The Price of Insanity

I know it’s been a while since my last post. In all honesty, for a long time I was feeling so mentally stable I didn’t have anything to write. Unfortunately that has changed. Something has happened and I can’t place a finger on it.

My mother, who has been very ill for the past year is finally on the mend. Things are finally less stressful at home after what seems like a lifetime. Perhaps it is exhaustion, but I can feel the familiar tendrils of depression wrapping themselves around my mind.

I need to not be depressed right now. I need this to be situational. My psychiatrist charges $120 for a fifteen minute session and, like so many other health care providers, no longer accepts insurance. I’ve tried to find another that is on my plan, but since I am on Medicare, options are few. It is expensive to be insane. Every night I take a mountain of pills. Every few weeks I have to see a therapist. To put it bluntly, I can’t afford to be sick right now. I’m in the middle of my first semester back at school after a three year sabbatical. I have a gym membership that I desperately want to use because I not only hate the skin I’m currently in, but I also know it’s draining precious financial resources every month.

There’s also a tiny part of me that’s relieved. Perhaps I’m alone in this, but depression sometimes seems like a familiar friend. It slips into bed with me and at last I know exactly where I need to be. I’m supposed to be in this bed, listening to these familiar sad songs and thinking about all of those things that went wrong. I know how to navigate depression. I know how to shut down. All across my mind curtains are being drawn, candles are being blown out and darkness is seeping in. I know this last paragraph is a tangent when related to the rest of this, but I feel that if nothing else, in this blog I’ve been painstakingly honest. So, in good conscience, I can’t complain about the price of insanity without acknowledging that I finally feel like myself again. I am dark and gloomy. I can finally listen to “My Man” by Barbra Streisand and think of him and know that my life was once so much more than it is now. Depression, my friend, welcome back. May we keep our renewed friendship secret long enough to save a dime…

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