is fat and happy? Think again.


So remember how I posted awhile agoΒ about my weight gain and how I was all zen with it?

I’ve now had two separate people ask me if I’m pregnant.


Get thee to the gym, you’ll say! And lo, I will agree that more Gym is in my Future. But I *have* been gymming (more or less) and I *have* been limiting my drinking (sometimes)! And it’s all well and good to say you’ll skip lunch and diet, but when your blood sugar bottoms out at 3pm you’ll be singing a different song, believe you me.

Now, I hate people who are all like, wah, woe is me, sad sad and doing nothing about it, and I won’t be endless about the current state of affairs, but, in this case, I’m the victim as much as the curse. I don’t think it would be so bad if I’d wavered all my life, but I’m not USED to this! I AM NOT USED TO LOOKING PREGNANT.

They told me the eating disorder would turn around and bite me in the ass one day. I guess now I’ve gotta believe them.


hates everything sometimes. I can’t be the only one.


Driving home after a crazy day of work, you pick up your boyfriend on the way to the gym. The mere fact that you have to pick him up kind of sets you sideways – you like to be direct in your errands, and this stopoff has you crimped. Then you have to swing by FedEx, which always sucks, and your boyfriend’s bought salmon for dinner when what you really wanted was restaurant pizza. And it’s raining, right, and dark, and there’s all sorts of traffic on 1A so you take this back route through Eastie which brings you through Chelsea which gets you very lost. And of course your boyfriend’s GPS just SAVES THE FREAKING DAY, which irks you tremendously.

By the time you get to the gym, you’re in a “throwing-this-goddamn-mimosa-right-across-the-room” mood. So you decide to use the treadmill and really whip yourself calm. Except the treadmill aggravates your shinsplints and is a lot harder than the elliptical. Seriously. Ten agonizing minutes later, you retreat, red-faced and panting, to your usual machine, and sweat out the next half-hour in a fury of self-loathing and despair at your lack of athletic prowess. And the rain. And especially the GPS.

It occurs to me, however, that I used to live my whole LIFE with this kind of angst. Every minute of every day was spent restraining myself from completely freaking out. So, in that respect, one snowball of frustration isn’t so bad after all. And maybe I should just chill out and be grateful that it’s not how it used to be.

They call me E Money. At least, some of them do.


So this started out as a comment over at DefineFunctioning, but it got really long and awkward and then I was like, hey, why don’t I just make it a blog post and link back. So that’s what I’m doing.

To paraphrase, we are talking about how mental illness may or may not have impacted our ability to care for ourselves (and others) financially. So here’s my deal:

Katsu and I were making good money, towards the end there. Like, GOOD money. It was nice. We ate fancy food, I wore beautiful shoes, and we were paying down debt hand over fist. Then, you know, I lost it. I quit my job, I went to The Bin, and I was there for six weeks. During those six weeks, of course, I was ineligible for unemployment, and it took another four weeks after that for the state to approve my check. So ten weeks with no income.

(Very) Thankfully, I had my husband to take care of the rent and utilities, and our health insurance covered most of the costs associated with my hospitalization. But it was a hit nonetheless, and we had to take a very uncomfortable look at our budget. But I wondered, you know, what do other people do? People who don’t have a Katsu to float them when they’re waiting for the dole? People with families? People without insurance? I was thankful.

Then, of course, Katsu and I split up. Making only a fraction of my previous income, I chose to move back in with my parents rather than continue squatting in the apartment we once shared. Having second-interviewed for many jobs and gotten no offers, in April 2010, as an experiment, I posted an ad on Craigslist for wedding videography. Within a week, I’d booked my first gig. So that helped out. Living at home, I was able to save money like who knows what – especially after I landed two part-time summer jobs with two local producers.

Meanwhile, as we all know, I was planning to drag B! across the country. I’d saved enough to get us an apartment, and I’d saved enough to allow us to make it our own. One of my part-time jobs turned full, which was awesome, but somewhere around Christmas I realized that the money I was making wasn’t actually… enough. Not saying anything bad about my pay rate, mind you, but footing the bill for two smokers can really drain one’s resources. Then there was the whole insurance deductible thing, which definitely brought the rain to my already-soggy parade.

Now, I’m not complaining. I’m comfortable. I have two cats, I have wine when I want it, and I smoke as many cigarettes as I please. Far be it from me to cry poverty. But in terms of mental health, I’m very aware that what happened to me in summer ’09 had a severe impact on my financial status and my earning potential. Like, my name is totally on this site, which one could count as questionable, and a google search of me links back to some weird old ghost page that somebody hacked and reformatted. Also, I’m aware that my particular blend of crazies can be as limiting as it is prolific.

My therapist asked me, the other week, if I ever hoped to reattain the standard of living I enjoyed before my breakdown.

“No,” I answered, not blinking a lash.

I’d rather be happy than rich.

Is it Monday already?


So I’m crawling out from under the bed – my, how you’ve changed since I’ve been gone! You’ve got that new haircut and, hey, wait a minute, have you lost weight?

Hey, I’ve got a new haircut, too! I did it in my bathroom, with an old pair of Fiskars! No, just kidding, I used my Shun kitchen shears for the final touches. Who would seriously cut their whole head of hair with Fiskars? Come on now, you’re being ridiculous.

After learning the details of my health insurance policy, which could best be compared to hanging naked from a second story window, cuffed by your wrists and covered with birdseed, I promptly broke out in hives. I owe a substantial sum to my therapist, who, luckily, is being cool about this whole thing, and I don’t even want to think about how much McLean Hospital is going to bite in for. I’m sure my psychiatrist doesn’t come cheap. To add icing to the proverbial cake, these hives have been sticking around for over a week now, so I’ll have to spend another $170 for some dude at the health clinic to tell me he has no idea what’s wrong with me.

Yes, sometimes life is good, my friends. And, sometimes, it’s like being kicked repeatedly in the teeth.

FML. Really. No, REALLY really.


Imagine we’re on Facebook here.

Erinire A…

Just found out she has a health insurance deductible of $4,000. Good thing she’s not at all dependent on weekly therapy and expensive medication to keep her alive!

… Oh, wait.

Well, at least she’s incredibly wealthy, right?

… She’s not? Shit, OK, well…

At least she hasn’t racked up a lot of service charges, thinking she actually had REAL ACTUAL health insurance!

… oh, so you mean, she DID think she actually had real actual health insurance.

Alright… So then, um, at least she has that tax rebate coming back, huh?

Oh, she OWES.

Wait, what? FIVE GRAND? Get out of here, you can’t be serious.

You are serious. OK. Um…

So, then, like…

Yeah hey, know what, I have this, um, thing… around the corner, so… yeah. Gotta go. Sorry. Here’s my last Miller High Life.

… No, no really, take it. Least I can do, considering.

Oh, come on now, don’t start crying! Oh, man…


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