Part of being disabled, whether mentally and/or physically, is dealing with the government bureaucracies. I'm in crisis mode right now. A week ago, the Social Security Administration (SSA) sent me a letter stating that they are cancelling my disability benefits (i.e. my SSI checks). They stated that I did not provide the information they had requested regarding my part-time job from last year, and this was the reason for their action.
Basically, the SSA is incompetent. I complied with all of their requests for information regarding my job. Most of all, I submitted my check stubs that they requested along with a letter explaining that I no longer work. Still, something went wrong and SSA is cutting my SSI benefits.
I don't care that much for the $500 a month I get from them. My parents pay my expenses anyway, so the $500 is just spending money. However, when Social Security cuts my SSI benefits, I will lose my Medicaid health insurance. This health insurance is critical. It pays for my mental health care as well as my physical health care. One of my psychiatric medications alone costs over $600 a month. I imagine the bills for my treatment must be enormous. I cannot pay for my health care on my own.
Eventually, I went to the SSA office in North Las Vegas, and after a long wait, I spoke to a bureaucrat. After much confusion, she finally said if I get a letter from my former employer stating my last day at work, Social Security will restore my SSI next month. Apparently, Social Security thought I was still working, even though I specifically wrote to them that I quit in January.
Just as an example of their incompetence, consider this. The bureaucrat said I sent them a letter on January 31, 2008 stating I was working for a community college. I actually sent them that letter in September 2007 when I started the job. The Social Security Administration was utterly confused.
I went to the college to see my old boss, but she wasn't around. I left her a note with the staff explaining that I need a letter stating my last day at work to present to SSA. In my note, I had asked her to send the letter to me at my home address. I intend to send the letter myself to Social Security. I was disappointed when the letter didn't arrive in my postal mail box today. The only thing I can do now is call her to ask her if she sent the letter yet.
If Social Security were a business, they would be bankrupt by now. My aunt says they purposely mess up people's cases in order to force us to come into the office (where we have to wait for hours to be seen). That way, they drum up activity and work for themselves in order to keep their office from being shut down by their superiors. Thus they keep their jobs by showing all the lists of people who patronize their office.
I can't say exactly what I plan to do in the future. I can say that I plan to get a full-time job and get off Social Security disability. It's no fun to be on welfare. While I will always be mentally disabled, as long as I have appropriate treatment I should be able to function like any other person. Still, I have to hide my particular disability from the people around me and especially from my future employers.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Abnormal Life
What is normal? I certainly don't feel that way. Most people my age have a full-time job, have their own homes, drive an SUV or minivan, are married, and have children. Thanks to bipolar disorder, the gift that keeps giving, I have none of that. At age 37, I still live with my parents, am hopelessly underemployed, and am pretty much abnormal if you define normal as the way I observe most people my age live.
In the real world, I find it difficult to introduce myself to people. "What do you do for a living?" is an evil question for me. I cannot just say, "I don't work because I'm disabled." I pretty much have to make up a story. The next question is usually, "Oh, what is your disability?" because it isn't obvious unlike missing limbs.
Mental illness is still the unacceptable disability in most people's eyes. It isn't a "real" disability. When I did tell people frankly about my mental illness, I received a variety of reactions, mostly negative. You can read my rant on that subject on an earlier post.
I'm attending a party for newly admitted local students to my alma mater, UC Berkeley. I have my doubts about attending this party because I didn't have such a stellar career after graduating from college. I know the new admits are going to want to hear from alumni such as myself what are their chances at good careers after graduation from Berkeley. Still, I know most of them want to know what my alma mater, their potential future college is like.
I can tell the new admits about my exploits in marching band and my attendance at football games. I can tell them about my research at Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory. I can tell them what classes are like and what the city is like. Still, I can't really tell these young folks what life after graduation is like because frankly it's horrible and terribly abnormal for me.
Yet, the president of the local chapter of the California Alumni Association encouraged me to attend anyway. I can say that currently I am working on a professional license, but hopefully nobody will ask me where I work because I don't work anywhere now.
You may sense some anxiety on my part about going to this party. Still, I have to live in the real world. I can't stay home with my folks all the time. It's just unrealistic. When I do venture out in the world, my bipolar disorder comes with me. My entire ugly history of psychiatric illness comes with me, no matter how normally I act.
Abnormality seems to terrorize me all the time. Why don't I have a job like everyone else? Why do I live with my parents at middle age? The answers is simple. Mental illness robbed me of my life. Most people my age have been working in their professions for almost 20 years, and many have attained high positions such as school principal, tenured professor, senior engineer, and so on. While they were working professionally, mental illness was slamming me as I struggled through graduate school to earn a Ph.D. in physics.
