Reality

Reality kicked in at the rehearsal.
I realized I was about to take vows again.
To another man.
I was about to be someone else's wife.
I started to cry.
Everyone thought it was the stress of the day.
I was not stressed about the wedding.
I hired great vendors.
The wedding was taken care of.
But my widow friend knew it was something else.
Something more emotional.
Something more abstract.
I was getting married.
Again.
This was real.

I know Roger would want me to marry again.
I have no doubt about that.
During my honeymoon with Mr. X, I had a strange nightmare.
Roger wanted Mr. X and me to re-do our ceremony so he could watch.
So we did.
He watched from the side line.
Afterwards, he said congrats.

It is strange saying husband to Mr. X.
I did not say it much at first.
For me, "husband" referred to another man.
A dead man.
He was a dead husband longer than he was a live one.
And thankfully I have not had to refer to Roger has my "first husband" or anything like that.
(I only had to correct the social security office in that I was NOT divorced but a widow to help her understand why I was keeping Roger's last name).

This past Saturday I had too much time alone.
I watched a sort of sad indie film (The High Cost of Living).
Then I was driving in the car listening to the song I walked down the aisle to in my wedding to Mr. X.
I just started crying.
The school year was done, I pretty much knew my work situation was solved, and we were home from the honeymoon.
I finally starting soaking everything in.
I am married.
I am married to a great guy.
But I was also married to another great guy.

It is scary being married again.
Scared for my heart.
Scared for Mr. X.
Scared for the future.

Yep, August is coming.

40 Some More Days

Weddings should be a time of stress, excitement, and happiness.
But I feel like I am tainted.
I am excited.
I am happy.
I am stressed.
I am also scared.
Not of things at the wedding going wrong.
But of life going wrong.
Again.

For my birthday, I want a wife card.
But what if I am not a wife on my birthday.

Mr. X talked about having a wife for Christmas this year.
But what if...

Part of me is so beyond scared.

What if life falls apart again?
I do not know if I have the strength to go through this again.
As all widows know, we are still going through it the first time on a daily basis.
But to have double....

Please dear God.
Please.

Grief Monster Winter 2011

I do not even know where to start.

I do not want to even go into everything.

So I won't.

But as I posted on facebook this morning, the grief monster has been back.

Now, this time he did not come alone.

He brought big scary accomplices like Paranoia.

During my life, I have said goodbye many times.

When in elementary school, pretty much the moment I considered someone my best friend, they'd move.

It happened over and over again. 

It almost felt like a guarantee.  

While consulting, it was pretty much a way of life.

I would spend six to eight months living in a city Monday through Thursday.

Only to be moved to a completely new location with new team, new clients, and new city.

It was fun to say the least but it was always sad to leave and say the dreaded goodbye.

Yes, people would say, "We'll keep in touch."

But for most, it was just another required statement with no backing.

So I learned to live in the moment.

I learned to almost keep myself at a distance.

I learned to say goodbye easily.

In 2005, I decided I was done with that non-static lifestyle.

I wanted real relationships.

I wanted a semi-normal routine.

I wanted a home and community.

So I moved back to Orlando.

One of my favorite cities to be in.

Three weeks ago grief and his friends made me scared and stressed.

Two weeks ago he made me paranoid about people I called friends shaking some of the very foundations of me.

And then last week made me nauseous with the loss of friendships.

A different sort of grief but similar feelings nonetheless.

Grief tried to make me doubt myself.

It dug deep into old wounds to reach fresh blood.  

In the last week or so, I have had trumpeters telling me all the positive things I am.

I am thankful for those who believe in me.

Thankful for those new and old friendships who have and are trying to defeat the voices of grief, paranoia, and non-truths.  

I will prevail.

I will be better for it all.
I will say goodbye.

And when the dust settles I will know the truth.

Almost

Saturday night my heart almost stopped.
Mr. X and I were on our way to a friend's house to watch one of the Harry Potter movies.
We were on "the" road in a loaner car.
We had just passed the accident scene about five minutes before.
As we approached an on-ramp I saw quite a few cars needing to get onto the highway.
So I did what drivers are supposed to do.
I signaled.
I got into the left lane.

