have to get a job. And the job market in this city is really horrible. Added bonus, the majority of jobs available are either call center jobs, which anyone off the street should qualify to do, or highly-skilled jobs that require some level of experience and education. That boils down to jobs for which I’m overqualified, and jobs for which I’m under qualified. Really kinds sucks, because eventually, I’m going to need an income.

I’m pretty sure the predatory lender that holds my mortgage isn’t going to be nice about letting a few months slide by, and then there’s the whole grocery thing. I mean, sure, there’s money from student loans, but that money only comes once a quarter, and it’s only enough to pay for a little more than one month. And dropping out of school, well that won’t help, in fact, that would make things worse. At least as a student, working toward a degree, I have a future. Uncertain, sure, but more certain than without it. So now what? I keep looking. I keep trying to find a job that I can do, that won’t interfere with my schooling, that won’t make me miserable and unable to perform in my classes that, basically, will pay my bills.

Oh, and health insurance. Need that, too. The past week has been okay, but there have been many times over the past 6 months that had me more than a little concerned. For a few months there I was throwing protein like it was going out of style. I won’t describe how I know that, it’s not a pleasant thought, but it’s obvious. And it means kidney function dropping. No insurance, though, so I can’t afford to go to the doctor and get tested, usually when I’m not throwing protein, not sure how that happens, but oh well, and have them update me on my status.

Right now, I’m scared. Really am. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I guess I’ll just have to figure it out and hope for the best. I’ve never been homeless or truly hungry, and I daresay I never will if my family has anything to say about it, but I’m not 20 any more. I’m supposed to be able to take care of myself, aren’t I?

I Wish I Had the Blues

I was diagnosed with clinical depression some years ago. The sadness I felt when my mother passed away was completely different from the sadness I felt from my very existence. While I’ll never get over my mother’s passing (who does?), I know the difference between that and what I went through these past few weeks. And the latter is more frightening. Much more frightening. One requires time to get over, the other requires medication.

There are days when I’m just sad, when I start thinking about things that maybe bring up memories of mom or home or something else I really miss. That’s when I’m blue. It passes. Then there are days when I can’t get out of bed without serious self-talk, when showering and even eating is just out of the question. Even when everything is going well, when I have no apparent reason to be sad, I have trouble making myself even get up to go to the restroom. That’s depression. It passes, too, but it comes back, sometimes worse than before.

Right now, I don’t have insurance, so medication isn’t going to happen. It’s difficult for me, anyway. With my ADD - which took years for me to get diagnosed because of myself, not because of my doctor – I tend to have a paradoxical reaction to some medications. Allergy medications, for example. If I want to sleep, I need to take the non-drowsy formula. Aleve Cold & Sinus keeps me up. I don’t take it past 1:00 PM if I want to get to bed some time that night. I’ve only ever tried one anti-depressant, and it worked well enough. Except for one thing: it kept me awake at night. Took me hours to get to sleep, something I’ve always had trouble with anyway. The recommendation for the medication is to take it before bed. I took it first thing in the morning. And yet, more than 12 hours later, I still couldn’t sleep. I was exhausted. Sure, I wasn’t depressed any more, or as depressed, anyway, but I couldn’t sleep, and that’s not helpful.

I know, especially after the last few weeks, that I need to do something. It’s a scary thing when the thought of ending life comes so easily. I know I don’t want to end it all, I always come up with excuses for continuing to exist. So, once I get health insurance again, it’s back to being a mental guinea pig. Medications. I’m not a fan of medications for the sake of medicating. I do thing we are relying a little too heavily on that and not enough on just talking about what’s going on. But I also know there are those who really need medications to survive. Unfortunately for me, I appear to be one.