Progress?

Today I received my information for COBRA. Each letter is another jab, another level of reality that this has actually happened to me. That this company that talks of family and values could do this to someone who worked faithfully and honorably for them for 15 years. The betrayal I feel is so overwhelmingly profound.

Wow. $581.88 to cover just me.

I already informed the kids that they would need to acquire healthcare for themselves beginning May 1. Hopefully their jobs or their spouse's jobs will provide for them. So, I completed my application on the National Healthcare Registry and I do qualify for some reduced plans. Good news. The bad news is my doctor only accepts PPO types of insurance, not the cheaper HMO types. In fact there is not a doctor in a 60 mile radius that accepts HMO's. To add to the Hub's insurance the cost would be 337 a paycheck. Crazy. That's just crazy talk.

Two panic attacks and multiple doses of Lorazapam later and after verifying how much my prescriptions will cost a month, I am now signed up with Blue Cross and Blue Shield Bronze coverage. But I may have picked the wrong one. I am waiting for Blue Cross to contact me with the payment information to verify I actually selected the one I intended to select. I signed up for the $328.92 a month plan, but I might actually need the other one that costs a little more. I just need one that has a co-pay on the doctor visits and not the completely out of pocket until you reach your $5,000 deductible one.

This being unemployed is pricey. Not to mention the emotional toll. I am a mess of anxiety and panic. Talking to a woman about just working part time to pick up extra cash and she asked "why in the world did you leave (insert old company name)! You can't get those benefits anywhere else around here!" and into a panic attack I go. How likely do you think it is she asks me to work for her? I am so afraid of what I will do on an interview for a job that really counts.

I have an appointment schedule tomorrow with a financial adviser used by friends of mine. We are going to discuss the options I have with my 401k. I have some homework to do gathering information for that appointment which I am successfully avoiding by writing this blog.

I applied for a job with IBM and I am looking at applying for college and seeing what kind of grants I could get as an older women trying to improve her life. Unfortunately most of my experience comes from working, not from formal training. It's hard to convey that type of experience on these forms. I want to add a section where they can SEE me, talk to me. See how smart and fabulous I really am.

Dealing with the Unemployment Office

Maybe it isn't so bad for folks that don't have anxiety and/or depression. But I think it is. However, if you have ended up at the Unemployment Office even if you aren't diagnosed with Panic Disorder/Anxiety/ Depression, you are under stress enough. Losing a job is a death. Most especially if it was a long term job that you thought would take you through to your retirement. A death of plans, of security, of paying your mortgage on time as you have for the last 25 years (7 years in this house), of eating out, of buying little things for the grand babies, of accrued sick and vacation time, of relationships.  You even miss those people who annoyed the hell out of you in cubicle land.

Of course there are forms, and more forms. Then other forms. Then two different websites you must register with. Then you wait to see if your former job is going to be an ass about you collecting your 462.00 a week.  www.workintexas.com actually has a pretty nifty resume builder and a job search piece that is nicely done, easy to navigate and user friendly. The only downside is there aren't any jobs in a 100 mile radius that I qualify for or that pay even 1/2 what I made previously. Hence the reason I stayed so long when it was obvious to all I was next on the list for termination.

Pro Tip: try not to have an anxiety attack when talking with the facilitator during orientation. Bless her heart, she was kind and gentle dealing with this crazy person. I imagine facilitators get training specifically on how to deal with people that can't breathe and are shaking out of their shoes. Once I have some sort of job and don't have to count every little penny anymore I am sending her flowers.

I am now required to apply for at least five jobs a week. I am not penalized for not taking a job that doesn't pay within 95% of what I made at the old cubicle farm. After a certain amount of weeks (maybe 12?) that drops to 65%. Soon thereafter I am kicked off the unemployment wagon. I did my five this week and even interviewed for one. That went extremely well, until she asked why I left my last job. I don't even remember leaving her establishment. Suddenly I was 1/2 way home with snot and tears running off my chin. Pretty sure I'm not getting that one. It was just a part time little something to have some money coming in and a place to go. Now my anxiety ridden brain is scared of what will happen when I go for a job interview for a job that I really want.

I feel so raw and exposed.

Fired

How humiliating. I thought the last two years were demoralizing. I had no idea how much more I could hurt. I'm one of those people who puts their heart into everything they do. I buy into all that team, we, do it together, family thing. I believe it. I spend 40 hours a week with these people and I don't know how to not love them. Care about them. Want the best for each and every one of them. That I was so poorly thought of hurts. It hurts far more than I want it too. It hurts so much I get angry, I get sad, I panic.

These last few years have been ugly.  Watching my targeted friends suffer. That little pang of oh thank god it's not me. Then the guilt of that thought eating my soul. Then it was me. The panic attacks and the anxiety, the eating of Lorazapam like it was candy just to get through the day. The sitting at my desk crying from not knowing what the next right thing to do IS. That cold cold feeling that starts in your chest and radiates out of your center, turning your fingers to ice and you just. can. not. get. warm. Then the shaking. My hands shake so hard I can't control them. I walk around with these betrayers of my inner turmoil tucked firmly under my armpits and I hope I don't end up curled up on the floor somewhere. Holding my self inside. Holding my self close so that she doesn't shatter.

I received my last pay stub in the mail today. I had walked up the 1/2 mile dirt road to the mailbox as a form of therapy. I stood at the roadside holding that envelope with the logo emblazoned on the upper left corner. That logo I have been so very proud to be associated with for fifteen years laying there waiting to bite me. Take a minute, breathe two three four, and opened the pain. Rip the envelope open, tear that logo to shreds. Feel the pain flood over me, envelope me, and fill me. I sat down hard. On the rocks, in the dirt. Hurting. Holding on to me. My own self.