The SUV in the right lane just ahead of me decided to get into my lane.
No signal.
No looking.
Just over.
He was about a foot away from the passenger side door.
The side Mr. X was sitting.
I started honking my horn.
The driver started swerving all over the road.
I was torn between hitting my brakes even though there was a mini-van behind me.
Or driving off the side of the road.
Would I go across the median if I went off the road?
I had to slow down though or we were going to hit the SUV.
The van behind me thankfully saw the situation.
The driver went almost off the road as he saw my brake lights.
The SUV got back into the right lane.
And I tried to make sure not to lose control of the wheel.

It was all over in a matter of seconds.
No car hit another.
No one got hurt.
No one died.
But my heart was seriously racing.
In my mind, I could hear the crashing noise.
That unmistakable sound of metal bending and clashing.
And I was scared of losing Mr. X.

Mr. X offered to drive since I was shaken up.
He told me how well I did making quick decisions and handling the car.
Of course I did not take him up on the offer to drive.
No, I am strong.
I can do this.
But I used the excuse the car is a loaner.

I got away from the SUV as quickly as I could.
Unsafe drivers annoy me so much.
There is no way he looked before coming into my lane.
And no signal for a lane change on a major highway?!?

Please be aware when driving.
Please do not text and drive.
Be ten times more careful when you have other passengers in the car.
And obviously, do not drink and drive.
A car is such a heavy piece of equipment and can easily injure/kill others.

PTSD

I am not sure if I have divulged some early things that happened on this blog.
If I have, it was a long time ago.
And perhaps newer readers have not read this or know this.
But I had/have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder aka PTSD.
I was diagnosed with depression, PTSD, and a good deal of survivor's guilt during counseling when Roger first died.
Mostly from the accident.
But from also watching Roger die.
And me not dying.

Now it is way, way better that it was in the beginning.
But...
I still have nightmares.
And daymares.
I still have images stuck in my head that I will never be able to get rid of.
And I have exaggerated reactions to things that others may think are minor.
Such as when I had my accident a few weeks ago.
That frozen fear where I could not move and had irrational fear.
I still jump and get very angry when other cars get close to the car especially if I am not driving.
Sometimes I have to be reminded by others that the world is not ending. (Thank you, Holly & Candice!)
But it still comes out.
And from what I understand, it is something that will lessen but never go completely away.
But I can sleep most nights with or without an alarm on.  [Except this morning when I thought someone was breaking in even though logically I knew a burglar would not park in front of my house & would not set the alarm to their car.]
I can walk around the neighborhood alone.
And I can drive without too much fear most of the time. [Although I so try hard to schedule things where I have to drive during non-rush hours. Less cars, less chance of an accident.]

Today, while driving, I heard a lady describing PTSD to the host on NPR.
She described it so perfectly.
I am paraphrasing here but...
She said, "It is like having a black blanket thrown over your head.  You are paranoid of everything. You feel like there is a dark cloud overhead. Everything is going to go wrong and you cannot stop it.  You are out of control of your world.  There is a fog over you."
Yes!
Exactly!
Now, I do not feel like that extreme most of the time.  But there are definitely days where I feel like people are against me.
Even my best friends.
Where I feel so out of control of my life, my emotions, and my everything.

Decisions can be so overwhelming for me.
That is not so new for me.
But now I fear what is behind my decisions.
I made a decision that accident day too.
I decided not to say anything about the route Roger was taking to the airport.
I decided to say something about his speed.
I decided when he was to die.
Now, what if I decide wrong?  What if my decision leads to disaster?
I do remind myself that most likely not, but sometimes that reasonable voice gets drowned out.

Sometimes...

The Top Tier

On Monday, Mr. X and I are meeting with our caterer to discuss the details of the wedding.
I am looking forward to this but there is one question...
The top tier of our cake.

Roger and I did not save ours.
Well, we intended to.
But that cake was damn good.
So we ate it before our honeymoon and when we got back.

And after he died,
And as I approached the my first wedding anniversary.
Alone.
I thought about the what if.
What if we had not eaten our cake?
How long would have that tier stayed in my fridge?
Would I have eaten it alone?
Would I have thrown it out?
Would it still be there sitting three and half years later?
Haunting me?
There or not, it does still haunt me.

And now as Mr. X and I approach our wedding,
What will we do?
Eat it?
Save it?
Risk it?

And yes, my fear is, we will not make it to our first anniversary.
Not because of divorce.
Because of death striking one of us.
I have never had a wedding anniversary.
My marriage ended after only six months.
We did not even get to celebrate that.
The accident was the day before.

But do I risk it? Or eat it?
And if we eat the cake does that mean I do not have the faith we will make it?
Or that it is another fantastic cake?
But what if "it" happens again?
What if I get stuck with a top tier of cake in my fridge?
Sigh...

