Insanity, or What Is Otherwise Known As My Life...

I'll be the first to admit that it has been far too long since I last posted a blog, and even longer since I wrote one that was lengthy enough to sum up pretty much even a fraction of everything that's been going on in my life as of late. Well, let me just tell you--there has been a lot happening in the world of Kelly. Some good, some bad, all stressful. Apparently, this stress thing only increases with age, or so I hear. Honestly? I reached maximum level about a month or so ago, and now I'm just creating completely new levels and varieties of stress. Maybe I can get paid for said inventions. Or something. So, where to begin...

My last post gave a (very) brief description/summary of Jamie's wedding weekend. I can't reiterate this enough: it was incredible. It also feels like it happened about a million years ago. Okay, a thousand, but still. In reality, that weekend happened only 2 months ago. Wow, even saying it--with all my knowledge of the truth of that statement--seems like I just have to be wrong. For starters, less than two weeks after I attended and participated in that amazing event--and it was definitely an event--the shit storm that has been my dealings with all things health insurance began--nay, it attacked. I knew that I would be removed from my parents insurance effective the first day of the month after my 26th birthday (read: June 1st, 2012). As such, I arranged to have my insurance through work start exactly on June 1st--or so I thought. Turns out, after calling me a liar for not having a "qualifying event", they required a piece of paper that stated I was no longer covered under my previous insurance. It would have been nice for them to let me know that when I signed up online for said insurance--and specified all of the intricate details. But, you know, saying I was approved and stating that the insurance would become effective on June 1st is almost like the same thing. Oh, I'm sorry--that's actually the complete opposite information. I was especially fond of the multiple ways they made me feel like it was not only my fault that I didn't know it was opposite day on the day I filled out all that information, .but also that I was a complete moron--I think just in general judging by their treatment.  It took 18 days to get all of this figured out, and if they had been left on their own I'd probably still be waiting. They don't exactly strike me as the most intelligent bunch--and "they" seems to include every single employee of BCBSAL. The benefits department of my job went above and beyond to help me out, and once I got in touch with the right people it was literally taken care of in less than 24 hours. Somehow, though, those crafty insurance people managed to remain completely and utterly befuddled about, well, everything. I'm afraid to imagine how their office is run, or how disorganized it must be (read: in my mind, I see rats and trash everywhere, at least 7 coffee pots simply because they couldn't figure out the directions on the first 6, and then...my uber-organzied brain goes black, too pained to let my imagination go any further). Also, the bathroom must be entirely too complicated for them, even in a group. And I pray they all take the bus everywhere, because the thought of them on the road...oh look, my brain is going black again. Perhaps I'm being a little mean, but seeing as how they've written the book on bitchy douchebaggery, I somehow don't feel bad about anything I've said. If you're offended, you should hear what my brain says about them that my mouth has yet to admit to being a part of.

