My Name Is Sara and I Have A Mental Health Disorder

I am sorry for not updating, once again, for so long. I guess this is mostly just an apology for myself, considering that I write this blog, first and foremost, for myself. I like to be a memory keeper, finding any way possible to do so, through the good times and the bad. But I want to inspire people as well, and I hope that my blog does this. I have no way of knowing this for sure. I really want to write more for this blog, spend more time on it, but with life as it is, that’s not always feasible for me. I wish I could try harder, but until things clear up a little for me, I can’t, because right now, I am trying my hardest.

I also am aware that I’ve stopped talking about my health on this blog, which was a large part of why I started this blog. I’ve been going through a lot, not all bad, because they are trying to find out what’s going on. Then, I got lucky enough to have a little break from doctor’s appointments, and realized that’s what I need in all angles of my life.

I am, by nature, a pretty quirky, good kind of crazy, fun person and I started to wonder if that was showing in my blog. I need it to, for myself. I know who I am, and I want to always remember who I was in the days, week, months that I spend writing this blog. I want to look back and be able to pinpoint that personality and hold it close, because that’s part of growing up. If I spend so much time writing about my health, maybe I’m missing showing who I really am.

When I started this, I felt as if documenting my trials and tribulations with my health was the most important thing, but now I know that it is not. Getting better and moving on with my life is. I will always remember these experiences, these years. But maybe I don’t need to remember every single detail, to be weighed down by it. What I automatically remember, there’s a reason that I only remember that, and I need to keep hold of that knowledge.

Does this mean I won’t write about my health anymore? Absolutely not. I want to document little pieces, little glimpses, and sometimes I just need to rant. If I feel like I could inspire someone with a certain story, I’ll tell that, too. This is, ultimately, my venting place, so anything goes. I just want to show my true colors now.

I could also get into my car and my cell phone, but I really don’t want to bring the vibe down. All I can say is that it’s severely sad that T-Mobile doesn’t stand behind the one year warranty on the phones they sale, especially when I bought the device brand new and it was bad from the get-go. My car is having issues, and I feel sad for it. Maybe I’ll get into this later, but we’ll see.

With that being said, on with the blog. I need to shut up about the ranting and move this train right on along, and into the station before nightfall. Okay, too late, night has fallen, and I have some appointments at ass crack hours, so I may not get this posted tonight, but I can not say that I didn’t try. (Well, I could, but it would be untrue.)

Today has been full of a lot of things. Life, love, fun and feeling a little sicker than I have in awhile, but to know your body and know yourself is such a beautiful thing.

I had an appointment regarding getting my deviated septum, which apparently I have one on each side of my nose, opened up. It’s such a little thing compared to everything else going on, but I’ve never been able to breathe right out of my nose, so this was something I always wanted to get done, and finally have the insurance to do so. I’m going for it and I am super excited! Clearances pending, the procedure takes place in less than a month.

Per the somewhat norm of attending appointments, Aunt Bev, if available, will go with us. Sometimes it’s just to get away from things going on at home, but mostly it’s because she likes to get out of the house, have a nice day where we don’t only go to appointments, and she knows we want her with us. Oh, and she loves to eat out. Did I ever mention that about her? Her favorite thing to do is eat out, and we always do when I have appointments, so I really think that wins her over in our favor when it comes to her going with us. We’ll take it and have a great time with her!

I’m unsure if I mentioned this in the last post, and quite frankly I don’t have a ton of time to go and look, so I’ll bring it up, and if I’m repeating myself, kick me? Okay, don’t do that, but do request that I send you a cookie, because I owe you a repeat cookie. Got it?

Anyway, for Aunt Bev’s birthday just a little over a week ago, I went through my blog and weeded out any excerpts about her. I then put them all together, dated them, and printed them out for her to have for her birthday, as well as spent twenty hours on a birthday video for her. (The birthday video isn’t really the important or relevant part of this, but I had to go there.) She has apparently gotten such a kick out of me putting her in my blog, and giving her all the pieces she’s in to keep forever, that she has made several copies and handed them out to all her friends, including my mom. She thinks it’s the best thing ever, and that really, really touches me.

When I write, I write because I want to tell stories, some funny, some sad and some prolific, because I want to remember the good ole days. The fact that she enjoyed the way I portrayed her, and she laughed hysterically, her words, not mine, really means so much to me. I always said I wanted to touch just one person with this blog, and although this was not what I had in mind when I said that, I think it’s even better than what I initially thought of. I’m humbled.