Small Accident

I knew the day would come.
I remember in my counseling saying "when" not "if" when I referred to car accidents.
I pray and hope I am never in a serious accident but as much as I am in my car, I knew that eventually.
One day.
I would have another accident.

This accident was very small, parking lot incident but I still felt a huge amount of fear.
I was backing out of a parking space.
It was drizzling.
A young girl got into her car and immediately began backing up.
She did not even look for me.
I honked my horn several times but nothing.
She just kept coming.
Later she stated she did not see me.
Perhaps because she did not look for me.
I kept thinking "This isn't happening."
"She is going to stop."
"I know she is going to stop as soon as she sees me.

I felt paralyzed.

I felt this crushing fear.

I knew we would not be hurt but I was still extremely frightened.  
She did not stop until she ran into the back of my car.
My three month old car.

She did damage my car.
Approximately $900 according to my insurance adjuster.

Now, I feel this fear of backing up.
And fear that another accident is just around the corner.
A worse one.
The week of the accident, I had a small fender bender in the rain.
A young girl ran into the back of my car.
Ugh...

PSA: Drugs Are Not Bad

My family has some history of addiction.
And I know there is some evidence that having the ability to be addicted to substances is genetic.
So... when Roger first died, I made a pledge not to drink until I felt more stable.
My first drink post Roger was at my first wedding.  Three months after Roger's death.
Again, it was just a few drinks and not to the point of drunkenness.
I still kept a close look at my drinking for a long while post-death.

I was also on anti-anxiety medication and I knew the drug interactions for that.
I saw them first hand back in 1999.
Seizures and death.
I watched my ex-boyfriend's mother die two days before Christmas as he had to decide to take her off life support.
Valium + alcohol = death.

About ten years ago, I met a lady who was recently divorced.
She had lived the perfect life, or so she thought.
Six years after her wedding, her husband confessed to cheating most of their marriage.
I later found out she was on Paxil.
I was shocked.
She was smart. She seemed so well put together.  She was a pharmacist so she knew the risks.
But she also knew she was in a situation and needed help.
I had never known someone who was on medications for depression.

The week Roger was dying, I only took the medication for my arm infection and some Benadryl to help me sleep.
But I believed I did not need drugs.
I was strong. I was tough.  I was offended by the thought of having to take drugs.

When I visited my own physician after Roger's death, he insisted on anti-anxiety medications.
I was not sleeping.  I could barely finish a thought.  I was extremely paranoid.
I needed help.
I stayed on them for a few months along with my counseling.

Drugs are not bad!  Again for emphasis, drugs are not bad nor the enemy.
Most of my friends and family have not experienced the pain and situation I have been through at my age.
Those people who think a widow or widower should go without drugs, especially during the first year or so need to keep their damn mouth shut.  It does not mean the person is less of a human for needing help.
Those who think a divorcee should go without drugs, especially during the first year, should go to hell.
Sometimes, people need help.
Asking for help makes us strong.

Drugs are there to help.
Yes, they have side effects.
Every single drug has side effects but they are worth the risk when someone is struggling to get through.
So I say lay off to those who feel they can judge.
Those who need the drugs, feel free.  Be responsible and take care of yourself.
Drugs are not bad.

Semi-Empty

Tonight I came home to a semi-empty house.
Gizmo and Gadget are having dental cleaning done which means they need to have anesthesia.
No one was in the hallway to greet me.
No one begging for some dinner.
No one to (try to) meow at me.

Dropping them off this morning was so hard.
Gizmo cried the whole way there and as we waited to be checked in.
I felt like I was leaving my safety blanket and my heart at the vet.

Then I got the phone call.
They need to stay the night.
The veterinarian had an emergency come in and so he was not able to complete the cleaning.
The staff say they are fine and happy.
They are in a huge crate and even explored the clinic a bit earlier.

But I cannot help but be a little worried.
The cats have been with me this entire journey.
They have never spent the night any where but here at home.
I cannot lose them.
I cannot lose them this week.
In this month.

I will pick them up tomorrow afternoon.
And I cannot wait to see my kitties.
My lovely sweet kitties.

No Bananas

On Friday morning, Mr. X and I started out on a road trip together.
I am not sure what I was thinking when I planned this trip.
A Friday morning.
In August.
Muggy humid August.
Slightly early in the morning.
Near the death anniversary.

