come on the rising wind*

Our financial stress has gone from about a nine to a two since filing bankruptcy. I'm not happy that I had to do it and I'm certainly not proud but I don't regret it. We have quite a bit coming up. The Monkey went to see a urologist regarding his low testosterone level and he immediately handed him a prescription for testosterone injections. Thankfully I'd done my research and learned that synthetic testosterone injections shut down sperm production and even after asking about an alternate treatment (Clomid, hCG) the urologist insisted that testosterone was the only way to go and that it wouldn't affect our TTC endeavors. Really? Well, we definitely won't be going back to see him that's for sure. I called our RE and they got us in on the 27th of July. I'll be getting my annual exam and bloodwork and all of that fun stuff. The Monkey will be getting some routine bloodwork as well along with a repeat semen analysis done. Sixteen more days to go. Why does it always seem like an eternity?

The first week in August I have to be in court for my bankruptcy hearing. I'm not really concerned about it because, as I said, I don't regret the decision. And The Monkey will be there with me and he's been through this before and assured me there's nothing to be worried about. Then, towards the end of August, I have to be in court again for my SSD hearing. Now that I am nervous about. I don't really know what to expect. I can walk. I can talk. I'm intelligent (or so I'm told). So, yeah, I'm worried. I'm worried the ALJ is going to look at me and snort and then send me packing. The Monkey says we'll appeal again if that happens. I really hope it doesn't.

That's the thing about mental illness. It's not exactly tangible. With a physical disability it's easy for someone to see that something is wrong (although, not in all cases). And although that doesn't necessarily make it easier to get approved for SSD (that's not what I'm saying) it is one less thing you have working against you. And you rarely find people frowning upon those with physical disabilities. I'm not looking for pity (I don't think anyone with a disability is) but it would be nice to get a little understanding. Understanding that I don't want this. I don't. It sucks. To go from one day to the next never knowing what your mood is going to be like. To find yourself curled up in bed, under the covers in a pool of tears and completely unable to explain to your husband why you're depressed. Don't get me started on the guilt that you feel when you watch your 58 year old mother drag herself to work day in and day out while you sit at home on your butt all day. (For the record, that is my insecurities talking. I don't sit on my butt all day. Depressive episodes are harder to manage because I do get very little accomplished. On good days, I keep up with house work, I cook, I tend to the animals, etc.)

I can't think straight.