That being said, now, every time she and my mom get into their good old random and inappropriate conversations, or she tells a belly laugh inducing story, she goes “Oh no, this is going to end up on the blog.” Or “oh no, we better stop talking before this ends up on the blog.”

Just because I have to be one of those people who is predictable in an unpredictable way, and it’s really funny just to creep her out by actually putting this stuff on the blog, I will share the highlights of all the things she said today that were followed by one of those two phrases. Some conversations involve my mom, some do not, but I think I’ll focus on the “marriage” conversation.

As I’ve mentioned before, my Mom and Aunt Bev have quite a referendum of talking about getting married to each other, even though neither of them are remotely the least bit lesbian, even though there is nothing wrong with being a lesbian. They’ve just been friends for so long and both have had several issues with men. Not going there.

Things were no different on this front today, although prior to this it had slowed down and I was foolish enough to think that the insanity had stopped. Oh baby, was I ever wrong, but that’s okay, because it’s funny. At least that’s what I’m going to tell myself. And please, beware, I also took notes so that I can convey this to the best of my memories ability.

*Goes to get notes*

There’s another constant conversation that goes on between Aunt Bev and my mom, and it is one that consists of my moms habits versus hers. Aunt Bev is very laid back and she gets done what she gets done. She also gets distracted by shiney, fun things. I can’t really knock her for that, because I’ve been known to take off after something shiney in a store right in the middle of purchasing something, but this isn’t about me.

My mom, on the other hand, is a paper pusher, army like motivator at times. This is not a hit on her, but she just likes this as so, and she likes to get them done. She helped Aunt Bev clean out her deceased parents house last summer, and will sometimes help her around her own house. My mom will not let Aunt Bev get distracted and will continually go “Bev, get this done, now.” She doesn’t say it in a mean way, but she definitely pushes her. For me to pass along the convo between Aunt Bev and my Mom today, you had to know this piece of information which I may or may not have passed along before.

There was a discussion running about between Aunt Bev and my mom concerning this situation and how my mom’s the motivator of the relationshipo. The following conversation ensued. The wording may or may not be exactly, but damn it, I tried.

I will use AB for Aunt Bev and M for Mom. I figured you all aren’t stupid and could figure that out, but you know, I don’t always explain myself well so I thought I’d throw that out there.

AB: “That’s why I want you for my husband.”

M: “Why do I have to be the husband?”

AB: “Because husbands motivate, do the hard labor, and wives tidy up the house, cook, and things like that.”

M: “I don’t know if I want to be the husband.”

This continued for several minutes and I can’t remember the exact conversation, so we’ll move on.

Somehow, the suggestion of wanting my mom as Aunt Bev’s husband turned into an odd conversation, in which they seemed to think they were already married. Lesbian marriage isn’t even legal here, and as I’ve mentioned, Aunt Bev is already married, but it’s funny. Funny is awesome in my book.

AB: “How long have we been married?”

M: “Well, we went to New York together in 81, so since 81.”

See, I didn’t know that all this time I had two moms even when my mom was married, and Aunt Bev has since been married. The things I learn when I’m out with the two of them. I am so glad we cleared that up.

But to think the conversation ended here would be ludicrous, my friends. If you’ve learned anything, it should be that crazy doesn’t stop easy with these two. Although it did take a temporary halt while we visited my grandma and took her to lunch on the way home from the doctor’s office, it picked back up again once we got home and I served Aunt Bev and my Mom super delicious red velvet cupcakes with awesome blue and yellow icing that I had made last night. That has nothing to do with the story, but I wanted to throw it in there.

Somehow, while eating, the conversation took an abrupt change, leading me back on a path of trying to relearn everything I thought I knew. *Sniffle* I’M SO CONFUSED! Okay, I’m done with the dramatics.

Aunt Bev had been making little jabs at my mom most of the day, here and there, about needing a husband. My mom has no interest, and Aunt Bev has never said this, so I feel like I’ve seriously missed something, but at the same time I do not want to know. Either way, after they decided they were already married and had been since 81, they changed their story all over again. It went something like this, but not limited to just this.

AB: “There’s another reason you need a husband. I can’t remember the first reason, but I know that’s the second one.” (For the record, I can’t remember the first one either, as I tried to tune that out.)

There’s a few second pause here, and before I forget to mention it, this conversation started up over Aunt Bev, who is older than my mom, saying that a lot of old people are afraid of the dark. (Her words, not mine.) My mom then said that she was afraid of the dark, still was, and always have been. There are so many things wrong with this, but I’d like to point out that kids and old people are apparently the ones who are usually afraid of the dark, and Aunt Bev nor I are afraid of the dark, and we’re are individually older and younger than my mom.