Also, now that I'm 2 months in with my new "insurance", I've come to realize that I've been screwed in every possible way by that "company" since day one--and not ever even sort of in a fun way. I hope they are getting some sort of pleasure out of it, because I sure as hell am not. Oh wait--I actually hope they grow enough brains to go fuck themselves instead, if only because I know they'd mess even that up and hopefully puncture an organ or something. Whew--even I was unaware of how deep my rage ran until right now. Anway, my plan apparently isn't working towards a deductible like most, but instead requires me to pay 100% of every prescription each and every time. So, a prescription (well, the closest alternative, since the one I had previously been on was--no shit--the only one not covered by my plan) that used to cost me $10 was--wait for it--$100 when I filled it a couple of days ago. Needless to say, I'm looking into other insurance plans and companies. If health insurance is going to cost me over $100 a month, I'd like it to actually fucking benefit me, you know, AT ALL. Crazy talk, I know. After that fee and the normal taxes that come out of my paychecks (ie social security and other crap that will not benefit me pretty much ever since all that money will be sucked dry by my parents generation, if not before), my financial situation is bleak. Just as an example, this month marks the first time I have bounced a check in either 5 or 6 years. The negative $73 in my account is my favorite thing to sit and admire these days...especially since my next payday is over a week and a half away. Not only are my parents unwilling to help me out (awesome seeing as how I never ask for money and it's not as if I squandered my money away or anything--I mean, like since I first got a job eleven years ago), they straight up ignored my texts on the subject. You know, the texts I had to send because I didn't get a break at work today and therefore literally could not call and ask that way, especially knowing that, like the other 2 or maybe 3 times I've ever borrowed money for them (read: usually $25, the last time being when I was in college, so at the very least 3 but more likely 5 years ago), the third degree I would be subjected to would likely take at least 20 minutes. Granted, it has been a while since they have seen me (I don't exactly have money for gas to visit them and I've been working nonstop between the store and house cleaning on the side for extra money), but they are well aware of the dark circles under my eyes, the almost constant nausea I feel from living off ramen (when I have the money for even that) almost exclusively for close to 3 years now, and the extra  8 pounds I unintentionally (and somehow unknowingly until a couple of customers brought it to my attention) that I've lost in the past couple of months. I was happy with the 50 pounds I lost 2 years ago and have kept off ever since. But nearing the 60 pound mark of weight loss? Not a fan. Also, I'd like to feel a little less malnourished on a daily basis.Unreasonable, I know. There I go again with my crazy talk. So, they ignored my request (with promise to pay them back complete with a plan and dates of said reimbursement) and let me overdraft. Better known as they let me worry about how I'm going to manage to find gas money to get to work like ever to the point of another loss of appetite (great--skeleton is the look I was going for in life) and have started to actively push me towards actually starving to death. Silver lining? That loss of appetite is coming in handy seeing as how I can't afford food anyway. Silver lining for them? They are able to reinforce their belief that they are, in fact, better than me (a belief they've held since my birth, I do believe) and/or they are well on their way to having to buy Christmas presents for one less person in the future. Okay, so maybe I won't die (the dramatic side of me hasn't lost its appetite)...but man are they going to be disappointed!


BUT ANYWAY. Moving on. Several factors have come together to cause a decrease in the work hours available for everybody at my job. Yes, this means that I'm actually making less money than I used to. I'm pretty positive that it won't last and my hours will be back up soon, but in the meantime I get to play the nice game of juggling my bills and payments. Rent, cell phone, car insurance--not a lot (and excluding gas money) to have to deal with...but totally enough to absolutely fucking break me whenever and however possible. I'm lucky I have a good history and relationship with both companies and my landlord, because that fact is my only saving grace for all three. Seriously. In a perfect world, I'd love to keep up my positive status with all of these businesses--or, getting crazy here, even improve upon it. In reality, however, I just pray that one day in the future I'll be able to surprise them all by being awesome at all things important again. I'm sorry, did that sound like I'm tooting my own horn? Well guess what, I totally am. Regardless of all of this real life, adult, I-totally-am-convinced-I'm-on-a-reality-show bullshit, I still manage to be kind of bad ass. Just in general. I work my ass off at everything I do, split my "spare" (haha) time between two book clubs (and keep the records for both), keep up with a surprising regularity with my best friends from both high school and college, send letters whenever I have access to stamps, juggle all the organization for several parts of my store's livelihood, always manage to have food for my cats no matter what, and continue to improve on my dazzling personality and witty humor/banter on a daily (or at least weekly) basis. Naturally, when I understandably get very tired, I get whiny generally become a giant cunt to people who for some reason continue to stay friends with me and--for whatever reason--love me in spite of, or because of perhaps, all of my crazy. Maybe it's because about 90% of the time, that crazy is of the fun variety. Or of the slap happy, sleep deprived, laugh to avoid thinking about that whole lack of money thing, delirious variety. Definitely one of the two, or both, or at some point they merged to become the same thing. All I know is, my laugh is a little louder these days, and my eyes spend their time open to their widest possible position--otherwise, they will be too close to closed, and then I'll just fall asleep standing up at, say, the register...again--and 4-8 shots of espresso has surpassed my 2 cups of coffee as my must have every day (even as I try to cut back on caffeine). I'm either losing it (though this seems unlikely considering I lost it-- according to the documents--way back when I was 19, or 17, or 15) or I'm circling back to sane at this point. I kind of hoping I'm not under any threat of becoming sane--that sounds way boring and also...who would I talk to or even remotely relate to? All of my friends are totally crazy too. In other words, my friends are completely and totally, unquestionably, forever and always FABULOUS AND THE BEST OF ANY FRIENDS EVER IN THE WORLD.  I'm sorry if you thought your friends were the best ever--or, suck it. Unless your friends have supported you--and somehow wanted to hang out with you whenever possible--through a stay in the psych ward, literally body slamming you to stop you from being a moronic bitch, answered the phone every time you decide to lose your shit at 3 AM and talked you off the ledge you built for yourself with crazy bricks and shit storm wood, point out your awesome qualities when you go beyond denying them to actively running a campaign to erase any knowledge of them from the world--forever, or any of the (quite literally) millions of ways my friends have saved my life and believed in my when I don't even remember what it means to believe in myself--well, if they've done none of these things, let alone all of them all the time, don't even enter this who-has-the-better-friends contest. Or, better yet, totally have that debate with me. I won't just win, I'll annihilate you--twice (you know, for fun...oh, and kind of just because I can). I spend a lot of my life finding new ways and reasons to hate myself. One thing I'll never doubt, though? I am an expert at choosing friends. Yes, I've picked a couple of duds, but comparatively speaking...well, I'm kind of awesome at reading people. And they are 100% awesome at being the absolute best friends that I could ever imagine--and very rarely deserve, I'm afraid. . .

