I’m so mad right now. Not angry with a someone, I’m angry with an institution, an administration. I’m mad because I followed the bazillion rules they have in order to qualify my disability, and then they turn around and COMPLETELY disregard what they were supposed to honor.
You should know better you silly bitch! No one is looking out for you!
Oh I get it now. The abject discrimination is too much. Lemme have my half my face blown off, okay, we get it, pass on through. But have a debilitating disorder that takes over even the simplest aspects of your life? You need to fill out three hours’ worth of forms, and oh, by the way, we’re gonna go ahead and revoke your benefits before you sign the final page.
No review board. No honoring of appeals. Just….doors slammed shut. Phone calls not returned. Our official decision is…we don’t acknowledge you.
I can’t deal with this. A raw nerve I am, every little nip, quip, snip sets me off. I’m not experiencing despair, just raw, unfiltered…RAGE. I want to talk to someone about it, it’d be REALLY nice if I had a reliable go-to, but instead I have the holier-than-thou people, the ones who tell me they get what I’m going through but have never actually experienced what I’m going through, then follow with a condescending, “you need to get it together. Don’t take things so seriously.” Yeah, you know all about that.
Before I tear open the Feeling Homicidal Emergency Phone Directory, I’m gonna re-watch Maria Bamford’s latest stand up on Netflix, The Special Special Special! because she does deliver an EXCELLENT presentation on the rampant hypocrisy towards the mentally disabled.
If, after watching this, I can’t fight off the rage, I’ll initiate the phone chain.
Help me out, Maria…
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