I was going in and out of mental hospitals from coast to coast (really!) I started out at the country club called McLean Hospital, where Harvard University sends its graduate students like myself. I ended up at Las Vegas Mental Health Center, the armpit of the mental institution world. While people my age were getting promoted, making more money, getting married, and having children, I was stuck in places like McLean Hospital and LVMH.
Is it any surprise I have no job, no money, no girlfriend or wife? While I was chasing the Ph.D. and losing my mind as a result, everyone else was working at real jobs. Is it no wonder when you're mentally ill, life is so abnormal?
In the real world, I find it difficult to introduce myself to people. "What do you do for a living?" is an evil question for me. I cannot just say, "I don't work because I'm disabled." I pretty much have to make up a story. The next question is usually, "Oh, what is your disability?" because it isn't obvious unlike missing limbs.
Mental illness is still the unacceptable disability in most people's eyes. It isn't a "real" disability. When I did tell people frankly about my mental illness, I received a variety of reactions, mostly negative. You can read my rant on that subject on an earlier post.
I'm attending a party for newly admitted local students to my alma mater, UC Berkeley. I have my doubts about attending this party because I didn't have such a stellar career after graduating from college. I know the new admits are going to want to hear from alumni such as myself what are their chances at good careers after graduation from Berkeley. Still, I know most of them want to know what my alma mater, their potential future college is like.
I can tell the new admits about my exploits in marching band and my attendance at football games. I can tell them about my research at Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory. I can tell them what classes are like and what the city is like. Still, I can't really tell these young folks what life after graduation is like because frankly it's horrible and terribly abnormal for me.
Yet, the president of the local chapter of the California Alumni Association encouraged me to attend anyway. I can say that currently I am working on a professional license, but hopefully nobody will ask me where I work because I don't work anywhere now.
You may sense some anxiety on my part about going to this party. Still, I have to live in the real world. I can't stay home with my folks all the time. It's just unrealistic. When I do venture out in the world, my bipolar disorder comes with me. My entire ugly history of psychiatric illness comes with me, no matter how normally I act.
Abnormality seems to terrorize me all the time. Why don't I have a job like everyone else? Why do I live with my parents at middle age? The answers is simple. Mental illness robbed me of my life. Most people my age have been working in their professions for almost 20 years, and many have attained high positions such as school principal, tenured professor, senior engineer, and so on. While they were working professionally, mental illness was slamming me as I struggled through graduate school to earn a Ph.D. in physics.
I was going in and out of mental hospitals from coast to coast (really!) I started out at the country club called McLean Hospital, where Harvard University sends its graduate students like myself. I ended up at Las Vegas Mental Health Center, the armpit of the mental institution world. While people my age were getting promoted, making more money, getting married, and having children, I was stuck in places like McLean Hospital and LVMH.
Is it any surprise I have no job, no money, no girlfriend or wife? While I was chasing the Ph.D. and losing my mind as a result, everyone else was working at real jobs. Is it no wonder when you're mentally ill, life is so abnormal?
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Too Much Time On My Hands
I hate to speak ill of people on my blog, but what I'm about to write might not be their fault. I have an ex-friend I'll just call "Lawrence". First of all, all of my "friends" never e-mail me or call me unless I initiate a communication with them. Lawrence just sent me a nasty, spiteful e-mail in response to a nasty, spiteful e-mail from me.
Maybe I just have too much time on my hands, because none of my friends, or ex-friends, seem to have time anymore. They all seem to be either too busy to say hello to me once in a while because of:
(a) their kids
(b) their jobs
Lawrence explained that he checks his home voice mail every 3-4 months. I had left him a regular voice mail, which he did not return at all. When I got another of his voice mail greetings on a second call, I left him a nasty message basically saying, "Why don't you call? What is your problem?"
My point is how busy does one have to be to check his voice mail every 3-4 months? I check my home voice mail every time I come home. If you take 3-4 months to check voice mail, wouldn't you miss very important messages?
Let me stop picking on Lawrence for a moment. Another friend, I'll call "Ernest", I still call on the telephone. Yet he told me that he has time to check his personal e-mail only about once a month. Further, he reads his postal mail on the weekends. This seems reasonable. Ernest has children and a wife.
It doesn't seem practical to me to check your e-mail once a month or your voice mail every 3-4 months. Perhaps Americans are just terribly overworked to death. As a person on disability, I have the luxury to check my communications every day, sometimes several times a day. If you check your e-mail or voice mail as infrequently as Ernest and Lawrence do, wouldn't you fall behind and perhaps miss some important messages?
