On Flipping Out

It's not like it wasn't expected, except I didn't know what to expect.  Nothing has been going well for quite some time.  Some of you are probably tired of me talking about suicide.  "So come on, already.  Put up or shut up."  Understood.

We received notice that the electric could be cut off anytime after 8 that morning.  The letter came from the town cops that my car is now regarded as abandoned, since I haven't been able to pay for registration, inspection and insurance.  Other things have been piling up.  I've been unable to complete forms to ask for a lower rate for my shrink bills, the hospital has started sending nasty grams because I haven't paid my co-pay for the hernia exam.  I paid the phone and cable, but only enough to keep them on for now...they'll want the higher rate again soon.

Naturally, because Pennsylvania cannot bring itself to consider gay people actually, real people, Jack and I cannot marry and therefore cannot qualify for lower electric and heat rates and some other things.  He applied for medical assistance, public assistance (food stamps...or SNAP, as it's now called) and maybe some cash assistance, too.  He's been on his back with horrendous pain for several weeks now; nothing seems to help.  Being turned down for all three requests for help didn't help matters.  Probably like SSI, public assistance turns everybody down the first time.  And if I’ve learned anything, it’s never get your hopes up when Republicans are in charge.

I thought I had some money I could borrow on my life insurance.  I talked with the nice lady at New York Life only to find out that I have nothing left.  I'd hoped there'd be enough to borrow to pay the electric folks what I owe.  Nothing.  And it felt as if it all came crashing down.  Not around me; on me.

As do most counties, Dauphin County has a crisis center.  I called them.  The woman tried to be helpful, but unless you have the pills in front of you or the razor blade hovering over a wrist, there's nothing they can do.  She suggested an agency that's supposed to help people in need, but they're closed on Friday and you have to go through intake first.

I should have called my therapist, but he was going on a fishing trip over the weekend.  Part time, he’d already left.  I wouldn’t want to be bothered by some asshole who can’t keep his life in order.  I didn’t try to get in touch.

Jack was trying to console, to be helpful.  He went to the doctor to get the medical exemption thing that keeps the electric on for a while.  He also told her what I was going through and asked if she could prescribe something.  She said she’d call in a prescription for the generic Xanax.  It was noon; it would take until 5 before the prescription was called in and ready.

Admittedly, I wasn’t taking notes at the time, and I don’t recall everything.  I felt absolutely useless, a complete and utter failure, that everything bad in our household was my fault, that I couldn’t keep our heads above water, that maybe I should just bow out as gracefully as I can.  Jack has Percocet for his back pain as well as some lesser pain reliever.  I wondered if the doctor would refill his prescription if I took what he had.  And yet suicide didn't seem like the thing to do.  I saw no hope.  Have you ever had that time that seems like an eternity when you realize, finally, there’s no hope to be had?  I felt I had nothing…nothing in my life except my compassionate husband beside me, but nothing to solve the problems.  It was the most desolate, hollow, saddening, terrifying, disgusting, solitary, raging, panicked feeling I've ever experienced.  And there was nothing to be done.  I was on the out side of freaking out.

I have been in the wonderful land of Xanax since late Friday afternoon.  I could stay here very easily.  I left a message for my therapist asking if he’d call.  I haven’t heard from him, but I’ll see him Wednesday.  I should be all right until then.  I feel I am now an inconvenience to Jack, that going to the hospital doesn't fit his plans, that it scares him because he doesn't know what to do until I get back.  Neither do I.  I do think I need to get away from everything.  It’s not suicide, but I think psych wards are open to anxiety people, too.  I guess I’ll find out Wednesday.