The eeriness started early.
My stomach started to turn.
Mr. X told me he had put some bananas near my purse to eat in the car.

My excitement started to melt away.
Panic set in.  My smile disappeared.
Mr. X asked me what was wrong.
"No bananas in the car please."
"Why?"
"Just because."
"Because why? You hate the smell?  We can't throw away the peel right away? What?"
It took me a few minutes but I simply stated "Too similar."

Two years ago, I ate my banana in the car about fifteen minutes before the accident.
Roger never got to eat his banana.  It was in my bag.
I did not want Mr. X to miss his.

The similarities of the day kept going.
Getting the cats ready.
Division of chores.
Mr. X packing the car.
Mr. X driving.
Making fun of my music.
Cars getting close.

I had to remind myself of the differences.
We were not flying.
We were not driving the same roads.
We were not going to the same destination.
Mr. X is not Roger.  

Sigh... fifteen more days of August.

Fear

Recently I have been scared.
Actually, I guess more like paranoid.

As the weather has warmed up, and summer is officially here.
As August creeps closer.
I keep thinking someone is going to die.
Someone I love.
Someone I care about.
Someone close to me.

And not in a normal way.
In a car accident specifically.
There is blood usually.

I do not feel paralyzed by this fear but if someone is late.
Or I do not hear from a friend.
It is my first thought.
They are dead.

I am especially scared of Mr. X dying again.
Ugh...

Our First Trip

Travel is super important to me.
I love to travel and explore new places and new cultures.
I have not been able to do it as much recently but I do love it.
Love. It.

I knew one thing Mr. X and I would have to do together before moving onto the next step of our relationship was... travel together.
I am picky about my traveling partners.
In the past, I traveled a lot alone just to avoid a traveling partner and related issues.
Paris. Sydney. London. San Diego.
I like to do what I like to do on a trip.
When in a serious relationship, traveling together can make it or break it for me.
So this was an important step.

My nerves and PTSD started to rear its head.
A trip.
A highway to the airport.
In a car.
Just like the trip to the airport with my mother, I was super anxious.
However I was in the driver seat.
And I thought maybe the situation would be reversed.
I had visions of me bleeding from the head and Mr. X looking at me from the side of the car.
But we arrived at the airport safe and sound.

We flew together.
We had fun together on the plane.
We were a team.

The weekend went well.
No other PTSD effects.
No fighting.
Lovely traveling together.
A good travel partner indeed.

Frightened

Yesterday morning, my mother left my house after a visit.
Her flight left at 6:30am.

I woke up at 4:45am.
I grabbed some clothes.
Roger's old workout pants.
Roger's UCF t-shirt.
As I went to put on some shoes, the first pair was the same ones I had on that day.
I could not even put one toe in.

We needed to leave about 5:00am.
It was humid and warm.
Kevin drove.
I was in the passenger seat, again.
I had my entire purse.
Strapped into the seatbelt with me.
I kept my flip-flops on.
My hands clasped tightly together.

I scanned the road intensely.
I watched for any wild animals that may jump into the road.
Watched for cars coming the opposite direction.
Watched the cars behind me.

We came upon an accident.
Some stupid drunk asshole who lost control of their car drove off the side of the road.
Fire trucks and an ambulance were cleaning up the mess.

We got to our first turn.
A car behind us sped through a completely red light.
Not a yellow light.
Not a red light that just turned red.
A red light.
Do people really just drive like this?
With no regard for others?

I could not talk.
Things were too similar.
I was so frightened.
Frightened by the possibilities.
Frightened by the stupidity of others.
Frightened by laws that do not protect me.
Frightened by the corruption of the world.

A Year From Now

Since August of 2008, I have not been back to work.
Besides a one day stint at my last job to wrap up some things.
And my teaching assistant position this past semester.
But not a real career sort of job.

However, in a year, I will be back in the "real" world.

I am slightly nervous about entering the career world again.
By that time, it will be 2.5 years since I was really working.
Two and half years since I dealt with the additional stress of work.

Yes, I have been in school.
And that has been stressful at times.
However, being a student versus being an employee has a different type of stress.
I can be fired from a job.
I cannot be fired from school.

I will have to meet loads of new people.
People who will be my boss.
People who will be my colleagues.
People who will ask questions.
People who I will need to be at least somewhat social with.

As a teacher, I will also be in contact with students' parents.
Parents who may also ask questions.
Parents who may find out my "situation."
The students themselves may find out.
May ask questions.
May use it against me at some point.