Okay, end pause.

AB: “Let’s get married.” (Here we go confusing me again. I mean, first they’ve been married since 81, then Aunt Bev tells my mom she needs a husband, and then she proposes to my mom. Okay, I don’t know if that was really an official proposal, but still.)

M: “Just don’t share my bed. I like having the bed to myself.”

AB: “I’ll sleep in Amy’s room. She doesn’t use it.” (I don’t sleep in it because I have to sleep sitting up due to being sick, and it’s just easier to do on the couch.)

There was some more pausing before Aunt Bev caught her faux pas.

AB: “You needed a husband to sleep with you because you’re afraid of the dark. This defeats the purpose.” (Ya think?)

Both of these little excerpts of my day were followed by Aunt Bev saying “this is going on the blog.” I’ll have you know, though, that her saying this was not just limited to her saying it about words, but also about her actions. So much so, that this seemed to be the theme for the day.

I am a singer/songwriter, and I know from being such that every time someone hurts me, kicks me around, or touches my life, they know it’s going into a song. I am used to hearing people go “oh man, that’s going to be a song, isn’t it?” I am not used to people expecting me to put things in a blog, fearing it a little, or getting excited about it. I feel like such an odd, little, less read, famed to my own family and friends, blogger. Ya me! It feels official, because you know it’s not official until the context of your blog makes it into an everyday conversation somehow.

I’m finding that I can’t remember half of the things that Aunt Bev did that she then followed up with, “well, that’s going on the blog.” I didn’t have time to really log everything with the day as such, and there were some hysterical moments, so I’m going to take a pause here and come back to this tomorrow.

Tomorrow is a busier day than today, but things may slowly come back to me, so I shall save you, my draft friend, and we shall reconvene sometime tomorrow.

Okay, so it’s now Thursday, and I started this blog on Tuesday, so yes, I lied when I said I would continue this blog tomorrow. I, in fact, did not do so, but in my defense, I was tired and did not feel like it. In light of that, along with everything that has happened in the past few days, I have stories out the wahoo. Some are so insanely fun and also have pictures to go with them, that I just don’t even know what to do with myself, as I am that excited to share. Other stories are just...well, let’s go with “interesting.” As to not make this too confusing though, I will pick up where I left off on Tuesday.

I’ve been trying to think over the past two days of things Aunt Bev did that warranted her to say “that’s going in the blog.” I’ve had no avail when it has come to this. I knew when she was doing these things and I was laughing, that I should have taken them down in my Blackberry for future reference, but considering we were on the move when she was doing these things, I did not. Maybe some stuff will come back to me, and if it does I will add it later.

The only thing I was able to recollect was a small parking situation that we got into at the doctor’s office, even though it was I who said that it was going in the blog, and Aunt Bev who agreed, but I shall share anyway, because I really think it’s worth it.

The doctor that I went to Tuesday is a doctor that I’ve gone to since I was a young child. When I was little, we would see him at a more local office, but since then he has decided to only work one day a week at that office, meaning it would have been a very long time until I could get an appointment there. I opted to go to his other office, which is a little further away, but is in with the other doctors I go to, so it was no big deal.

Parking in Pittsburgh and Oakland is a really huge issue, especially with the lack of parking lots and surplus of cars, drivers and college students in the area. The last time that I was at this specific office, parking was impossible to find and we ended up parking about a half of a mile away on a residential street, but felt bad about taking up room in front of someone’s house. After driving around for so long, though, we didn’t seem to have any other choices. Everything else was full up, including all the pay to park lots and garages.

Once we made it into the office, we asked the receptionist where, for future reference, we should park. She told us to just go ahead and park in the lot next to Arby’s, which was also owned by Arby’s. The reason we knew this was because the parking lot has signs all through it saying DO NOT PARK HERE UNLESS YOU ARE AN ARBY’S CUSTOMER OR YOU WILL BE TOWED. Trust us, we had passed the parking lot several times, so we brought this up to the girl and she said “oh no, it’s okay, it’s our parking lot, too.”

So Tuesday we immediately went for the Arby’s lot, and to our surprise the signs were taken down stating not to park there, so we pulled in, happy we got a parking spot so easily. We walked down the road and reached the doctors office only to find a sign taped on the door that says “IF YOU PARK AT ARBY’S YOU WILL BE TOWED.”