It's funny that I can totally imagine the quick rebuttal, complete with a multitude of reasons and a pie chart if that sort of thing was cool for anybody under the age of 50, of each and every single one of my friends. Their words would be so alike, but undoubtedly sweetened differently with their wonderfully unique personalities. And they would all probably slap me, or punch me "lightly" on the arm (ie totally cause a bruise that would last, say, a month---again). As I get older, and in case you were unaware--26 is the new 85, or 103--I have discovered that there are legitimate ways that I'm worth having as a friend--and not just because I'm one hell of an enemy. I'm loyal (sometimes perhaps too much so), honest but rarely harsh, funny to a degree that sometimes takes me by surprise, more intelligent in regards to a wide variety of subjects (sometimes these subjects are oddly random, and by sometimes I mean the vast majority of the time--yay movie commentaries!), psychologically knowledgeable (especially when it is most important), and surprisingly well suited for a career as a psychologist (though I must admit this one is bittersweet seeing as how I will be hard pressed to find a way--financially most of all--to make this even remotely a reality), and without a doubt a force to be reckoned with that you will undoubtedly never forget.  I'm usually ready with pretty great advice when the circumstances call for it, and I will almost always find a way to be there for any of my friends no matter what time of day it happens to be when they need me to be. Though it doesn't happen as often as it used to (especially in college, when apparently an hour of sleep was totally enough nine times out of ten...which I'm fairly certain I'm still making up for now BTW), my subconscious has this uncanny ability to awaken me from even the deepest sleep when a friend truly needs me. Seriously it could be (and has been) 4 AM after I've gone to sleep before midnight, my phone on silent across the room, and I'll instantly be wide awake and running to check my phone, knowing that one of my friends is in need. Maybe they need to be picked up from a place they are uncomfortable and/or terrified to be in for another moment, or maybe they are having a Kelly moment and "losing their shit" seemingly for no reason, or maybe they need my help (or reassurance) with a big (or small) life decision. Perhaps the world seems to be coming down around them. It doesn't really make any difference how big or small the situation or problem or whatever is to the rest of the world. If for any reason it has become a big deal to them, my subconscious responds; in fact, I can count on one hand the number of times I've slept through a situation such as these, and I was sick in each instance and therefore likely to sleep through a freight train running beside me or a hammer being repeatedly pounded against my head. And I still feel bad about each of these times, regardless of the fact that I was long ago (read: immediately) forgiven by any and all individuals involved. Even those times that involved a person who is no longer a friend of mine or has moved on to "acquaintance" status remain a memory burned into my psyche that I still feel terrible about even now. I'm proud that even the most subconscious part of me is caring, loving, and most of all--loyal.  When I let myself believe it, I know that this means more than anything else that I'm all of these things despite all of the moments of super bitchiness that I've let loose in the past (and present and future). I love because I have been loved. I care because I have been cared for time and again. I'm loyal because loyalty has more often than not (by far) been shown to me. And I love, care, and remain loyal because that is who I am, through and through.

