The War Has Been Won

Just got the Social Security Disabilities report today. It has been determined that I am indeed disabled due to Bipolar disorder and PTSD, and benefits have been continued. I knew they were wrong……

The Battle Is Over But The War Is Not Yet Won (warning: potential trigger)

Thursday, I had my Disability Hearing. I really hope that I impressed upon the woman doing the hearing that I am too sick to work, and I am not malingering or lazy. Quite the opposite, I have a hard time finding enough things to keep me from going nuts. If I am not doing something, the voices in my head start talking to me, and they rarely, if ever, have nice things to say about me and/or the world we live in.

However, all this preparing had a side effect that I had not thought of. My mom was with me because of all the people in the world (besides my therapist) no one really knows how sick I have been, and the state of my illness (god, I hate that word) now. She also happens to be a retired attorney. I dutifully wrote out the side effects that I experience from the medication that keeps everyone else sane, I wrote out a Residual Mental Capacity Report, I wrote the number of suicide attempts I have made and how I tried to end my life each time: medication overdose, suffocating one’s self; starting at age 12. I created an”anti” resume detailing all the little things I had done wrong that built up into a big thing which was ultimately my undoing. What I hadn’t thought of was the fact that my mother didn’t know some of these things, and that I was about to lay myself bare in front of her and a complete stranger.

How do you tell a complete stranger while sitting next to your mom, who has already been through so much with you, that you tied a bag around your head in an attempt to suffocate yourself? Telling a stranger that is one thing; having the woman who gave you life hear how you tried to take that life away is an entirely different thing altogether. And, I had written down not just one or two attempted suicides, but 11 attempts that I could remember. They were the ones that had stuck with me over the years; there are more than 11. I sat there and explained that the residual side effects from my medications made it difficult to work for x, y, and z reasons. I explained that while my major symptom clusters were managed by the medications, they were by no means under control. My mother agreed that medication does a good job of managing the mood swings, but that the other side effects such as confusion, difficulty with thinking and memory, dizziness, drowsiness, light headedness, and what not made it difficult to work in any situation be it skilled labor or unskilled labor. 

I calmly sat there and explained how I had lost all the jobs I had directly after college (the “anti” resume). And then my mother chimed in with this gem: “I used to be a supervising attorney for the city, and I hired and fired people over the course of my career. I would not hire her for any position in the office.” Ouch! And, this one, “When the Third Party Functioning report asked if she could drive a car, I decided that she didn’t have the concentration to drive. So, no, I do not believe she can drive a car.” Double ouch!! She also told me that at one point, she and her husband were going out of town for a few days, and had asked me to watch their cats. She then dropped this on me: “We decided you were too unreliable, and asked someone else to do it.” That has just about killed me, figuratively. I wasn’t considered reliable enough to feed a couple of cats for a few days.

Actually, everything my mother said about me are things I know about myself, but to hear them from a parent is disheartening; most people try very hard to earn their parent’s respect and to discover that this is how your mother sees you is difficult, at best. To find out the negative things about you that you try so hard to hide are visible to others is discouraging. Your “normalcy” mask has definitely slipped. Better get it back in place quickly lest you are thought to be mad after all. My mother also told me outside of the hearing that she and my father had known there was something “wrong” with me from the time I was a child. Why is it “wrong” to be different than other people? She could have said that I was “different” from other children my age. 

Needless to say, I have begun to drop into my own version of hell: the rabbit hole. I am scrambling for purchase on walls that are thick with moss and other slippery flora trying to find a handhold.

And I was wrong about something: extra Klonopin did not work. It gave me the flat affect I was after, but did little else other than make me sleepy. And, my paper armor unraveled as I revealed parts of myself that I knew existed but never really wanted to explore. I did this in front of a stranger and my mother. If it had just been the woman conducting the hearing maybe I wouldn’t feel so bad. But, it was my mom who really did not need to hear all of that. I have hurt her enough. The battle may be won, but at what cost?

Nervous

Today is the day I have been waiting for for about 7 months, and I find that I do not feel relief. I find that I am extraordinarily anxious and scared. Today is the day that I get to tell my side of the Bipolar story. I have no idea who will be there. I do not know if it will be one person or a panel of people. The only thing I know is that the inquisition will begin promptly at 9 am, and if I get there by 8:30 am, I can view the other side’s case file. I really do not like the fact that I get exactly 1/2 hour of “discovery” while if this were a hearing in a court of law, I would have received the case file long before this day. 

I have prepared myself. Off I go armed with a list of all the suicide attempts I can remember, the medications and the side effects, the list of jobs I have been fired from over the past few years and why, the reasons I can’t work due to a cluster of fucked up mental issues. Please pardon my use of a curse word, but how else do you describe having Bipolar I with psychotic features, PTSD, ADD, and Panic disorder with and without Agoraphobia. I am certain there are others who have it much worse than I do, but right now it feels like me against the world (or the bureaucratic Social Security system that is supposed to provide for people like me and the others who suffer everyday.)

Well, the iPhone I just had to have is informing me that it is time to get ready to have my case weighed, tested, and hopefully, not found wanting. I had better go make myself presentable but not “well groomed” as it seems that if one is “well groomed” that means not disabled when nothing could be further from the truth. I would like to see them try to live in my shoes for just a few days to see what it is like to live in mixed episode world with a healthy dose of anxiety thrown in for good measure. As if having Bipolar disorder was not enough. Oh well, off I go armed with paper and no chainmail or sword. Maybe a healthy dose of Klonopin would suffice.

This Is How You Freak Out Someone With Mental Issues

 ..…….Send a Bipolar Type I with psychotic features, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Anxiety with and without Agoraphobia a cessation of disability benefits because some bureaucratic idiot determined you had improved medically and were physically able to work. For crying out loud, people at the SSA, I did not file for disability for medical/physical reasons. I applied under the mental health guidelines because my brain does not work the way it should when it comes to anxiety and mood regulation. I also have ADD which makes it really difficult to focus for more than about 45 minutes. 

That is how to freak out someone who already will automatically think: the world is over as far as I know it, and do I have enough medication to end the whole debacle right now. Not that I would do this. I made a vow to myself and all the powers that run the universe that if I got through the last attempt (which damn near killed me) without brain damage or any physical problems that I would never try that again. It came too close to being final, and that scared the living hell out of me. I do not want to die; I want the mood swinging to stop. Not too much to ask or maybe too much to ask.

And the spiral is getting worse the longer I wait. This whole process started in July 2014. It is now nearly April 2015. What’s that? Something like 8 months this has been going on. It is time for them to either approve or deny my appeal. I will appeal to a higher ajudicator on my 2nd appeal, but I am tired. That mental and physical tiredness that can only come from worrying and being on pins and needles for 8 months while the SSA folks cool their heels. It is a tiredness of the mind.

I have just about had it; I am too stressed, I am having major problems with anxiety (upped my dosage back to its original amount), depression (antidepressants do not seem to work on me), and mania to some degree. All this because of a letter; I think the average person might not fight so hard, because physical improvement is visible. Mental health is invisible, intangible so you have to argue twice as hard to prove that you are a walking mental case. None of this is right. Sorry if I seem hostile, but I am pissed off to no end right now.