Trigger warning: Mental health
I know intellectually I’m exhausted beyond reason because I got to bed late and slept badly. But I’m emotionally tired as well. I have a $500 deductible before my car insurance kicks in; more and more keeps being demanded of me and I don’t know how well I can meet the demands. Today I found out my health insurance is raising the copay for specialists from $35 to $80.
This is after they’re taking over $100 per week for the insurance itself. I planned my budget carefully to maximize the impact of my money so I could offer my work at a lower rate and be hired more easily and now the rates of everything are increasing, everything I planned is costing me more and more each month, and every time I recalculate something else goes wrong. I haven’t even seen a doctor yet and I’m already despairing of ever being able to walk without pain. At least I’ll have a car, though I won’t be able to drive it if my car insurance premiums increase too much.
And it’s almost Christmas. Mostly that’s a happy thought. I like Christmas. But somewhere in the back of my mind I’m aware that seven years ago (damn, I feel old), this time of year, I was locked in a mental hospital.
I feel old, broken-down, and tired. And I have Frank Peretti to look forward to. Joy of joys.
I’ll make it. I always do. But it’ll be rough, and it won’t be pleasant, and just once I’d like to be able to relax on a weekend instead of frantically trying to make ends meet and get chores done.