What makes me mad is these clowns don't bother to keep in touch at all. They're so busy with their lives, they forget their old friends. What could they possibly be doing? Working ALL the time? Are Americans a bunch of serious workaholics now?
Ernest seems irritated when I do talk to him on the telephone. It's like he'd rather get back to watching after his kids, whom I hear screaming in the background. He just can't wait to hang up. Lawrence I'll give credit that he thought of calling me back, but after about 3 months of my voice message sitting in his voice mailbox. When he heard my spiteful voice message, he decided against returning my call. Thus I received a spiteful e-mail from him today.
My aunt said friends come and go. Ernest and Lawrence were college buddies, but we've all drifted apart since then. I'm trying my best to make new friends here in Vegas, but it isn't easy. Las Vegas is notorious for being unfriendly.
Finally, it makes me mad that none of my old friends from college make an attempt to keep in touch with me. If I don't send an e-mail or call them, they won't bother to do the same. It makes me more mad when I send an e-mail or call them, and they plain just ignore my message. There really is one solution. Move on.
Maybe I just have too much time on my hands, because none of my friends, or ex-friends, seem to have time anymore. They all seem to be either too busy to say hello to me once in a while because of:
(a) their kids
(b) their jobs
Lawrence explained that he checks his home voice mail every 3-4 months. I had left him a regular voice mail, which he did not return at all. When I got another of his voice mail greetings on a second call, I left him a nasty message basically saying, "Why don't you call? What is your problem?"
My point is how busy does one have to be to check his voice mail every 3-4 months? I check my home voice mail every time I come home. If you take 3-4 months to check voice mail, wouldn't you miss very important messages?
Let me stop picking on Lawrence for a moment. Another friend, I'll call "Ernest", I still call on the telephone. Yet he told me that he has time to check his personal e-mail only about once a month. Further, he reads his postal mail on the weekends. This seems reasonable. Ernest has children and a wife.
It doesn't seem practical to me to check your e-mail once a month or your voice mail every 3-4 months. Perhaps Americans are just terribly overworked to death. As a person on disability, I have the luxury to check my communications every day, sometimes several times a day. If you check your e-mail or voice mail as infrequently as Ernest and Lawrence do, wouldn't you fall behind and perhaps miss some important messages?
What makes me mad is these clowns don't bother to keep in touch at all. They're so busy with their lives, they forget their old friends. What could they possibly be doing? Working ALL the time? Are Americans a bunch of serious workaholics now?
Ernest seems irritated when I do talk to him on the telephone. It's like he'd rather get back to watching after his kids, whom I hear screaming in the background. He just can't wait to hang up. Lawrence I'll give credit that he thought of calling me back, but after about 3 months of my voice message sitting in his voice mailbox. When he heard my spiteful voice message, he decided against returning my call. Thus I received a spiteful e-mail from him today.
My aunt said friends come and go. Ernest and Lawrence were college buddies, but we've all drifted apart since then. I'm trying my best to make new friends here in Vegas, but it isn't easy. Las Vegas is notorious for being unfriendly.
Finally, it makes me mad that none of my old friends from college make an attempt to keep in touch with me. If I don't send an e-mail or call them, they won't bother to do the same. It makes me more mad when I send an e-mail or call them, and they plain just ignore my message. There really is one solution. Move on.
Friday, April 4, 2008
The Future Is Now
I had a strange experience in LVMH. I think I met people from the future. Yes, I know it sounds crazy, but you be the judge. During a hospitalization during a hot Las Vegas summer, I met a lot of people at LVMH with some really weird stories. This is what I think was happening:
(1) People from the distant future, say 2100 and beyond have the ability to travel to this time (2003-2008).
(2) People from that future have the ability to observe us in "real" time. They can watch us like we can watch television.
(3) For whatever weird reason, these people were ending up in the state mental institution with me.
One woman, named Martha, said that her patron saint was St. Teresa of Calcutta, who has not been canonized by the Roman Catholic Church yet. Maybe she was just crazy, or maybe she came from a time where Mother Teresa is already a saint.
A cute African American woman came up to me and said, "I read your Bible last night. You're a survivor." That Bible to which she was referring is the King James Bible, which is written in Old English. In her time in the future, Bibles aren't written that way anymore. As for calling me a "survivor", I think the fine young African American woman was referring to some kind of holocaust in our future, possibly a nuclear war. The holocaust was in her "past" before she jumped through time to meet me.
