Daily Archives: November 17, 2012

I’m Still Alive

It has been a couple of months since I last posted. I have been adjusting to my new reality of being a single parent. It has been a little difficult, but also empowering. I am amazed at my own resilience, my life has seemed very surreal over these past few months. Many things to adjust to. I am shocked that I did not have a bad episode after my Husband left, perhaps it was because I was just too damn busy having to rearrange my whole life.

Anyway, I am on a little weekend getaway with my Son……we are in Bocas Del Toro, Panama for a long weekend. Bocas is on the Caribbean, just south of Costa Rica. It was only an hour flight from San Jose, CR in a small “Puddle Jumper” type plane. It is very lovely here, a bit rustic, but spectacularly beautiful. It is extremely relaxing, just what I need after all of the upset and craziness with moving and starting a new life for Myself & my Son. I love the beach & palm trees and the sparkling blue Caribbean Sea. It calms me to hear the sea lapping at the shore and to see the palm trees swaying in the gentle breeze. Better than Valium for tranquilizing a person, IMO.

Now that I am feeling better [I admit to being in hiding for the past few months, I was a mess] I am going to try and post here regularly, and maybe even include some pix. I am also going to start making Videos for my YouTube channel on a regular basis, I think it might be therapeutic. And I am signing on @ Skype more regularly, I think it’s about time that I get back into communicating with people again.

Peace, Love & Joy 2 All!

It’s Official: I’m Crazy!

Yes, I know I’m writing on the Sabbath again.  It was a choice between that, or taking lethal doses of drugs that I have especially tucked away for the purpose, should the time come when I really can’t bear it anymore.

I went before a federal disability judge today.  He looked exactly the way I saw him in my dream last night: 40-ish, dark haired, looking beneficent in his dark robes.  If he were not so cherubic he might recall the Grim Reaper.

The hearing lasted all of fifteen minutes, quite the anticlimax for a two year span spent gathering a stack of paper charts and reports several feet thick, going to court-appointed mental health examiners, showing up at lawyer appointments, ad nauseam, and for all that not really knowing what the benefit to myself could possibly be.  I have a very nice (thank God) private disability policy that I paid for out of my pocket while I was working, and I had to fight tooth and nail to force the *&^% insurance company to pay up when I got sick, all the while so deep in depression that I could not get out of my chair, let alone fight a battle with an insurance company that would stop at nothing (including surveillance) to keep from parting with their money.  That was in the early years of the 2000′s, and I have been kept not nearly as comfortable as I was when I was working, yet certainly not starving.

And now comes my therapist and starts pushing me to apply for Social Security Disability, mostly because half of my present income goes to paying deductibles and co-payments, and she feels that the Medicare that comes with the SSD would provide substantial financial relief.

I suppose that is true.  I won’t receive more income really, because the private insurance might possibly decrease in proportion to the government payments, which won’t be much anyway because of the twelve years that I was a student becoming a doctor and did not earn enough to pay taxes.  Ironic, that.

But all of that financial stuff is not what has me writing on the Sabbath.

It is the judgement, the final judgement, and the finality of the judgement, that I am mentally disabled.  That I cannot go back to work in the profession I love, that I was so deeply in love with that I sacrificed almost everything.

I am Officially Crazy.

I feel like I should immediately take shopping bags and fill them with dirty clothes and go out on the street with my hair looking wild.

Maybe I should have a scarlet letter “C” tattooed on my forehead.

I’m glad I have an anti-suicide pact with my oldest friend (I wonder if he remembers).  It helps me to stay away from the lethal cocktail.

I wonder, will the news reach the State Medical Board, and will they take away my license?  Even though I haven’t practiced medicine since April 4, 2000, I have carefully maintained my license, religiously racking up the Continuing Medical Education points every year, even though I can no longer afford to go to the snazzy conferences that I used to go to, to learn about all kinds of tips and tricks and topics and shmooze with the colleagues, when they would speak to me: after word got around that I am mentally ill, I found myself shunned by my pediatrics chums so I took up going to surgery meetings instead, where nobody knew me and I could learn in peace.  Ah well, those were the days; they are no more.  I will never practice medicine again.  It has been too long, and the disease and the drugs have taken their toll on my cognition.

I think I’ll just keep on getting drunk tonight.  I have a pretty good start already.  I don’t like being drunk, generally speaking; but I need something to numb the pain, and I don’t dare open a pill bottle.

Crazy Person, good night.