So I talked with disability.
I didn’t choose to be off of work, or to be home, but I was told to by my Psychiatrist and Counselor.
It scares me to be here, without an income of my own.
I had a lot of stress going in to work, and they were very likely right to take me off, but I am still afraid.
It is hard to be dependent on another person.
The beginning of my struggle with being dependent on someone was my childhood. “Would you do me a favour,” my father would ask. I hated that word – favour. I still hate it.
The word meant I would be asked to do something that I hated; something so fundamentally wrong that I have never been able to overcome it. Completely detestable, and inappropriate.
I would shake my head, “no,” and my stomach would turn. Sick, overwhelmed, angry, disgusted, confused…
I was twelve before I understood it was wrong. Fifteen before others found out. But it had been going on for years. Horrible, terrifying, wrong.
I hated it. I hated it like I hated the macaroni and cheese he kept trying to force me to eat, though I knew I was allergic to it. Hated it like I hated the sound of the TV being on constantly, or the darkness in the house in the middle of the day. Like many foods, sounds, smells, experiences of my childhood, I hated it – but I didn’t know it was wrong.
I would shake my head, “no.” No, I don’t want to do that for you. No, I don’t like it. NO! Please don’t make me. But the words never came.
“After all I have given you,” he would say, “I buy your food, and your clothes… I work so you can have a roof over your head…” Ungrateful child that you are, why won’t you do this for me?
Ungrateful, hateful child that I was…what is wrong with you to not want to do this for him?
“Fine,” he would say, “I guess I just won’t buy you food anymore.”
So I would. Of course I would. What was wrong with me?
If you do this for me, what will the cost be? Will it be more than I’m willing to give? Will it hurt me to give it? Will I hate myself for it?
I talked with Disability yesterday. “It will be twenty-six weeks processing time,” they told me. Six months just to find out if I qualify.
Meanwhile I am dependent on my husband for all of my needs.
He is a good man. He is not my father.
I am dependent, and I am afraid.