Waiting for the letter

This uncertainty is killing me.  I’m seriously not coping, but you know what?  Maybe that’s as it needs to be. 

I’ve known since the beginning of this year that my three-yearly medical review was coming up.  That’s what decides whether my disability pension gets renewed for another three years or I get cut off.  I wasn’t in terrific health at the beginning of the year, but I was optimistic.  I was trying to get back into shape.  I was thinking about my future in terms of what I might do "when" I get better. 

But I’ve been getting sicker and sicker.  I’m not even managing to look after myself – cook meals – that sort of thing.  I tried doing some simple transcription work as a favour to a friend, and ended up in hideous pain for three days.  So, I’m pretty sure I’m not capable of earning a living any time soon. 

I sent in the review forms in August.  It’s October now and I’ve heard nothing.  If they renew my pension, I live – for another three years, anyway.  If they don’t – well. 

I don’t see any way of earning enough income to support myself, even in a minimalist way.  And it sickens me as it is, what a financial burden I’ve been on all and sundry already.  No, I don’t want to destroy my family financially with my endless needs.  I’m still hoping I can find some way of supporting myself, but if I can’t, I have to be ready to do what’s necessary. 

But just that "trying to be ready" is killing me.  If it were, instead, a terminal illness – something that would kill me rather than leaving me with the necessity to perform the act – I like to think it would be easier.  That maybe then I could just enjoy the days as they come; live in the moment.  Maybe I’m kidding myself.  I wish I knew whether there was a way to live or not.  At least then the choice would be clear. 

I wish I had someone to talk to.  I suppose it needs a professional. 

Meanwhile I just can’t summon enough enthusiasm to do anything at all.