Social INSECURITY Administration

So I did fuck all Saturday, cryptified early, then around 8 p.m. it occurred to me I hadn’t checked mail. So I shuffle out to the mail box and inside I find this skinny little envelope from Social Security. Now if you read this spewage even regularly then you’d know I got a notice back in February that my disability case was under review. For almost seven months I’ve felt like I was walking a tightrope without a net below. I’ve been a nervous wreck.

And kindly as the American government is…The page long letter states: “We sent you notice that your disability case was under review. We do not need to review your case at this time so we will not be contacting your doctor. We will notify you when we do need to review your case.”

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? Seven months of hellish anxiety over this particular matter and oh, oops, we fibbed???? It took seven months to figure this out and notify me? Sadists! That is possibly the cruelest thing you could do to someone with severe anxiety disorder.

Good news, though, right? My income isn’t as up in the air now, I can breathe, you think? Ha ha ha, scumbag brain has other ideas. Because I read and have seen horror stories about how the government agencies scour social media and the internet as a whole, looking for “fraudulent” disability claims. One girl dared to post a picture of herself in a bikini on the beach and she was cut off and charged with fraud because ya know, laying on a lounge chair in the sun absolutely means your back injury is cured.

Having read such stories…I am leery to even let out a deep breath. They use algorithms and linguistics programs (usually to track down bomber types with manifestos) to locate even people using a pseudonym. I sound stark raving mad, but if you watch enough crime shows…you know paranoia is warranted. And scumbag brain is convinced this is a trap, they are lulling me into a false sense of security, hoping I make some sort of miraculous recovery so they can say HA!You’re a fraud!

Won’t they be shocked to learn…Having that one stressor removed did not cure my depression and anxiety. I thought once I knew yay or nay on that matter I’d feel better. But I really don’t. Because that’s not how depression and anxiety work. God, I want my brain to get its shit together and work right. This social security thing is more stressful than homelessness, I swear, sometimes. Thus…social. insecurity. administration.

Since I was a lump Saturday, I kicked into gear yesterday. Did dishes, swept the kitchen, cleaned cat boxes, and washed/dried/folded ALL laundry, put it away. My kid was a little stunned to see me doing housework. Mostly because I try to do shit when she’s at school to avoid “What are you doing? Why? How come? What are you doing now?” It’s like living under a microscope and her father did the same thing and I can’t fucking stand it. Leave me alone!

R finally called me, all hyper cos someone said something bad about Kenny. Yes, of course, why wouldn’t I want to share in the glee of putting someone else down, even if maybe they brought it on themselves. Lots of people view me as useless, so pardon me if I don’t celebrate the same being said of someone else. This schadenfreude so common to most has always been what has separated me from the masses, especially in high school. I don’t want to gossip, judge, or get pleasure out of someone else being insulted or having shit luck. Of course, there are *some* people (family, mostly) who piss me off to the extent I wish they’d get a reality check, but even then…I truly felt sorry for my useless brother in law when all the cats died in the fire and he said it was his fault. Least he likes animals. I just…I’ve always been the victim of rash judgments based on how I dress, look, what I like, who my family is, whether I meet others’ expectations…I really do not enjoy doing it to others even if I do have standard issue human hypocrisy blindness.

He eventually kept his word from last week and brought me Mangoritas. It’s like he works for the government, ask on Monday, get it on Sunday, send out notice in February, reply in September. Blah…I thought I was going to have today to myself to recover from all weekend with the Uzi child, who was not bad, but simply did not shut up, at all, for two days. He called last night freaking out that his credit card account had been flagged for over a thousand dollars of unusual activity and asked if I’d come in in the morning and help him figure it out. Because his wife was watching her show and he didn’t want to bother her. But hey, bother me, it’s cool, I’m only busy raising a kid alone, trying to make ends meet, and juggling a multiple mental health diagnosis. Oh well. It came with stipulations on my part. Smokes. Food for my cats. Because ya know, I asked my dad if he’d help out by getting some but nooo, he already donated to my sister’s cause. Because she has a full paycheck and lives with two others with full incomes and her kid is mostly grown and not living there and yet she needs help more than I do. FFS.

I’ve not told anyone how dire things have gotten for me. Like I’m two months behind on my power bill and waiting for my disconnect notice. Because the state is broke and didn’t have the summer cooling program so I had no assistance. I had a payment agreement from winter and paid late by two days, so the agreement was nullified and the full winter balance came due on top of the current balance. And I have no idea what I am gonna do. My kid has no pants for fall and winter and it’s gotten cold fast. My pants all have holes in them to the point I am bordering on indecent public exposure. I need to have the place sprayed for bugs cos when the neighbors moved, they all came to live with me, the stuff that worked miracles doesn’t work now, and the landlord won’t pay.

But yeah, go help the one living in a household with a five thousand dollar a month income while leaving the one with a small kid and less than eight hundred a month in the lurch. Makes absolute sense.

I must sound like an ungrateful brat. I am an adult, after all. But I am an adult who has been handed quite a bit over a very short period of time so the fact I am not in a padded room sobbing is a plus.

Grrr. I am sick of living this way. I just want two years of stability before I embark on the employment thing. There aren’t many jobs here to begin with, and most of them I’ve had and flaked out on anyway. I can’t afford desperation driving me to rack up more bad references, even if someone would hire me. The place that offered “employment counseling” did fuck all to help me other than give me a ride around town to fill out applications. More than that, those with disabilities need jobs geared toward their skills without setting off their conditions, they need references, a chance.

Put on my pajamas, I am dreaming.

I should just swallow all pride, shed all dignity, and do some freaky internet fetish porn for a living. Except I have ugly feet, so that’s out. My legs are all scabbed and scarred from flea bites, no leg porn. I am too heavy so no normal porn. Um…I suppose I could do clown porn and call it occupational therapy, facing my fears cos I loathe clowns.

Suffice it to say…That letter let me off the hook for one stressor, but I have plenty more to keep my pretzel gut churning for a long time to come. I should take the small victory.

Instead I am just gearing up for the next catastrophe. Welcome to my world.



5 Responses to “Social INSECURITY Administration”

  1. The fact that you are not in a padded room sobbing is more than a pus. It’s a fuck ton of grit and courage and momma bear determination. Your family is suck on a stick. The fact that you’re making ANY ends meet is a miracle. Pulling for you and hoping for the best.

  2. I’m really glad to hear that the SSA got their act together, but I totally understand how, even though you feel better, you don’t feel better at all. The amount of time that they take trying to figure anything out, while we continually humiliate ourselves in front of them and spend months to years wondering if we will get and/or keep the money we need to keep going is fucked up in the extreme. I’m glad it worked out. I’m sorry to hear about the other shit though. It just never ends. Prayers for peace and strength lady, keep plugging along.

  3. Your family=mind boggling idiocy. Fuckitall. I love you like a fat kid loves cake. What size clothes does Spook wear? Even if you were to ask for help from your “family” I’m sure you’d get the “if you just budgeted better” schpeel..ffs. ❤ you

  4. Fuck it!!!!! Come join me, I’m gonna go live in a van down by the river,,, ;-* (she said like a fat kid luvz cake!! Killin’ me!!!)

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