Today I got notified that my Social Security Disability appeal was denied. To say that I’m in a panic would be an understatement. To say that I’m baffled, completely unsettled, terrified, and feeling a quite desperate would be equal understatements. Having been unable to work for two-plus years, multiple hospitalizations, forty-plus ECT treatments, leaves me just wondering what the fuck!!!! It takes to qualify for Disability. Certainly, in my eyes, I am disabled and cannot work. The written decision states that I am “able” to work part-time at an unskilled job. Um, really? What exactly is that? Holding a Slow Down sign in traffic? I just. Don’t. Get. It. Part of me thinks maybe I should have continued with the ECT, or been hospitalized MORE, as hard as I’ve tried not to be, just to display how disabling my Bipolar is. There are no prizes for trying to function, no matter how little.
Since it’s clear that I have to figure out a way to go back to work, here are some of my ideas for what I can do:
- Circus clown. This is a kinda “why the fuck not?” choice. I like makeup and I like loose-fitting clothes. I guess I can tolerate the big shoes and the honking nose. I have no problem piling into a car with a bunch of other dumb motherfuckers. I can ride a bike, blow up balloons, and fart on command. This one seems like a no-brainer. However, if that doesn’t work out for some reason, there’s always….
- Lawyer. For someone who has trouble getting along with people and could argue with a fire hydrant, this is a natural. Most of this job is just arguing and presenting an opposing point of view. Glaring obstacles: No law degree, “fuck you” is not a valid defense or argument, and judges don’t generally consider pajamas as appropriate apparel for counsel. Dammit! I thought I had that one nailed down. Ok I need to refine it but it’s still a possibility. Let’s be optimistic and look at other options:
- Judge. I am naturally judgmental which one would assume a judge is. I also would not mind wearing a black robe, as I could wear anything I wanted under it, i.e. the aforementioned pajamas, or the same outfit every day for a week (yes I DO do that, what the fuck? I never get dirty). I don’t mind sitting high up and surveying my surroundings, like sitting on a small mountain. I enjoy blurting out “Order in the court!” or “You are out of order, sir!” in my daily dealings with people. I would like to have my utterances respected, or even better, to cause people to pee their pants just a little when I speak. On the off-chance that this occupation doesn’t work out, I present my fourth and final option:
- Therapist. As I often say, I have an honorary PhD from all of the therapy I’ve done over the years. I know how it works. I can sit there silently gazing at someone with the best of them. I’ve mastered the phrases “How does that make you feel?” , “That must be tough”, and “Oh my God! My Dad is a total dick too!”. Some of my less orthodox methods that might be questionable are the phrases “What in the FUCK is WRONG with you???” or my sometimes lack of a poker face, resulting on an open-mouthed look of horror on my face. Horrifying your therapist (or knowing that you did so) might interrupt the therapeutic process. I don’t know, but over the years I have been amazed that I have never been able to elicit the horror-face. Maybe it’s a class they take, The Poker Face. I haven’t mastered it.
Friends, if you have any ideas as to how I might support myself, please, let me know. There may come a time when I have to write this fantastical blog from the homeless shelter, but I’d like to avoid that. I’ve heard that homeless shelter wifi sucks.