In a year... Eeek.

Changes

A change is about to occur here in my house.
Next month, Mr. X is going to be moving in with me.
We have been dating for almost a year and I feel like it is time.
We feel like it is time.
Time to step up our relationship to the next level.
On May Day, it will become our home.

I was nervous about announcing this.
I am sure some people will be shocked that in less than two years since Roger's death I am ready to have someone else move in.
However, I felt like I was stalling my decision for the sake of what other's think.
For other's feelings.
For society's rules.
For what others deem as normal and good.

But that was not fair to Mr. X.
It was not fair to me.

It is a scary change.
Commitment-phobia is slightly engaged.
Death-phobia is highly engaged.
But it is also exciting.

However, I hate the term "moving on".
No, I am not moving on.
I am moving forward.  Life moves forward.
"Moving on" sounds like I am forgetting Roger.
I still think of him.
Every. Single. Day.
I still have tears that gently roll off my cheeks every once in a while.

I still love Roger.
And I love Mr. X.
Amazingly, I can do both.

A New Birthday Cake

This is somewhat of a repeat emotion but...

Yesterday was Mr. X's birthday.
I was super excited to celebrate with him.
I wanted to make the day special for him.

I bought him a couple of gifts.
Made us dinner (except it did not taste very good).
And I made him a birthday cake.

And then this morning, I felt this fear.
I am really happy with Mr. X right now.
There are some big things happening for us (a whole separate series of blogs there).
But yet, I am frightened.
Beyond just normal relationship fears.
I guess it does not help that Roger died three weeks after his birthday.

As I become more and more happy with him, this fear that he will disappear keeps coming up.
And not just "disappear", but worse.
I am attached to him.
I am happy with him.

I was happy before.
I was attached before.
The true disappearing is that I feel scared Mr. X will die too.
And I know eventually he will.
Everyone dies.
But I am so afraid that as we get closer and closer, it will happen sooner than later.

The selfish part of me what to die first this time.
I do not want to be a widow again.
Please dear God do not let me be a widow again.

Crazy Nightmare

Last night I had (another) crazy nightmare.

I hate when I have them.

I really hate when they involve Roger.

In this nightmare, Roger was brutally murdered by this young guy.

It was not the man from the accident.

This man lived in our neighborhood.

And of course I was scared to leave my house.

I do not remember why this guy killed Roger.

One of Roger's former co-workers also lived in our neighborhood (which is not true in real life).

He and his wife were over visiting me at my house when they saw the man looking in my windows (not the first time I have had a nightmare like that).

The former co-worker decided to hunt down this guy.

To revenge Roger's death.

So he ran outside.

Shot the guy down.

I know why these particular things were in my dream.

Conversations from during the day but...

It was a scary dream.

I woke up in a panic.

I hate nightmares involving Roger.

Why can't they just be normal lovely dreams?

Why can't they be memories?

Or something else?

Why must they be bad?

Ugh...

I Have to Fight This Feeling

I have to fight the feeling that people do things because they pity me.

Or worse, do not do things because they pity me.

Is a friend afraid to say they hate me?

That they do not want to be my friend anymore?

Maybe say yes to a personal time but then never follow-through because it is too hard to cancel?

I am afraid my friends only stay my friends because of grief.

That they do not want to push me over the edge.

That they do not want to cause me any more pain.

Then I wonder:

Do people get tired of my Roger stories?

Do people get tired of me bringing up widowhood?

Do people get tired of me blaming things on grief?

So then I almost try to stop talking about all the bad stuff.

To make others more comfortable.

Because I feel sorry for them for having to stay my friend.

I feel pity for them!

I am so afraid of people not saying things to me because they do not want to upset me.

Not telling me how they truly feel.

And I fight this feeling over and over again.

I am not sure how to stop this paranoia.

But it is driving me crazy.

To me, Roger's death is still very fresh.

Yes, as I wrote earlier, time has passed but it does not mean grief is over.

A lesson I have had to learn over and over again.

My request for my friends and family, please be honest with me.

Do not pity me.

Please, please do not pity me.

Yeah, This Sucks

I was doing okay.
All day.
Just another day.
Another holiday.
Not too bad.
Lots of memories but it was manageable all day.

Till about half an hour ago.
Then I went to crap.

I am not in Miami.
I decided to stay in Orlando.
Close to home.
Just in case I needed to run back to bed.
I am doing Christmas with Mr. X's family tomorrow.
Today was just a hang out alone day for the two of us.