Though I often forget these positive qualities about myself, I do know that they are unwavering in their truth. There are many things I'd like to change--or at the very least, tweak--about myself. But those qualities that make me the friend I am? I wouldn't dream of changing these parts of myself, and honestly can only hope that I retain them to this degree for a very long time or, you know, the rest of my life. Once I die, all bets are off. I'm going to haunt the shit out of some people, but if we're being honest here, my friends will probably be right there beside me haunting the hell out of everybody who deserves it and also (mostly) scaring/pranking those friends who are still among the living. All of this haunting talk reminds me of something that is much more serious (though haunting is serious business). When I was 15 and at the beginning of all of my (ongoing) psychological mayhem--or at least at the start of the manifestations of said problems--I almost immediately  began to believe with a strong conviction that I would die young, and most likely by my own hands. That's not to say I thought I'd commit suicide--in fact, I've never wanted to kill myself though there are (admittedly terrifying) times when I stop being scared and that notion and let myself begin to understand (however briefly) why that could make sense to a person--but I feared, then embraced, and reluctantly forced away any longing for the idea that I would accidentally end my own life. My relapses have resulted in deep scars, a severed tendon in my hand, degenerative muscle and nerve damage in my back....and the list goes on and on (for what I'm aware is entirely too long). It would not be out of the realm of possibility that what may have once severed a tendon could irreversibly sever a vein or veins. This is one of the main reasons I rarely drink alcohol these days, and even less frequently to any sort of excess. Self-mutilation tendencies and alcohol just don't mix; for one, the depressive effect of the alcohol brings out all the demons that live in a dark corner of my mind, and all at the same time. It's overwhelming, to say the least. Also, I'm so much more willing to play against fate when drunk--how close to the vein can I cut?, how many times? , how much blood can I stand to lose?, and so on in an increasingly alarming and depressing fashion. When I do drink, it's typically a glass of red wine (pinot noir or malbec--just saying!) after a long day at work. Socially, I try to only drink (even a little) while in the company of others if I am in a very good mood going into the occasion; this becomes even more important if I plan to drink with the intention of getting drunk. Sure, I sometimes slip up, but I've become so much more self-aware and mature when it comes to this kind of thing. You have to learn your boundaries, and then respect them. I'm only human, and I will make mistakes for the rest of my life. I just hope I continue to learn from them.

At any rate, I still believe I'm going to die (relatively young), though I now think this means maybe in my 50s or 60s instead of in my 20s or 30s. But I no longer think I'll be the cause of my own death, at least not to the degree I believed in the past. I could be wrong, but I think I've grown enough to not go out in such a catastrophic, preventable way. Now I've probably cursed myself, but what can you do? Oh, and side note: I maintain that if I die in a humorous way (falling into a pit of lava, tripping into traffic, etc.) the cause of my death totally has to be inscribed on my headstone. For laughs, you know?

As per usual, this blog started out as one thing and ended up as another, though at least I finished discussing the first thing before I melted into the other(s). Regardless, fingers crossed that the whole money situation gets a little easier (I don't even try to tell myself that it will ever be "fixed", at least not for quite some time) and I can find a happy "solution" to all this insurance crap. Preferably before I drive to their office just to sucker punch each and every employee...twice.

Although, I must admit that sounds like a lot of fun and a barrel of laughs for all. Except for all those that get punched--they may have a hard time laughing about that. But once again, the level of incompetence and douchebaggery they have reached reminds me of one, unwavering truth:

They can suck it. Twice.