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All Things Must End, And They Do….

Today honestly couldn’t get any worse if I actively tried to have a bad day. I hate to say that, because I’m well aware that it can always get worse…and for me, it usually will…but today was a pretty rough day. The weight of the world crushed me, and turning to people for help only to have them respond in a way that was more frustrated and freaked out than I was feeling…well, it only made it feel as if there were two worlds on my shoulders instead of one. I came the closest to having a full-on breakdown that I’ve had in quite some time, sobbing for about two hours and drawing random X patterns with the sharp end of scissors on my chest in hopes that some of the unbearable weight of the world would just go away.

As I’ve blogged about recently, I’ve had recent relapses with my health that have scared me. I’ve started to think the doctors were simply not right in the diagnosis they came up with, and I simply ran out of money and energy to keep subjecting myself to doctors who told me nothing was wrong, and I just needed therapy and anxiety pills. Yet, I know something is wrong. I find myself still having rushes of dizziness that travel at lightning speed from my stomach to just under my ear, and feel like I’m having a heart attack. I still have spasms under that same ear that are uncontrollable, and feel like something connecting my head to my chest is about to explode. I still gain weight by looking at food, and this hasn’t been something I’ve struggled with throughout my life. Yesterday, a walk in the sun followed by a short exercise video sent my pulse rate up to the level at which I should start to get concerned, and my BP remained in the “slightly unhealthy” range all night. Worse yet, getting up to make dinner, I felt like my legs were going to buckle under me. There is something inside me that’s not right, and I know all too well they haven’t done most of the tests necessary to rule out cardiac or digestive tract issues, because my co-pay is so high and my doctors know I can’t afford the tests. If I had money, I’m fairly certain my lifespan would be double what I expect it to be.

On top of it, I mailed a check to pay my insurance premium that was never received, and because my roommate left me with more than a few financial difficulties when he abruptly left, I didn’t exactly hurry to correct the problem. When I spoke to a representative from Aetna at the beginning of May, she said as long as I paid the back balance owed plus a $70 fee, I could re-activate my insurance. I found out today, when I finally had the cash to do so, that what she told me was false. If your policy is cancelled, just as if you should decide to change your plan, you have to go through the application process all over again. I now have no insurance, my doctor won’t refill my prescription without an office visit (it’s apparently against the law to do such things with certain medications.), and I have less that a week’s worth of pills left. So I have to pay for cab fare to the doctor, the cost of the office visit, cab fare home, and the cost of the pills I need. I’m guessing the $16 I have currently won’t cover things.

This afternoon, I got an e-mail from someone saying “Aetna needs more info from you about your medical history”, and I had to spend an HOUR on the phone with this lady explaining why I saw 13 doctors and was diagnosed with 8 different conditions and put on 10 different medications in the span of a year.

Of course, it was all “Yes” or “No”, so I couldn’t just say “I have one problem and take 2 medicines for it. Everyone else was just wrong.” It was all extraordinarily tedious, and I still don’t know if I’m getting insurance. She said I should hear from Aetna in 5 days.

At least she was nice about it, but still…I feel like when I was sitting in the street with next to nothing to cling to in terms of hope and a better future, and the ability to enjoy my present should the future not be something too extensive for me, someone randomly came around and hit me with a baseball bat.

Ironically, last night, I wrote these thoughts in my private journal, after having an episode of dizziness and rush of blood to my heart that made me almost grab the ground for balance. Whenever I realise that despite treatment, and being seen by numerous doctors, my health is not improving, I start contemplating the inevitability of mortality…the “when” and “how” my death will occur, and most frighteningly, whether or not I will be alone and scared and wishing for just one more day of being around.

I was going to post that entry, about love and death and the battle between appreciating each moment and completely self-destructing because, for some of us, life without freedom, life with restrictions, isn’t so easy to appreciate…no matter how much love happens to be around you. I realised that over the past year, the more my body seems to fall apart and limit and betray me, the more I have the kind of love and friendship and support and appreciation and admiration I’ve wanted my whole life, yet could never seem to hold on to when I seemingly had so much more going for me, so much more life to which I could look forward. It’s a cruel irony, or a lesson, and I’m not so sure which.

On second thought, perhaps I won’t post it. I’ve already sent some letters to people in my life that matter to me. I’ve already written some letters so that, if something happens to me, those who are left behind will remember how much they were cared about.

I’ll just let everyone watch the last episode of House instead. It deals with fear and mortality and self-destruction and regret far better than I ever could.

But it doesn’t make this particular day any better for me.

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