Actually Pretty Terrible, Thanks For Asking

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard “You look tired, are you okay?” lately.

And I can’t even be offended, because it is absolutely true. I do look tired.

I am tired. And I’m not okay.

This isn’t the type of thing I usually write about. I typically like to wait until there is some sort of resolution…some sort of victory, or at least a lesson learned.

But I think there’s value in sharing the messy, the unknowns, the scary parts, the broken, the weary.

There’s value in the “not yets.”

Let me start by saying this: I’m okay. Okay, I’m not really, but I’m on my way to being okay. (I think?) I have an incredible team of doctors, a therapist, dietitian, and a support group that is advocating for me and walking this lonely road with me. I’m not okay, but I will be. And when I don’t believe it or feel it, my team reminds me that they’re holding that belief for me.

I’m in the middle of a battle I should not have to fight. A battle that shouldn’t be mine to fight. A battle that feels like a losing fight.

The battle isn’t with my eating disorder, or anxiety, or depression.

The battle is with our F***ed-up healthcare system.

I’ve found myself in need of a higher level of care than my outpatient team can provide. If I’m being honest, I’ve been here – in need of help – for a little while.

I don’t know about you, but asking for help is one of the hardest things for me. It feels impossible sometimes. It feels like failure…like admitting weakness…like giving up, even.

After weeks (or actually probably more like months…time is a little blurry) of talking about the idea of going back into residential treatment, I finally agreed. I was reluctant, full of fear, unsure, unsteady.

But I made the call. I scheduled the assessment. I told my boss. I made my plans.

Only to be denied by my insurance. Turns out, my insurance is a special kind of tricky that apparently nobody likes to work with.

I tried a different facility.

Denied. Ya know, unless I can shell out $30,000 a month to pay for treatment out-of-pocket.

I tried another facility.

They MAY have found a loophole that will allow me to be treated there…but there’s an 8-10 week waiting list.

And I need treatment now.

How disheartening to be turned away from what you desperately need. How painful to hear, “I’m sorry, we can’t help you,” over and over again. How exhausting to fight the insurance company that should be fighting for me.

How exhausting it is to fight – on top of fighting anorexia and depression and anxiety – to be treated for those things.

I made yet another call today, and when they asked how I was doing today, my response was, “Actually pretty terrible, thanks for asking.”

She wasn’t sure what to say. And I don’t care.

It’s not fair. Our system is broken. Our system is F***ed.

So, if I look tired, it’s because I am.

I’m tired of fighting a fight that’s not mine to fight.

I’m tired of fighting to stay alive when my mind is fighting against me.

I’m tired. I’m not okay, and I don’t know when I will be.

But I will be.