The Cost Of Good Health Insurance

It's true that I have phenomenal Health Insurance, and that most people don't.  I hear horror stories about how people can barely afford insurance and copays, coinsurance, deductibles, and premiums.  And I get how it can be annoying when I forget these things and in a state of giddiness, post how awesome my insurance is. 

But people have to remember the other side of why I have such awesome insurance.  I am disabled.  In such a way, that I will likely NEVER be able to work again.  That is why I get SSDI, because I am permanently disabled.  That's what it's there for.  So I am entitled to Medicare. 

I live in Massachusetts, which thanks to Mitt Romney and other politicians, has a great form of Medicaid, MassHealth.  I am entitled to MassHealth for 2 reasons, 1) I am disabled, but more importantly, 2) I am very very poor. 

My husband and I live off of my SSDI and SNAP benefits (food stamps).  That's it.  And the government is constantly trying to take our SNAP benefits away too.  85% of my income goes to rent and the most basic of utilities.  That does not include cell phone usage.  We cannot afford a car.  We cannot afford a bus pass.  I rely on my Health Insurance to provide medical transportation to and from my many doctors appointments.  I rely on family to take me to the laundromat and the grocery store and the drug store.  And they live 40 miles away and only come up twice a month. 

When people talk about going out to dinner or buying things, that is a luxury we don't have.  I get money once a month and have to make it last.  Often I can't make it stretch and we go without.  I pay all the bills when my check comes in, so that we are never without electricity, and if God forbid there is a fire and we lose everything, the renter's insurance is paid up. 

I have friends who tell me I should get this movie, or this book, or try this restaurant, and I politely tell them, "Sure, when I get a chance."  But what they don't realize is, that will never happen, because I will never be able to afford it.  Once a month, we pick something low cost to buy as a treat to ourselves.  This month I got glittery eyeliner for "Valentines Day" which cost $10.  That was my fun treat for the month. 

So back to health insurance.  I get this awesome, all expenses covered health insurance that covers everything, but at what cost?  I would rather be a working member of society, earning my own paycheck, and paying my own way, then this person who scrapes by every month and pisses people off when she posts about how she gets a years worth of free contact lenses. 

Maybe the next President can fix the system, so that everyone has an equal shot at fair and affordable Health Care.  My cousin shouldn't have to go broke paying for her Medicare or her Diabetes testing supplies.  She paid through the system, it should be there for her, like it is for me. 

Mistaken Identity

I posted this picture on Facebook:

I tagged my husband, which means his friends could see the picture too.  One of his friends asked if I was his mother.  I replied, "Um no, I'm his wife.  I'm 36, but went prematurely gray."  We then went back and forth, me trying to make her feel less bad about confusing me with his 61 year old mother, and her telling me the gray hair suits me, and I really do NOT look 61. 

I have been confused for a woman in her 40s, and 50s, and now 60s.  But I will not dye it.  I stopped dying it a year ago, and even though the temptation hits me as I pass by the hair dye section at CVS and Walmart, I resist.  Too much work.  And now my hair is so gray the roots show almost immediately, so I'd have to touch it up every two weeks.  I'm just not up for that. 

Just call me, "The Silver Fox".

If My Husband Can Love Me For Who I Am, Why Can't I?

Well, I've done it this time.  I have successfully alienated all my friends on Facebook by posting a depressing poem, and a painting of myself with my hair on fire, crying tears of blood.  I have let my illness take over.  I am not a person who has schizoaffective disorder, bipolar type.  I AM schizoaffective with bipolar.  Everyday, I remind myself of it.  Whether it's swallowing one of 8 psych medications, or whether it's just feeling depressed or manic, or hearing voices or seeing things that aren't there.  My illness controls me, and I've let it.  Now I've let it creep onto Facebook, and no one knows what to think.  I mean, who knows how to deal with that?  So they stay away.  I don't blame them.  They have to protect themselves.  Hanging around negativity isn't good for anyone.  But sometimes, I just want to hear about their lives, and not talk about how I'm feeling.  I want to hear the positives (or negatives) in their lives.  I want to feel connected.

I joined a group last weekend on Facebook for Schizoaffective people and their loved ones.  It's been great.  I can post and comment and not have to worry about alienating everyone, because everyone there understands.  They get it.  They've been there.

It hasn't helped that my therapist has been out sick the last month with pneumonia.  I missed a month of appointments.  Fortunately she was back this week and I got to see her.  She was still coughing a bit, poor thing.  I felt bad for her.

I made a realization in the last month or so.  I don't hate my life.  Yes we are struggling with some things, but there are a lot more positives than negatives.  I have fresh water, a roof over my head, food to eat, a loving family, my supportive and loving husband, and many many other things.  I do not hate my life.  And I thought that I hated myself.  I even said it to a friend a week ago, who promptly said, "Talk to you later" and hasn't talked to me since.  I don't hate myself either.  But I hate the illness.  I hate the things that come with having it, and the embarrassing things I've done or said as a result of it.  The not having a filter, and saying what I feel.  But it's a part of me, and I have to accept it.  I will take my medications as prescribed, and I will go to all the therapy I can, including groups and support groups, and I will learn to accept who I am.  Because really, if my husband can love me for who I am, why can't I?