I was, surprise, surprise, still up when I got a text from my mother at 6:00 this morning.
“I am coming down after work today. We need to talk.”
I went from “sorta comatose on the couch” to “blood running cold, heart about to burst through my chest” in .7 seconds.
“Huh? About what? What did I do wrong?” (Because obviously it’s always my fault…)
“No, I just think we need to be able to come up with a plan…”
Me: “Ok. That scared me to death.”
“We’ll talk later.”
I had been contemplating getting a few hours’ sleep, but now… enh… not so much.
Now I need to clean everything. Twice.
Then, after deciding that I needed a bit of sleep (just a couple hours would help with my brain that feels more like lumpy oatmeal,) and being completely unable to do so because my heart is STILL racing, I took a shower. My phone rang juuust after I got in, and I was hoping it was someone calling me for an interview. I showered super fast, getting very excited and probably completely counter-acting the klonopin I’d already taken, to discover it was my mom again.
“Do you have therapy this weekend? Because we need to come up with a plan, and I think it would help if we brought your therapist into the conversation.” Mom’s willing to pay, but all I am doing is flashing back to that horrible, horrible joint appointment after Thanksgiving. It’s not a terrible idea, though, and hopefully it would go better- I mean, hell, I’m already depressed, how much worse could it possibly be?- but I actually don’t have an appointment until next Wednesday, so as to give my precious weekend spots to someone who needs them while I’m unemployed. I said I’d call and ask, though, and did so, though I had to leave a message. Unless she’s had a cancellation or really feels like being mean to herself, she likely won’t be able to squeeze me in. Or she will, and she should probably leave my Wednesday, too, because this one might turn out exactly like the last one.
I think what led to this, was my sobbing phone call to mom Thursday morning roundabout 6, after not sleeping and getting myself all worked up. I was just so scared, and I got another lecture about exercise and another comment about how I just need to cope and go to work. Mom did say that she was sorry for anything she’s done that led to my being so sick, which is improvement. I need to talk to her more about the fact that yes, I’ve got PTSD from my childhood, and it is something that I am working on in therapy.
In other news, I got a call earlier in the week from a local agency and had a phone interview, so I was super excited about that, and then just… crashed, because she said she’d need to call the agency that just let me go, and she specifically asked about why I had been let go, and then asked again if attendance had anything to do with not meeting productivity. Um… I danced around that one as best I could, and explained that my health problems that had been so bad qualified under FMLA, but I’m sure both of us know that FMLA won’t kick in for a year so what happens in the meantime? I didn’t mention that and she didn’t ask and I mostly just felt sick about it, later. I explained that about half of our caseload had been taken away, so trying to make productivity with as many hands as were in the pot, plus Medicaid caps, made it impossible, and we were all holding out for when the ACT billing changed, but mine was just too low to keep me on any longer. I’m hoping that was a satisfactory response.
And at some point during the interview, my cat bit me, and I definitely told her to knock it off or I was going to punt her across the room… while I was on the phone. *facepalm* Sometimes I’m really dumb. The interviewer said I was the first of a series of phone interviews she was going to do, and she’d call me back if she was interested in having me come in for a face-to-face. I’m hopeful but anxious as hell. I was really hoping she was the one who was calling earlier and not my mom, though somehow I figured it was going to be my mom. I’m psychic like that.
I’m now on my third klonopin, I still can’t really breathe, I know I need to clean the apartment but I’m sort of frozen in the corner of the couch. I’ve managed to fuss with the fountain, which was making unhappy noises because the filter was getting clogged with gunk, so I cleaned the filter but it’s still making unhappy noises. Hopefully it just needs to run itself for a bit. (Note: after a while it did stop making that unhappy noise. Now we’re just back to nice bubbling. Note the second: I totally lied. It’s still unhappy with me, in spurts.) I really want to take a nice, calm nap, but I think I’ve got to get my heart rate under control first.
Maybe if I start with dishes, that’ll help. Doing the dishes usually seems to help. Maybe I’ll make a list of what needs to be done, too, and just start at the top. The problem is that EVERYTHING needs to be on said list. And I still need to get over to my sister’s to finish laundry. I sort of stood her up last night by not being conscious. But now her fiancee is coming to town, and now my MOM is coming to town, so who knows when laundry will be done, but I’m definitely out of underwear so I might just go buy a pack. Sometimes it’s easier.
I managed to get in contact with someone at JFS about why my claim for last week is still pending, and found out that the initial claim determination takes THREE WEEKS. So I guess my bills are supposed to be paid with imaginary money in the meantime? I should get my last check from my old job today, and mom sent me a check that ought to come today, too, so I am reasonably confident that the rent will get paid. After that, well. We’ll see, I suppose. I’m trying to remember if I also need to pay the phone bill or not. I’ve got to go through and look at my bills again, and do my taxes. Whoo, taxes. My favorite.
Maybe I’ll close out my 401K again… who needs retirement anyway? I’m not entirely sure I’ll still be here to have one. I have to make it through the summer because I can’t do that to my sister, so that’s my current motivation to stay here. After that, well, hopefully I’ll have something else to keep going for.
I know depression is a lying asshole, but right now? That lying asshole is the only thing around to talk to, other than the cat. Who is being super cuddly, especially when I start to cry, which is to say, all the time.
Any time I create a lap-like surface, there is a cat in it, purring and loving on me. I can be in the deepest, darkest pit of hell and she’s there like a furry beacon of hope, because this little, amazing creature is dependent on me. She needs me, even if it’s just because I have thumbs to open her food and play Little Red Dot with her. And she loves me so much, and I love her so much that I’m crying just typing it out. She’s such a good little cat, even though she bits me during job interviews and periodically attacks my feet in the dark. I love her and her belly floof that she occasionally will let me touch and she doesn’t seem to mind when I just hold her and cry.