The weirdest encounter with the future people was with a woman named Kathleen. She claimed to be my first girlfriend, Shannon, only with a new name. She gave an explanation as to why she had changed her name. I was about 33 at the time, so Shannon/Kathleen should have been about 32-33, but Kathleen, the woman apparently from the future, said she was 46.
Kathleen managed to tell details about my life, apparently from the future generations' ability to watch the "past", our present, like television or movies. In particular, I was a fan of Huckleberry Hound, a blue dog from Hanna Barbera cartoons. My cousin Joie (pronounced Joey) gave me a toy Huckleberry Hound doll for my birthday once. Kathleen said, "Your cousin Jerry Lewis gave you a blue doll." I was amazed how she got that one right. I think somehow the signals from the past get messed up when they reach the future. That's why she called Joie "Jerry Lewis".
It seems that the future exists somewhere in the universe right now. People from the future can observe our present, their past, as it's happening. They have some technology that allows them to not only observe their past, our present, but always to travel physically back in time to our time from our future.
I just had to get that one out there. I've seen a lot of crazy things in my time, and I don't think all of it has to do with mental illness. I know, I know, the simplest explanation is that we're all insane. Yet I still find it odd that I'd go someplace where just about everyone claims to have stories about things that have not yet happened or could only happen in our future.
(1) People from the distant future, say 2100 and beyond have the ability to travel to this time (2003-2008).
(2) People from that future have the ability to observe us in "real" time. They can watch us like we can watch television.
(3) For whatever weird reason, these people were ending up in the state mental institution with me.
One woman, named Martha, said that her patron saint was St. Teresa of Calcutta, who has not been canonized by the Roman Catholic Church yet. Maybe she was just crazy, or maybe she came from a time where Mother Teresa is already a saint.
A cute African American woman came up to me and said, "I read your Bible last night. You're a survivor." That Bible to which she was referring is the King James Bible, which is written in Old English. In her time in the future, Bibles aren't written that way anymore. As for calling me a "survivor", I think the fine young African American woman was referring to some kind of holocaust in our future, possibly a nuclear war. The holocaust was in her "past" before she jumped through time to meet me.
The weirdest encounter with the future people was with a woman named Kathleen. She claimed to be my first girlfriend, Shannon, only with a new name. She gave an explanation as to why she had changed her name. I was about 33 at the time, so Shannon/Kathleen should have been about 32-33, but Kathleen, the woman apparently from the future, said she was 46.
Kathleen managed to tell details about my life, apparently from the future generations' ability to watch the "past", our present, like television or movies. In particular, I was a fan of Huckleberry Hound, a blue dog from Hanna Barbera cartoons. My cousin Joie (pronounced Joey) gave me a toy Huckleberry Hound doll for my birthday once. Kathleen said, "Your cousin Jerry Lewis gave you a blue doll." I was amazed how she got that one right. I think somehow the signals from the past get messed up when they reach the future. That's why she called Joie "Jerry Lewis".
It seems that the future exists somewhere in the universe right now. People from the future can observe our present, their past, as it's happening. They have some technology that allows them to not only observe their past, our present, but always to travel physically back in time to our time from our future.
I just had to get that one out there. I've seen a lot of crazy things in my time, and I don't think all of it has to do with mental illness. I know, I know, the simplest explanation is that we're all insane. Yet I still find it odd that I'd go someplace where just about everyone claims to have stories about things that have not yet happened or could only happen in our future.
Really Random Thoughts
I don't know what to write today, but I wanted to see something because this blog is now in its second month. Let me write about something that is tangentially related to my mental health, which I think I write about too much anyway. I'll write about my love life!
Currently, I am a single man with no children and has never been married. In fact, I've only had one real girlfriend. Her name was Shannon, and we met in junior high in North Las Vegas around 1985. The last thing remotely resembling a romantic relationship was when I met this woman named Mettia at work. She was actually impressed with my knowledge of high energy physics and invited me to dinner if I would tutor her in calculus.
She did say she was in a long distance relationship, so that kept our "relationship" from being a real relationship. I was just a friend to Mettia. Still, as I sat across from her at the first restaurant we patronized, I thought to myself, "God bless her for just being with me right now."
After I left graduate school at UCSD, I thought I would never go out with another woman again, even as a friend. Where was I going to meet women in Vegas with my situation (unemployed, disabled, and living with my parents)? I thought women and me were history. Then along came Mettia. The short end of the story was I told her to leave me alone because I grew tired of her constant criticism. Still, one of my friends says that women will always drive men crazy, so I shouldn't have cut off my only woman companion.
