I moved back to D.C. in December 2000/January 2001. My parents and friends begged me to come back, I was so sick. I was an out patient at a Pittsburgh hospital for both physical and mental illness, though the doctors urged me to check myself in as an in patient. My apartment was literally killing me; the bacterial infection had set into my blood, kidneys and liver and my entire system was shutting down. Because I kept living there, the antibiotics were not helping. Depending on who you listen to, I could have died. Add that to a depression so severe I was barely able to function, and I was in a pretty rotten state of affairs.
When Aaron called my mother the night of December 10th to tell her I was suicidal and had been an out patient during the day for suicidal ideation but that it was even worse now because we had just broken up, I was already off the deep end; I thought it was 1995 again. By the time my mom got me on the phone, it was not hard for her to convince me to come back to D.C. because I had little idea as to where I was or how I had arrived there. Just so long as I got out of where I was as quickly as possible — Mom, Dad, come get me, rescue me, help me, please, I am lost — I would be happier. I was falling.
Aaron called back, made arrangements to take me to the bus station at six the next morning during the coming snow storm. Mat came over and started helping me pack. The next thing I remember is getting off the plane in Scotland almost two weeks later; I do not even remember how I got there. There is something liberating about losing your mind.
There is nothing liberating about losing your independence.
While I was in Scotland I came to my senses. The Zyprexa was kicking in, Edinburgh was having its healing effect, and simply being in Jamie\’s presence was the best medication I could possibly have been given. After talking it over again and again with my best friend, I finally decided that I would in fact stay in D.C., but that I would only remain in my parent\’s house for a year. I spoke with my parents long distance and they assured me that if I stayed in their house for a year I would live rent free, and all I need worry about was \’getting better\’, because I was so very sick.
They bribed me with an offer I could not refuse — stay for a year and we will send you for two weeks anywhere in the world you want to go. \”Anywhere?\” \”Anywhere.\” The only place I want to go that I have never dreamed of being able to afford is Antarctica, and they agreed to send me. A bribe like that I could not refuse, and so I left Scotland with a heavy heart, determined to stick it out in D.C. at my parents\’ house for a year.
Nearly two years later, I am still here.
The first year I was here, I loathed it. I wanted out. I spent the entire year planning my escape. The plan was to leave as soon as my contract was up in January. Head back to Pittsburgh. When that did not pan out, I attempted to head back to Edinburgh. My self-confidence was shattered on that plan and I gave in to the idea of being stuck here in D.C. I decided that as long as I was stuck here, I might as well take the damn city over. This was last October.
Somewhere my plans for taking the city over got sidetracked. I got discouraged. I met a boy. We decided to partner up without me realizing that my ideas for dominance were mutating into something rather dissimilar from my original intent, and not at all similar to what he wanted to do. I made some real friends here. I started to actually like it here. I hurt my hands. I think I grew up some. None of which is in chronological order.
At any rate, since last November I have been in this city, mostly unemployed except for the job that inadvertently caused me to be diagnosed with fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue syndrome — disabling diseases I have actually had since I was 13. Diseases which explain why I have become sick every time I have attempted to hold a job, exert myself physically, travel, go to school or am exposed to stress since the age of 13 . Diseases which explain why I am always tired, sore, achy, and have had a constantly weakened immune system since the age of 13 . Diseases which explain why I have suffered from numerous cognitive problems including expressive aphasia; paraphasia; transposition; prosopagnosia; dyscalculia; impaired short-term memory; slowed retrieval of long-term memories; spatial/perceptual and directional difficulties (I got so lost in NE yesterday, and I had a map with me, too); impaired concentration; difficulty processing simultaneous input; difficulty expressing ideas; difficulty with problem solving or decision making; difficulty following oral or written directions; forgetting how to perform routine tasks (l cannot remember a single UNIX command anymore. At all.); comprehension deficit; difficulty organizing, integrating, and evaluating information to form conclusions or make decisions; volitional problems: difficulty starting or stopping tasks; difficulty adapting behavior to current context (shit, how often has that gotten me into trouble?) and poor judgement since the age of 13. You know what this means, especially the last part? It means that I am not an air head. For eight years I just thought I was really, really, really stupid and really, really, really crazy. But I am not. God damn it, I am not. (But that, as they say, is another entry.)
