Looking at the thinning skin on my hands, the creping around my knuckles and veins starting to show through my translucent skin not only in color but texture, I know I’m well into adulthood. My wedding earlier this year was a bit of a shock as it was the end of a prolonged young adulthood, years of being stuck in that obligatory urban millennial purgatory of minimal responsibility outside of paying one’s bills and getting a modicum of sleep every night.
Then, poof, I’m a married, working women with no more childhood romantic notions to play to, no more weddings to plan, no more wonderlands to chase. Not yet a mother, but the same age of many peers who have children approaching puberty, I am still childfree and tired nonetheless from stressing out epically over job after job where I can’t quite perform at the level required for success, only relentlessly tread to try to stay above water. Continue reading
Depression isn’t like cancer. There’s no scan you can get which spots a tumor and clearly requires treatment. It sits with you for years–on a good day you may not even remember you have it, then suddenly a dark cloud forms over your head and no amount of fun activities or success can shake you of overwhelming, suffocating sadness.
I’m fortunate enough today where I have health insurance that covers mental health–well, sort of. It is supposed to be $20 a session for in-network therapy, if only in-network therapists actually existed. I’ve written about this before, but after giving up on finding an in-network therapist I decided to try again. I pulled up my insurance company’s “find a provider” website and started searching names of psychologists both close to my house and my work, and put in a bunch of calls hoping one would actually be open and available at a reasonable time to meet weekly. Continue reading
Getting a job isn’t easy, but it appears based on my experience and half-way decent interview skills, I am able to get offers. This already makes me so much more fortunate that 99.999999999999~% of people in the world. Yet every day I work in corporate-esque America, I feel my soul being sucked out of me in its entirety. If only I could fake it like so many people around me probably do, then I’d be doing so well. I’m saving boatloads of money per month (given my relatively low cost of living in a high-cost-of-living area), and I have a job that provides substantial autonomy and seniority —
I could do a job for a short-term project — say, 1-3 months of figuring out a business problem — but staying in the same role for years has me driving home from work everyday thinking I’m going to look back on my life and this will be all I’ve done — whatever this is, it surely won’t matter in the grand scheme of things — I’m just a cog in the machine and a poorly functioning one at that (with all sorts of poorly fitting parts clunking away trying to make my little piece spin) and after now 12 years of trying to push forward I am just collapsing under the weight of adulthood. Continue reading
How do you go from wiggly, smelly, crying newborn to a pretentiously proselytizing expert on any given subject matter? Perhaps you have spent years researching — gathering data, processing hundreds of thousands of bits of information to determine some remnant or possible truth — and then you put on your adult hat and you know your shit and you believe you are no longer a weak child but some godlike creature that knows more than others do. You’re fucking awesome.
I’m not awesome. I barely get by and I try to get things done and sometimes I manage to bs my way through things just like everyone else – however, I’m so very aware of how much bullshit is applied at any given time, and have no ability to translate that into some sort of forged confidence. I watch leaders be leaders and they seem to know so much more than I do, are so much more sure, more confident, more put together and prepared — less emotional, less empathetic (albeit the best leaders have enough fake empathy that the majority believe they have a reasonably high EQ) and that’s it, they’re successful, they move up the career ladder all they way through retirement learning $150k than $200k than $250k then $500k and $1M and on and on and they pay for a fancy house and nice dinners and perhaps designer clothes and a personal trainer and a nanny and private schools and one week trips each year to some exotic destination that they end up working from anyway and eventually they retire and join some non-profit board or two in order to feel useful unless/until they die and that’s that. Continue reading
If there is one thing I miss about being a child, it is that feeling that everything you’re doing adds up to something. There is an irreplaceable sense of anticipation for the future, and that future keeps on coming. As an adult, now approaching my mid 30s, I’ve lost all excitement for what’s next. I don’t think that’s depression, it’s just life.
Perhaps a part of me is excited about this hypothetical “house and kids” future, but I can’t let myself get too excited about it because both variables of that equation are proving more and more unlikely. Kids? I need to lose a significant amount of weight before the doctor will give me medicine that will give me some tiny chance of getting pregnant without reducing my chances of miscarriage. House? Unless I win the lottery, or find a more sustainable-yet-equally-well-aid job, it just doesn’t make sense to commit to paying $6k+ a month for the next 30 years, not including taxes and repairs. Continue reading
Life doesn’t get any easier. As miserable as I was as a child, I now understand why all the adults fancied the idea of returning to those years so much. Not only did life move slower then, it also was a long, arduous climb up a mountain with the promise of fields of splendor on the other side. It seemed childhood was for fun and games but life itself truly started past the peak of that mountain—the entry into adulthood.