As a man in my late 30s, I find it difficult to meet women at all, so when one like her shows up, I should treat her like the last woman on Earth. Love? I was in love once. Her name was Heather and she liked to read books. We were both members of the University of California Marching Band (really the University of California at Berkeley). I couldn't stop thinking of her, and I wanted to be with her all the time.
Of course, she didn't feel the same way about me. She was in a long distance relationship from her high school days, and she absolutely refused to date anyone else. I did manage to go to San Francisco with her during one winter break. Of course, she just considered me a good friend. Still, I was bad to her at times because I knew I didn't have a chance with Miss Heather (now Mrs. Heather, unfortunately for me). Eventually, we both graduated from Berkeley and she married her long distance boyfriend.
I did some reflection, and I named all the girls or women I ever had a crush on or felt genuine love for, and the number is about 35-40. They are a diverse group, and I can't really find anything they had in common other than leaving a mark on my heart. I think the worst failed relationship I had was with a woman named Jeannette. She was absolutely beautiful and liked science too.
I had lunch with her one time, but when the UCSD Catholic society had a formal, I saw her dancing with another man. I knew that Jeannette wasn't seeing anyone at the time. She had made it known that she had broken up with her last boyfriend and didn't have one when I knew her. Even as I watched them dance, I could feel that this man was stealing her from right under me. Just recently, I stumbled onto Jeannette's wedding video on You Tube. That hurt to watch that, to see how happy she was without me, but worse how happy she was with that guy she danced with at the formal, the one she's married to now.
I sometimes wonder if I had normal romantic relationships if that would have helped with my mental health. Did my lack of a girlfriend all these years spark those crazy hallucinations, delusions, etc. I just know if I'm patient enough, another woman will cross my path and put a mark again on my heart.
Currently, I am a single man with no children and has never been married. In fact, I've only had one real girlfriend. Her name was Shannon, and we met in junior high in North Las Vegas around 1985. The last thing remotely resembling a romantic relationship was when I met this woman named Mettia at work. She was actually impressed with my knowledge of high energy physics and invited me to dinner if I would tutor her in calculus.
She did say she was in a long distance relationship, so that kept our "relationship" from being a real relationship. I was just a friend to Mettia. Still, as I sat across from her at the first restaurant we patronized, I thought to myself, "God bless her for just being with me right now."
After I left graduate school at UCSD, I thought I would never go out with another woman again, even as a friend. Where was I going to meet women in Vegas with my situation (unemployed, disabled, and living with my parents)? I thought women and me were history. Then along came Mettia. The short end of the story was I told her to leave me alone because I grew tired of her constant criticism. Still, one of my friends says that women will always drive men crazy, so I shouldn't have cut off my only woman companion.
As a man in my late 30s, I find it difficult to meet women at all, so when one like her shows up, I should treat her like the last woman on Earth. Love? I was in love once. Her name was Heather and she liked to read books. We were both members of the University of California Marching Band (really the University of California at Berkeley). I couldn't stop thinking of her, and I wanted to be with her all the time.
Of course, she didn't feel the same way about me. She was in a long distance relationship from her high school days, and she absolutely refused to date anyone else. I did manage to go to San Francisco with her during one winter break. Of course, she just considered me a good friend. Still, I was bad to her at times because I knew I didn't have a chance with Miss Heather (now Mrs. Heather, unfortunately for me). Eventually, we both graduated from Berkeley and she married her long distance boyfriend.
I did some reflection, and I named all the girls or women I ever had a crush on or felt genuine love for, and the number is about 35-40. They are a diverse group, and I can't really find anything they had in common other than leaving a mark on my heart. I think the worst failed relationship I had was with a woman named Jeannette. She was absolutely beautiful and liked science too.
I had lunch with her one time, but when the UCSD Catholic society had a formal, I saw her dancing with another man. I knew that Jeannette wasn't seeing anyone at the time. She had made it known that she had broken up with her last boyfriend and didn't have one when I knew her. Even as I watched them dance, I could feel that this man was stealing her from right under me. Just recently, I stumbled onto Jeannette's wedding video on You Tube. That hurt to watch that, to see how happy she was without me, but worse how happy she was with that guy she danced with at the formal, the one she's married to now.
I sometimes wonder if I had normal romantic relationships if that would have helped with my mental health. Did my lack of a girlfriend all these years spark those crazy hallucinations, delusions, etc. I just know if I'm patient enough, another woman will cross my path and put a mark again on my heart.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