I am not crazy. I am just completely and utterly dependent upon my parents, and there is not a damn thing I can do about it. Truth be told, I think they actually like it this way. They never prepared me for a life of independence; I was raised to be utterly reliant on them in everything. The only way I have ever managed to get by without them has been to completely sever all ties, and that only lasts until I end up back in the hospital. \”Hello, mister and misses ___, we have your daughter Cassandra here. She\’ll be needing x, y and z to keep her from going off the deep end again, and she has no financial support. Will you foot the expense?\” And then I end up in debt to them.
A few months ago my mother actually presented me with a piece of paper that had a number on it — a five digit number which was the total of all the expenses I had incurred with my parents in 2001. I did not even look at it; I said add it to my tab and threw it away. What the hell was I supposed to do with it? At my father\’s order I have stopped paying my credit card bills and will be filing for bankruptcy, thus ruining my credit and making it impossible for me to sign a lease for seven years and ensuring I will be living with my parents at least until I am 29 or a friend takes pity on me and lets me move in with them without my name being on the lease.
My folks say how much they want me out of here, how much they want me to be independent of them, but then they tell me they are looking into having a court declare me incompetent so that they can get the tax benefits. If they declare me incompetent, they will be legally and financially responsible for me for life. It makes no sense. They say one thing one day, and another thing the next. One day my father is telling me to get a job, the next day he is complaining that disability has not kicked in yet. My mom gets mad at me whenever I need to get a prescription refilled, telling me they cannot afford it, but then she tells me about the boat my parents are thinking of buying. Consistency is not their strong point, and their flair for the dramatic as a scare tactic is something they have passed to all three of their offspring, though only now am I seeing it in my parents — I had previously only seen it in myself and in my siblings, being too scared of my parents to see them for what they are.
My independence is something I need desperately. Borderline personality disorder, dependent personality disorder — they are just labels of behaviors, ultimately. To completely break free of these behaviors, though, I need to break free of my parents, and with the delicate web they have helped me spin myself into, I do not see how that is going to be possible in this decade. Independence is all I want right now, and it seems to be what is most alluding me.
I love it here in D.C., with the exceptions of my lack of independence, lack of freedom, lack of money, living in the suburbs, being reliant on my parents and having to deal with our broken relationship day in and day out, and I do not want to leave. But…
God, no one tell my puppet masters (parents, doctors) this because they think they have me whipped into submission, but I think I need to get out of here. I need to get out from under my parents\’ thumbs. I feel perpetually adolescent here, and in many ways am going to continue to remain so until I manage to give my folks the final boot. Every time, I think it is the final time, and every time I have had to crawl back. I never anticipate the hidden disasters that are lurking in the future. Who would have guessed my last house had such a horrible hidden mold infestation that would cripple my immune system into nothingness? No one.
The trick is to find a way to not fall back. But how? How does one gain the skills one needs to \’make it\’ on their own? My parents did not prepare me to make it in the real world; they did not even teach how to boil water. I was never taught how to survive. I do not even know what it takes. As far as I can tell, there are three main players.
Obviously you need the maturity, and while it is debatable as to whether or not I have that, I am willing to risk that one. Stable credit history is helpful, though not always necessary. Income is of the utmost necessity, and that is my major obstacle. As working once a week for my father for the past month has proven, I still cannot handle even four hours in an office — I end up in severe pain and come home and sleep for fifteen hours, then spend the next day barely able to move.
I am still researching alternative FMS/CFS treatments and therapies; there has got to be something that can help. In the meantime, if I get SSI, it should be happening in January, but I will only be getting about $250 a month, if that, and SSI is a state program so I have to live in Maryland to use it. Where the hell can I live and pay only $250 in rent, and pay for food, car expenses, utilities and just life in general?
It seems hopeless. But I have to get out of here. There has to be a way. But I am not getting married to do it. I am not trading dependency for dependency, so do not even think of suggesting it. One of my doctors did, and if it were not for my health insurance, he would not now be my doctor.
That is all from me tonight.
Love,
Frustrated in Maryland