I could have been born in Africa or Syria, and not even had the privilege of a childhood. But my privilege is who I am, and it shaped how I feel today—this lack of ability to wake up at 6am and work out and commute an hour or more to work and sit at a desk all day completing tasks to help a company grow that may or may not work and smiling and small-talking and politicizing and head back towards home and spend an hour or more in commute and arrive home exhausted to a husband I rarely see and have no time to be a wife to and repeat this five days a week so that when Saturday arrives all I want to do is sit and stare at a television or sleep or avoid doing any of things that need to be done at home, and all this is before I have the responsibility of children in my household which would undoubtedly add a whole new layer of exhaustion and love and sense of failure and questions of purpose—another peak I’m slugging along towards now, trembling at seeing what is on the other side, and equally terrified to never see it. Continue reading
I’m in trouble, yet again, for failing to plan appropriately for my projects and getting them done on time. I deserve to be let go, and I probably will be, and if I’m not I’m wondering if I have the capability to be organized and plan more effectively, gain consensus and get shit done so at least I can keep my job. Odds are not looking good.
I found out today, in a senior team meeting, that my new boss was hired this week. I wasn’t surprised, through some rudimentary sleuthing and typical paranoia I knew the hire was imminent. I’m not upset by the hire itself, nor being removed from the entire process of interviewing the candidate. What makes me saddest of all is what that means in terms of my own success in my role, or, let’s be real here, lack there of. I’m lucky to still have a job, and know I won’t be around for long–in a brief meeting with my boss today I was told my role would be shrinking further… Continue reading
I swear I’m not a mental health hypochondriac. Something is clearly wrong with me and I wanted to get to the bottom of it. Although I initially sought to find an in-network therapist, my insurance results were filled with doctors that no longer were covered or didn’t serve adult populations. When I found Dr. W., I was getting pretty hopeless and further depressed. Dr. W. didn’t provide weekly therapy – he offered neuropsychological testing for the low price of $1700 and, since he was actually covered* by my insurance, I thought, what the heck, might as well see if this would help me identify what’s really going on so I can attack those issues head on.
It’s rather frustrating to go through a neuropsychological test and to be told that it’s impossible to know if insurance will cover it because that all depends on the results of the test. Usually these tests are used for children or young adults who are struggling in school, so a part of me felt like this was going to be a huge waste. However, I wanted answers, and insurance may pay for this exam – or it may not – or it may go towards my deductible. Who the hell knows. By going through insurance at all I’d be adding one more pre-existing condition to my repertoire, meaning that once Obamacare is repealed and if I ever want to consult again for a living I won’t be able to get insurance. However, since I already have pre-existing conditions on my medical health history it doesn’t really matter at this point. I’m screwed either way. Continue reading
Quite randomly I ended up taking a neuropsychological screening this week. Well, it wasn’t entirely random. I was attempting to find a therapist (psychologist, psychiatrist, MFT, social worker, what have you) that accepted my insurance plan since theoretically I am supposed to be able to have $20-per-session visits for outpatient mental healthcare. Searching my insurance provider’s website however returned the names of hundreds of doctors who are no longer practicing or specialists for something that, despite being rather special myself, I’m not special enough for (i.e. serves youth or geriatric patients only.) I admit I didn’t call the entire list, but after about 20 google searches, emails and contacts I felt like giving up. Then, I found someone who responded to my email and said he was covered by my insurance (sort of) and could help.
This doctor didn’t do talk therapy. Instead, he is a neuropsychologist who does neuropsychological screenings. What on earth is that? Yesterday I found out. The screening itself is $1700. Insurance may cover that BUT they only decide after you get evaluated. Also, I believe it goes to my deductible anyway, so I’m basically paying for it out of pocket, or at least out of FSA. So much for the $20 per session mental healthcare. Continue reading
I write here, anonymously, because adolescent angst is no longer all the rage when you’re 33. For those of you who regularly read my blog, I apologize for the negative tone it has taken as of late. I just use this as a place to anonymously document my life in all its bitter glory. Life isn’t really all that bad, so I ought to just shut up entirely about these thoughts and feelings that come into my head. But without having this venue to share, I might just explode – or implode.
Thank god I’m so terrified of death because killing myself is such a remarkably attractive option right now. I know it’s a long term solution to a short-term problem and I’m not going to do it. But nothing else makes sense right now. Honestly, when I think of all the possibilities in the world there is no positive outcome in sight. I’m tired, exhausted even, of my overthinking, of my overeating, of my failure to do my jobs well which might be due to the fact I am lacking in abilities or skill or training or maybe I’m just horrible at consistency or perhaps I’m flat out dumb, at least in terms of real-world job skills. Continue reading