I slept in.
I made a very small turkey.
In my roasting pan.
We watched some movies.
I played around on facebook.
All was "normal."

Then Grace called.
To tell me how family Christmas went.
I still have not been able to brave Christmas in Miami.
Maybe next year.
But distance wise, I am getting closer.
She talked about all the fun.
The stress of wrapping all the gifts.
The kids getting a visit from Santa.

And I lost it.

She talked about how people asked for me.
I could not stay on the phone.
I hate crying on the phone.
I even hate crying now.
I miss them.
I miss that part of Christmas.

One day I will go back for Christmas.
One day I will face it.

It is just hard now.
It is so incredibly hard this year.
I wish I had words to adequately describe this feeling.
Those who know know. Those that don't, hopefully will never.

No one except my sister and Grace have called.
Not that I am begging for callers.
I am not begging for callers.
Now if people call it will be because they read the blog.

It just sucks everyone off doing their own thing.
Having happy times.
Enjoying the holiday spirit.

Now I have started to doubt everything.
Are people really my friends?
Do people really love me?
Or are they just afraid to leave me?
Have I scared people into friendships with me?
Paranoia is the best friend of grief I think.
At least for me.

So a happy holiday to everyone.
I hope yours is better than mine.

Another Health Insurance Fail

A couple of months ago a fellow widow asked me to write about some of my health care experiences.

So I wrote about my experience with Roger's health care.

But I forgot about one important part.

Mine.

Last November, I quit my job as I have written about.

I worked for a very wealthy hospital system.

One that owns and operates their own insurance company.

The insurance was awesome obviously since they also own about half of the hospitals and doctors in the area.

All of my health care expenses with them were covered.

Even the ones incurred at their main competitor in town.

After I left, they offered their health insurance to me at the non-discounted rate.

I could not live life without insurance at this point in my life.

My paranoia would not let me.

So I swallowed hard and paid the almost $350 per month.

It was a good thing too.

I experienced some health problems during the first three months of this year and again I was covered.

Big sigh of relief.

I also knew the $350 payment per month would not be forever.

I knew once I was a full time student at the university, I could apply for student health insurance.

It would not be as great as the insurance from my pervious employer but it would work until my next employer.

And then, one night while watching television, I saw an ad.

Blue Cross Blue Shield promising good insurance at a cheap price - $150 per month.

"Wow, that could save me about $200 per month until school starts."

So I tried to do the online application.

Annoying to say the least.

The application taking the information sucked.

The amount of information they wanted sucked.

Then came their supposed customer service.

First, I paid online right after completing this long application.

Then I heard nothing for about a month.

Nothing in the mail.

Nothing via email.

Nothing via the phone.

On the brief confirmation email I had received initially right after completing the application, there was not a phone number.

I went back to their website.

I called the number on the website.

"Oh, you are not calling the right phone number. I cannot help you."

"Oh come on."

"I do see we received your payment and a nurse should be calling you soon."

Finally about a week later, a nurse called me.

She asked me all the same damn annoying lengthy questions from the online application.

"But I answered all these questions before."

"Yes, but I have to ask you again."

"Then why do I even bother answering them online. It took an hour to complete online."

"I am not sure."

She asked me about my counseling.

My grief counseling for the death of my husband.

I answered all the questions honestly.

At that point I had probably been in counseling six months.

Which seemed short to me for such a big experience.

Another nurse called me a week later.

"Oh, you already completed the nurse questionnaire?"

"Yep."

"Oh, no one marked it complete."

Surprise, surprise.

Then nothing.

I called again.

"Oh, we mailed out your information. You should receive it soon."

I received it a week or so later.

I laughed when I read it.

They would cover me alright.

But they would never cover any mental health issues for the rest of my life.

Really?

For my entire life, no medication, no therapy, nada.

No way in hell.

No fucking way in hell.

Because I am in therapy for my husband's death, I could not ever use any other mental health benefits.

Got to be kidding.

So I promptly wrote back that I did not accept.

I was not mentally ill.

I lost my husband.

Then came getting my money back...

Another long process...

Entire process about two and half months (not including getting my refund).

I will never ever willingly have Blue Cross Blue Shield.

What a joke of a company.

What a joke of customer service.

I continued to pay my $350 per month until August.

Until I could get my student insurance.

Who accepted me for who I am.

Accepted all my "mental health" issues of being a widow.

Oh the joys of health care and widowhood...