Scripture says that, like a thief in the night, the enemy comes to "steal, kill, and destroy". For some reason this verse popped in my head while I was on the phone with a friend last week before I stepped into ICU. We weren't even talking about my depression, if I remember correctly we were talking about my other health issues, but when this verse popped in my head something clicked. Depression and my eating disorder are the enemies. They come to steal whatever joy I may have, kill my ambitions and dreams, and destroy the part of my brain that tells me I'm not worthless and that I am not a failure. And sometimes? Sometimes the enemy wins; convincing me that I am a burden to others, that I am a failure in more ways than I care to verbalize at the moment, and that I hold no value. My brain is often a dark and twisty place, it is not something I would wish upon anyone.
To be blunt, things are not good. I am not good. This past Thursday I came dangerously close to passing out at physical therapy three times. All of which I blacked out during (but didn't collapse). It was terrifying. My blood test came back, it came as no surprised I'm "dangerously" anemic. What scares me is the fact the anemia is the only thing that came back positive when I was told there were at least two other tests run. This means we still have zero answers as to what's really wrong with me. What terrifies me more is knowing there's a good chance I will never find out because we may be dropped from our insurance in a few days. Dad says he's doing what he can to get the bills paid but we're running out of time. If we lose our insurance, numerous things will happen: I won't be able to see my primary doctor, my psychologist, my psychiatrist, my physical therapist, my knee surgeon for my follow up, nor will I be able to see the hematologist. If my seizures come back I will be royally fucked. It also means my brother won't be able to continue his testosterone treatments that are absolutely crucial for his Kleinfeltor's, mom won't be able to stay on the pain medication she needs for her degenerative disks, and dad won't be able to see the heart doctor to figure out what's wrong with him.
To say I am well beyond my shutdown point, is putting it mildly. I feel physically ill. I can't seem to get even a moment to catch my breath before the next wave of bad news hits. And unfortunately, there's no way to fix it all. The blackout spells complicate the job situation even more and I'm scared I'm going to lose my car. I am not doing well, not at all. I feel like I'm trying to breathe underwater and my chest is about to explode.
At some point, I know I'll be okay. Mentally speaking, of course. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or even next week. But at some point. Eventually the fog will begin to lift, the lump in my throat will dissolve, the urge to cry when I drop a freaking pen will go away, and my conscience will go back to telling me I'm a decent person instead of a shitty one. What happens until that point is anyone's guess. Things may get worse, things may get better. Regardless, there a few things I can cling to in the meantime: depression lies, every damn time; my nana is doing amazing (more on that tomorrow), I have Penny to go home to, and I have DB who happily refuses to let me stay in a depression mindset (and occasionally goes mom-mode on me when I'm being stubborn regarding doctors). DB has been such a freaking life-saver for me since Nana's been in ICU, in helping me hold myself together while living through this, I owe that sweet woman big time. I'll be fine, y'all, no worries.