Breakdown, Breakdown. It’s all going to breakdown.

It’s been 13 months since Rick died and I have no idea of how I’ve made it this far.  I am  disabled and draw social security and I lost 2/3 of the monthly income.  Plus, all the things Rick use to do for me.  He was the man of the house and did manly things like cut the yard, rake leaves, carry heavy things, check on our vehicles, etc.  Last May, June, July and August a young boy cut my yard for 20 bucks.  My mother gave me money to pay him with. Now, there is no young man to cut it. Late September on the leaves started falling in the front yard and it didn’t need cutting. The leaves and gumballs stayed on the ground all winter.  Then I got a room mate in April.  My room mate was a man and I gave him reduced rent for cutting the yard. He also raked it. At first I thought it was going to be a great deal with the room mate.  I let him know up front how I felt about alcoholics.  I told him I didn’t care if he had a beer or two when he came home from work. Well, his idea of a couple and mine were two different things. He call a 40 oz one.  He became to fond of his beers and pain pills so the happy room mate deal didn’t work out.  Now I am sitting here looking out the window at the front yard and wondering if I can even start the lawn mower.  It’s only a couple of years old but you have to pull the cord to start it.  And prime it too!  Can’t forget that all important starting trick!  I am on Tax Relief on my property taxes but somehow it didn’t get done last year so I got a thing from the tax people that I owed my taxes. I got sick ot my stomach.  I pulled my bank account dry and some of the rent money I received the short while he was here and paid the taxes but that meant I couldn’t fed myself the last two weeks of the month.  I had to borrow money from my sister.  I’m still in the having to borrow money.  I’m grateful I have a sister that can help me.  Then I got the letter telling me that my psychiatrist was leaving his practice.  I am bi-polar.  I’ve spent days calling any psychiatrist I could find and asking three questions.  Number one, were they taking new patients, two did they except Medicare and three could I get an appointment.  Many phones rang and rang and bumped to a recording.  That was if the mailbox empty.  Most mailboxes were full and you couldn’t leave a message.  No, they didn’t take medicare or they only handled teenagers. No they were taking new patients.  I only have a couple more weeks of medicine.  I hate the side effects of my medicine but like my beloved Doctor B told me, You can either be drugged or totally out of control.  I’m too old now to spiral out of control now.  It’s trying to even think about the anger or the rage.  It consumes you.  All your muscles are pulled tight in that fight or flight feeling on a daily basis.  I would love the happy,, manic time but it would be followed by the rage. After the rage would come the deep dark,dark depression. I won’t survive another trip there.  I still think about killing myself since Rick died, but on medicine, that’s all I do is think about it.  I don’t try and carry it out. My world is a lonely one but I don’t want to get out and people.  I don’t people real well. People are assholes most of the time.  It’s silent at my house except if I’m talking to the dog or cat. I miss my bubble.  My bubble had everything I needed in it. Me, Rick, food, good times, my animals all in one house. That was my bubble.  I didn’t need other people in my bubble with their drama.  I don’t like drama, but I must admit that without medicine my first name is drama.  I thrive on it. And I can’t do that again. I feel like my whole life is coming undone.  Breaking down. 


About 1wanderingtruthseeker

I'm a fiftish woman that has opinions and passions about nearly everything under the sun. I love a good debate, not name calling. I believe in the Constitution , the Bill of Rights and God. I believe the government which governs the least is the best government of all. I believe in the rights of the people. I dispatched fire trucks, the Po-Po and ambulances for a long time so I have a wicked sense of dark humor and speak fluent sarcasm. I think out loud a lot times. I am offensive. But I'm offensive of everybody. Socially unacceptable, plain spoken and unashamed. If you don't want to be offend, please don't read and if you do, please consider that I'm not politically correct in any sense of the word.
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One Response to Breakdown, Breakdown. It’s all going to breakdown.

  1. Pingback: Breakdown, Breakdown. It’s all going to breakdown. | just another day in paradise

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