I'm certain everyone around me is tired of my depression too. I'm sure it doesn't make me the easiest person to live with. I'm sure it is no fun for my family when I retreat into my own little world, when I hide out, when the thought of doing some task, no matter how simple, seems insurmountable. When every single thing is a struggle.
It's not every day. I know it's not forever. Even when I'm in the middle of the worst of it, I know it's not forever. That helps. It doesn't make it okay, but it helps.
I recognize when things get hairy though, and I decided on Sunday that I would sit down and review my medical benefits and find some help. I'm trying, you know? I really am. I'm take the meds I've been prescribed. I also started taking fish oil to cut down on my coritsol levels (stress, you are a horrid bitch). I'm walking, every day. Thirty-three miles since January 1st. I even went to Zumba, only once so far, but I'm going to go back because even though I thought I might die and I have the grace and coordination of a plane crash, I had a huge smile on my face the whole time.
I'm trying. I still need some help.
So I started looking, reading, and trying to decipher all of information on the website of my insurance company. Then? I started crying. A lot.
It was so hard you guys. I don't know if it was so hard because I was already having such a difficult time, but OH MY GOD it was so hard. I found out that if I wanted gastric bypass surgery it would cost me $311 total (I don't, and I don't qualify anymore anyway). If I had a baby, I could stay in the hospital for 96 hours if I had a c-section. $20 to see a doctor, for routine anything. In-network tubal ligation is covered at 100%, if I want that. Should I ever need an ambulance? I'm good to go.
I couldn't freaking find out where to go to talk to someone. I couldn't figure out if I even had coverage for this. I couldn't determine if I needed a referral from my EAP. I didn't know if they would only help me if I had to be hospitalized and at that point? I was feeling pretty close to needing to be.
I called the number on the card and...I cried. I got transferred three times before I finally started crying, but yeah. I'm that person who cried on the phone to the freaking insurance company. They asked me if I was going to harm myself or anyone else. I figured screaming at them, "YOU! I'M GOING TO HARM YOU IF YOU DON'T QUIT FREAKING TRANSFERRING ME!" would buy me a one-way ticket somewhere unpleasant, so I didn't say that. Maybe I thought it. Maybe. Twice.
So I cried. I cried so much that once the girl on the phone said, "Hello? Are you still there?" because she couldn't even hear me. Apparently I cry very quietly.
It makes me alternately ragey and sad that if I looked on the website I could very easily find a pediatrician or a oncologist, but I can't find a therapist within 50 miles of my address. My last attempt found me someone out of network that I didn't even like and never called again. I can search for "depression" or "talk therapy" on the website, but for some reason I can't get any results. Maybe it was just my own fail, because after my crying outburst they found someone for me (or maybe it was my crying that did it. I'm not sure). I can't get in for three weeks, but that's okay. Sometimes it just helps to know that you have a plan.
I can't tell you how many times people have said to me that I should just "try harder" not to have depression. That my anxiety is my fault and I should just "calm down". No one says that to people with diabetes or cancer or the flu, but depression and anxiety aren't "real". They can be controlled if you just try hard enough.
Except yeah, no. That's not really how it works.
I assure you that if I could do just about anything other than having panic attacks that leave me unable to sleep, I would do it. If it was like, "You can stick pins under your toenails or have nineteen minutes of sleep at night and feel like you're going to die the whole time oh and by the way, during the other eight hours that you're awake you'll have to deal with an ongoing replay in your head of every single thing you've ever done wrong in your entire life. Real or imagined. So enjoy!" well hand me the damn pins. This is not fun. I don't want to feel so sad that it seems physically and emotionally impossible to drag myself into the shower. I don't want to sometimes feel like everything is pointless. I don't want to cry until my contacts fall out of my eyes and my head pounds. I don't want this to be my life. I'm not "doing this" for sympathy or attention. I can't control it. I don't want sympathy. Attention, especially negative attention, makes me feel ill. If you've ever met me in real life you know how freaking awkward I am. I certainly try to draw as little attention to myself as possible. I don't want any of this.
I just want to feel better. I just want to know who to call when things are hard. Most of all, I want people, everyone, to recognize that depression and anxiety are real. They are just as real as any other illness and when things suck, you shouldn't have the added burden of not knowing where to go to get help or people surrounding you telling you that you should just try harder. I am fortunate that I continue to have a bit of clarity, even when things are hard. I can rationally see that things won't be horrible forever. That helps. Other people don't necessarily have that clarity. I would really hate to see what would happen for them if dealing with this made me such a sobbing, hysterical mess. It's just really, really sad.
I'm lucky I have insurance. I'm thankful for it, even if I can't always figure it out. I'm thankful that I can see things objectively, at least sometimes. I'm so, so grateful that I don't feel this way every single day. I know some people do and I cannot even imagine the level of suck that must be.
It's just so broken, the whole thing just seems so broken.
I hate it.