I am in bed, half sick, half depressed-a pajama day if there ever was one. It is raining, hard sheets of melancholy tears pour out their sorrow, both inside and outside of me. I feel despondent, forlorn and invisible.
Yesterday, after appearing before a judge in Harrisburg, with the knowledge that I did not get my Disability; the woman behind the gavel decreed that she would need more time to “think about” it, (I suppose two years wasn’t enough)and my attorney said it could be months before we know the outcome. Not only did I have to testify on my own behalf, but the hearing was over an hour. The Vocational Specialist who testified for my side, for the most part, is one and the same man who told the judge-after being asked if there is any accessible work for someone in my condition-that yes, I could indeed work as a potato chip sorter. Having to go under oath lest there be purgery charges, asked incredibly personal questions and discussing my mental health as if it was a form of currency~well lads and gents, it was all I could do not to faint. Or vomit. It was terrifying.
Turns out I came very close to that faint on our way out of the building via elevator. I could feel myself going, not unlike Katy Perry having an mk ultra breakdown, on stage, before millions of screaming fans-only I just had one attorney and a husband.
I’m in bed because my heart hurts. My ego almost non existent, trying to sum up the energy to even breathe, I know well in my heart that this too shall pass. Sometimes it takes a breakthrough under stressful circumstances: and a pivotal moment came when I was asked by my attorney if 5 years of therapy with Pamela helped my CPTSD.
“No. She wouldn’t put me in Philhaven, even when I was suicidal.” Ouch. My own therapist let me down so majorly, she neglected to keep any files on me…which came up at the hearing.
“you are so invisible, not even your doctors see you……..” I translated.
While we were awaiting my attorney, my husband left the office to plug a traffic meter, and we are far from street smart-he took so long I started to pray. And then it hit me: no matter what happens in my life or this world, after God comes Dwain, and I would rather have my husband and dog, (few cats, 17 of them if you count the outdoor felines) than a million dollars. Let alone this crappy circumstance I find myself in, you have blessed us with true love, fidelity, respect of one another………we eat, my needs are more than met.
I am saying this now, while all wounds are fresh, I don’t think I can go through another appeal-such a prostitution and rape of pride. But as long as I have my three main men, well………the beat goes on.