I found this whole thing rather ironic, especially considering it was the girl at the doctors office who told us to park there. We went in to inquire, once again, with the girl who worked there, as to where we should park. As luck would have it, I got the same girl that I did the first time, the one who had told me to park at Arby’s. When I asked her where to park, she gave me a whole other place to park and then gave me a speech about how there will be no parking at Arby’s, and that she doesn’t know who would have told me to do so. Umm, she did. She was a piece of work, let me tell you.

On a side note, we did move on the car and got very lucky, because the metered spot right in front of the building magically became open just as we needed it. However, our meter was in tact, but the guys behind us was not and he believed our meter was his, even though you could clearly see where his meter was missing from. It didn’t turn into any kind of beat down or anything, but it did go into the blog.

Another thing I wanted to put on the blog was about my mom’s hair. We were getting ready to leave and I had made my way back the hallway, only to find my mom standing there with wet hair that was sticking up all over the place. I jokingly made the comment that I hoped she wasn’t going like that. She then responded with, “no, I’m going with the Eric look.” This was in reference to Eric Szmanda who plays Greg Sanders on CSI. Google Greg Sanders and a picture will pop right up, promise. I’m disappointed I didn’t have time to take a picture of my mom.

That’s about all I can think to report for Tuesday, even though I know that I am leaving things out. I will now move on to the highlights of yesterday, and then a really epic and random story after that before moving on to the really fun stuff, because there is so much of it, that I don’t even know where to start. In fact, it may take me a few days to get all the e-mails, scans, and texts together to share, that maybe I’ll wait until tomorrow to do so.

Yesterday (Wednesday) was filled with doctors appointments for the first half of the day. Long story short, I am being referred back to the heart doctor in anticipation that they may have missed something. I was also referred to a doctor out of state at the Cleveland Clinic. I spoke with my heart doctor today, and the doctor I saw yesterday has already alerted him to the issue and I am going to see the heart doctor first thing Monday, as they are concerned. This doesn’t seem very important now, but you just wait. This goes so lovely with a story I will tell soon.

Regardless of the medical drama, which I will hold off on really getting into until I know more, the day was pretty neat. I got to take a walk through Oakland and see some sights in between my doctors appointments. I had never gotten to do that before. The nice thing about Oakland is that there are several places to sit down, so when I didn’t feel well, I could sit until my heart was content. (No pun intended.) I also ate at Primanti Brother’s and I was excited about that.

Today I was exhausted and had a dentist appointment. All was well, until I got home. This is where the epic story will start. The problem with the epic story is that, for now, I can’t get into it the way that I want to until this is resolved. Also, I realize this is probably hilarious if you’re not me, so if you laugh, I won’t hold it against you. (Too much.) I’m sure I’ll laugh later. (Way later. Like, when I’m 90.)

As many of you know, I have been sick for an extended period of time. My doctors have been filling out papers for the state saying that I am not to work since September. They, at this point in time, have me off work at least until March of next year. Again, it is important to keep in mind that the state has these papers, and this is also why I am getting medical insurance through the state, because they know I am truly sick.

This being said, I signed up for Social Security (SSI) back in March. I am not allowed to work, drive, lift anything, etc, doctor’s orders. That is the reason I applied for SSI, because, just because I can’t work or drive, doesn’t mean that I don’t still have bills to pay, including a car payment. I’d sell the car, but I’d still owe close to $10,000 on it, so that’s stupid, and when I can drive again, I’ll need a car.

My doctors also filled out papers for SSI, ones of which my doctors very nicely allowed me to obtain copies of. I also have physical copies of my medical records, and they are online and I can pull them up at any time by logging in.

Today, I received a letter in the mail from SSI saying that I was rejected. I expected that, and I expected to have to appeal because I heard several times that they almost always reject you the first time. What I didn’t expect was the aggressive language that was used in the letter, as well as the mass amount of errors, leading me to believe that they had me very, very mixed up with someone else. And quite possibly they did not care for this someone else.

Once I get this cleared up, I would like to share parts of the letter on the blog, because I think people need to really get a good look at the horrible aggressiveness in the letter, and how this woman who wrote it is supposed to be a “professional.” I will be taking the letter to the local state rep. It is that offensive.

For right now, though, I will share the highlights of this letter, as well as why it’s a bunch of crap, just without using the actual wording. There’s so much to go over, that I don’t know where to start without making this into a novel, so I’m going to try to keep this as short and sweet as possible.

