Paid disability insurance for 10+ years in a career I gave everything to, simultaneously keeping up with psychotherapy and psychiatrists. Used every resource they theoretically provide career professionals in service of wellness; I did yoga, y’all. I changed my diet. I kept journals, notes, mood logs. I studied everything you can study in the American workplace without making yourself fringe. I was rotting from the inside but still did the timesheets, reported to my desk, tried to solve unsolvable problems and waited for payday to come and give me two more weeks on earth.
Finally I said uncle last summer and filed for disability. My short term claim went through after the company combed a decade of my intimate notes and feelings— but I had checked every single box you could check. Relieved and grateful for a tenuous relief, I laid out plans to spend two years recovering, rebuilding, and remaking a life for my husband and son.
My cherished therapist who had coaxed me from the edge (almost literally) went into private practice. I couldn’t afford to keep seeing her. It would be okay though; I had time.
But, the agents said, my new therapist’s notes couldn’t substantiate the challenges I was facing (I had seen her only 4x) so they finally denied my claim after a four month processing delay. If I had tried in those months to seek any income (at the expense of my recovery and the advice of my doctors), I would have been immediately denied, so I didn’t. I trusted them.
The agent said she had no reason to think I couldn’t work. I asked if my case would be stronger if I had attempted suicide; her awkward silence was a clear yes.
It’s pretty clear where they draw the line, you’ve got to give your life before we will help you. (That part wasn’t included in the benefits guide.)
Dystopia, folks. That’s what this feels like. Not sure how we’ll survive now, but I’m not really sure how I survived before.