Fear & Stuff

Something that is hard to admit is how scared I am. Something that is hard to own up to is how terrified I am. Of how scared I am that I will always be sick. That I will never be healthy.

Many of you know I’ve been fighting to get my food stamps back. To get my PCA. My homemaker. My nurse. I need these things. I am slowly falling apart. While I hope and pray to make another trip overseas when I’m 30, I don’t know if my health will hold. I don’t know if I’ll be in assisted living by then. I don’t know if I’ll still be walking.

I’ve had to switch from my crutches to my walker so I’m more stable. In some ways, this has given me more freedom. In others, it’s a struggle because it’s an old clunky one.

I’m tired of fighting. My anxiety is sky high and I can’t make my phone calls. I try and I try to send emails but when they go unanswered, when they seem like they are just being shot into nowhere, I get discouraged.

When I get the mail and get nothing but bills or letters yelling at me for stuff I didn’t do yet again, I get scared.

When I’m not answering my phone because I can’t handle it, I’m worried (note: these aren’t my case workers calling. I can’t get a hold of them).

I can barely wash my hair these days. Clean myself. I struggle to cook food. I am in need of services that I am not getting. Do you know how scary that is? Do you know how much it sucks? Do you know how it feels to be so hopeless and empty, and not get what you need to LIVE?

I’m fucking sick of people telling me they know how I feel.

I’m fucking sick of wanting to clamp my hands over my ears and melt down in the middle of the store, because I am too overwhelmed to shop so I have to cut my trip short because I have no help getting to and from the store.

I am sick of trying to do it all on my own. Because I’m supposed to have help. Because I’m not supposed to have to. And yet, time and time again, I fall through the cracks in the system and no one gives a damn.