As I was reading over the letter, it didn’t take me long to notice the first blaring error. One of the lines on the paper states, in a very aggressive and offensive way, that I have never worked consistently, and at my age and with my twelve year education, I can get off my ass and get a job, and stop being lazy. The wording is sadly more aggressive than that and minus the swear word, but similar.

Let me just tell you all the ways that this is wrong. First of all, I have worked consistently for four years. As soon as I was able, I got a job. Yes, it’s true, I did not work at the same place for four years, but I have never been without a job for more than a week, was at one job for two years, have worked more than one job at a time, and have never been fired or laid off from anywhere. Obviously, this being said, I really did not appreciate her wording, her insinuation that I was lazy and trying to live off the state, and the whole kit and caboodle in general.

The second way that this is wrong is that I do not, indeed, have a twelve year education. If she would look into things, she would see that when I was in eight grade, I was pulled out of school by my doctor because of being ill. I spent most of eighth grade being home tutored by my teachers at home, only to return for the last few weeks of eighth grade and take the finals.

If this wasn’t bad enough, I started ninth grade, was there three weeks, fell ill again, and was pulled out by doctors once again. At this point it was decided that I would be home schooled. Due to being ill, I completed two years of homeschooling, got behind, and decided to get my GED. I understand that a GED is equivalent to a high school diploma, but that still does not mean that I was well enough to spend twelve years in high school, as she told me I had. It’s good to know that she thinks she knows my life better than I do.

What I REALLY appreciate in this, however, is that if she would have looked into my school history, she would see that I was pulled out of school by doctors because I was sick even back then, and then was home schooled. She would also see that I have been sick since then, but still went out and worked despite that, until the doctors eventually pulled me out of working. Therefore, I am neither lazy or a loser, but it’s so nice of her to decide that without proof.

Speaking of not having proof, I really feel like I should warn you all to go ahead, take some time, put down your food and drinks, and prepare yourself for this one, because I know I was personally shocked and offended to learn this little piece of information about myself.

The lady writing the letter stated that there is evidence that I have a mental health disorder, and that played a large part in the decision they made. Well, gee golly, I am SO GLAD she told me I have a mental health disorder, because none of my doctors of told me this, so I could have gone through my whole life never knowing this. What a relief.

There are so many things that make this part of the letter a gem that aspires to the likes of Hemingway, that I don’t even know where to start. I guess let’s just say that never once has anyone ever told me I had a mental health disorder, or suggested that I see a psychologist. Save for the next paragraph where I will explain the exception to this, but the exception only makes the story sway in my case even more.

In April of 2008 I was admitted into the ER because I could not speak, didn’t know who I was, and was extremely sick. I had purple highlights in my hair. Even though I had three people with me in the hospital, the first and ONLY thing they did was pull blood and drug test me. The blood, of course, as everyone told them, came back negative for any substances, INCLUDING Tylenol. That’s right, they tested me the whole way down to Tylenol.

After that, they decided that something had to be mentally wrong with me, so once I was able to talk again, they had someone come in and evaluate me. After the woman evaluated me, she proceeded to ask me what in the world would ever make them think that I was crazy, and not just sick, and filled out a paper, physically writing on there that I was mentally stable, and handed me a copy of the paper. I still have this paper.

(For future reference, I had a TIA. My neurologist did the proper tests to figure this out since the hospital thought I was drugged or crazy. Even with proof that I was neither, they did not help me. Thanks Westmoreland Hospital, part of the Excela Health program in Greensburg, Pennylvania. I hope you eat your own shorts!)

Since then, it has never been brought up again. No one has ever suggested me to go to a mental health professional, so basically the only thing the lady at SSI has to base her decision that I have a mental health disorder is a paper from April of 2008 stating that I am mentally stable. If someone would like to explain this to me, I’d really appreciate it, because I can’t say I understand this.

What also really irks me is that she used her own delusional assumption to make the decision on my SSI. She has nothing to base this decision upon. I could understand if I went to a psychologist and they told her I was a whack job, but that’s not the case. Somehow, she just decided that I was. I want to know if it’s even legal for her to make a decision like that without hard proof. They have no papers from a psychologist, who is a mental health professional, therefore the person to diagnose this, saying that I have a mental health disorder. This would be because I NEVER went to one, nor was I ever told to be evaluated, so if that’s the case, why would I suddenly just go? There’s never been a reason to, but apparently now there is, because I need to prove this lady wrong and maybe encourage her to be evaluated.

