The Potty Mouth Granny

Last week in my Facebook memories from three years ago, I had posted about resigning from a job because of my medical condition. If you follow my blog then you know I have epilepsy and I take anti seizure medication to control the seizures.

When I read that old post, I realized that I have resigned from five positions in the past four years because of my disability and it made me feel a multitude of emotions. Sadness, anger, anxiety, fear.

Sadness because if someone had asked me if this would have been my life six years ago, I would’ve said no, but how could I know that I would be diagnosed with a neurological disorder a month before my 50th birthday and that my whole life would change?

Anger because I can’t do anything about this. I have to take medication for the rest of my life but the quality of my life has declined. Yes my seizures are under control but I’m tired from dawn to dusk and I don’t do shit but exist.

Anxiety because I am an older person in a society that is biased towards older people. I have been unemployed since November and have been getting turned down left and right by the companies I’ve applied to. I put down that I have a disability because I think it would be in my best interests to do so health wise because I can have a seizure at any time but I have learned that companies don’t want to be bothered with an epileptic 53-year old woman. I’m considered a liability, passé. An old mare who has been put to pasture.

And lastly, fear. I’ve applied for disability benefits but supposed I’m turned down? What am I supposed to do for income? I can’t make anyone hire me. I’ve worked since I was 17 years old and have enough credits to retire when I am 62 (early retirement) but I can’t touch the money until then which is stupid. And there are no safety net programs in this country, contrary to popular belief. Manna from the government is not raining down on poor folks in America.

So I’m sitting here watching old cartoons on a Sunday night trying to keep my head up, thinking positive thoughts but it’s hard. Harder than a pimp’s heart. I’ve been trying my best not to descend into depression because that’s not going to help me at all but shit, it’s been hard.