What Do I Owe?

Tough. Feeling rough. In my head, “I just don’t care. I’m over it, don’t want to do this.” For the record, I’m not thinking about ending my life. I don’t care enough about it to take action.

At the end of September last, I was hopeful a medication change would provide some relief, even a little. Walking down the street or going out to eat might be possible. And I imagined. Transitioning meds is a pain in the ass and, in the end, the new rx didn’t work.

That was it, my last medical strategy. There were no more prescriptions to try. Neuropsychological testing isn’t available to me because the handful in the area don’t take my insurance.

Accepting chronic illness, chronic pain and limitations settled into me. I know, after a very long time with it, I just recently broke down the last wall. I think. My counselor has been encouraging me for quite a while to apply for para transit, which would come to my house and transport me in a van similar to a bus ride. I’ve been dragging my feet (ha ha, just made myself chuckle) because I still had hope I was going to be more independent. I was also unsure I’d be approved because the SSI disability has determined I’m not.

Well now, coming to terms, I decided to pursue public transit for disabled folks. My doctor supported my application, signing it right away. I signed and mailed it to the public transit company. I started imagining solo trips to see my mom, restarting massage therapy, scheduling regular chiropractic visits, and even just going to sit in a park, which was my counselor’s suggestion. I’ve got a new, beautiful cane to assist me in my adventures. I was pretty sure I’d be approved and I hoped.

This morning, the transit company representative called to let me know my address is outside the service area. If I could get myself three miles from my home, I could get picked up. She commiserated along with me, finishing my sentence when I said, “If I could get three miles, I wouldn’t need …” The woman was very sweet, saying she’d change the area if she could and she was so sorry. I appreciated her.

The call ended and then the tears came. I’d been sure I’d qualify and really visualized what it was going to be like. I’d actually gone beyond hoping. Now, it felt like the last ray went down. My husband immediately began reassuring me but I didn’t want to hear it. Fuck. This. is. it.

Now, I feel like throwing in the towel, not bothering with any more attempts to construct an independent life for myself. In my mind, “I’ll just stay shitty. Not going to work at being cheerful and positive about my life.” Why? It takes work to appear to my husband and to communicate with friends and family as though all’s well.

Do I, a chronically ill person with pain daily, do I owe it to my loved ones to struggle to put a positive spin on it? I have to deal with the illness and pain. Am I also responsible to make others around me comfortable? Do I owe them? Whether I do or not, right now I can’t.