I do not want the state thinking that I am crazy for several reasons. There’s the obvious reason, and there’s the reason that I also have my health insurance through them. If this gets back to them a good many problems could ensue, including a change in the way my health insurance works. I could be in big trouble. When I finally get a hold of someone in the office, I am going to tell them that I would like to have the mental health professional of their choice do an evaluation on me so that they can see their magic assumption is incorrect.

They are treating me as if I am making up my issues, and pretty much stated that I am in the letter. What is upsetting is that I have medical records to prove that I am not. This is where the story gets even better.

They went on to state that I have not one of the problems that I listed on my initial paperwork, and appear to be totally healthy. I’m so glad this lady who wrote the letter has decided she is a doctor. I mean, it’s just so fantastic, especially considering as of yesterday, the doctors are now looking to send me to a doctor out of state because they are concerned about my heart, and I have an emergency appointment with my cardiologist Monday to make the final decision.

What makes this better, if that’s even possible, is the doctors who filled out the papers for SSI, the ones I have COPIES of, state that I have all these issues. I mean, what more proof do they need than that? If the doctors are putting it on the papers, it’s also in my medical records.

Also, the one doctor who filled out the papers was on pregnancy leave and was nice enough to fill them out from home, instead of making a colleague do it, because “she was concerned what would happen to me if I was allowed to go back to work with the way I pass out and other things relating to that.” Needless to say, she’s just “thrilled” about this letter.

In the letter I got, it was also stated that I could stand for long periods of time, carry things, lift things, and drive. This is another thing that was put on papers from the doctors. I can’t do any of these things, but again, I’m glad this lady who works there who is not a doctor has decided I can. Yesterday, in fact, my neurologist reiterated to me that I am NOT TO DRIVE, and if I needed her to fill out anything attesting to that, she would. I wonder how one would get to work if there were no buses and they lived at least 2 miles from the closest business. The person who sent me that letter may want to think about that once she finally realizes that she’s the only one who thinks I can drive.

This is all a lot of fail, but it still gets better. What I have to share with you next, really sums up the letter quite beautifully.

My mom pointed out to me that several of the doctors listed on the letter of where they pulled my records from, aren’t even my doctors. I looked them up online and they all practice within the same offices that I go to, but regardless, are NOT my doctors. And what really wins is that one doctor no longer has a license due to malpractice. So good going there, chief.

This got me thinking. I know when I go to several of the doctors offices and tell them who I am, they often ask me which *insert my name here* I am, as they have several patients with that name. I have a generic name. What can I say? Knowing this, I have a feeling I know what may have happened here, but considering we’re dealing with the government, it’s hard telling.

I think they’ve confused my records with someone else’s. When it’s all put together, I think it’s a large possibility that social security sent papers to my doctors offices requesting information about my health. I happen to know from signing the Hippa release forms that all that went on them was my name. Not my birthdate, not my social security number, and no other way to identify me. They also don’t specify which doctor I see, because I guess they assume my doctor either the only doctor there, or there’s only one person with my name, so this makes sense to them.

Since all the offices I go to have several doctors, I have to wonder if they didn’t send the papers in, and since they had several people with my name, and no other way to identify me than by name, if they didn’t send out the wrong records not knowing. What solidifies this for me a little is that it’s only the offices that have told me before they have clients with the same name as me, that seem to have the incorrect doctor listed on the letter I received. I don’t think that’s a coincidence, especially when these offices have also accidentally pulled the wrong charts for me before and have had to switch them out while I waited.

I also understand that SSI could have confused me with someone else if I’m not the only person with that name that several of my doctors offices have. This means I am not the only person with this name who is sick, so that’s also a large possibility.

I think the worst part in all of this is that I wouldn’t even be mad if it wasn’t for the absolutely unprofessional and indignant letters I received. Yes, I said letters, as in plural. I got mailed two letters, both in the same envelope. The only difference between the two is that one states I have a mental health disorder, and the other does not. Apparently, not even the lady who wrote out the letters can decide if she magically thinks I do or not. Lady, I don’t. Please have me evaluated. I would actually prefer you did so that you can know this, too.

I have to get this all taken care of tomorrow, or start to. I’m concerned that this is not going to be an easy process considering they obviously think that the records they have are for the correct person. I plan on taking the note, along with all of my medical papers into the SSI office so that they can see something is off. I also plan on taking everything to our state rep who deals with this sort of thing, as I think it’s important for him to know the errors being made at his office, as well as the kind of language and aggressiveness this lady who using towards people. I have heard the state rep here is fantastic and really goes after the SSI people, so I think he’d like to know all of this. Hell, even he’ll be able to see there’s something up with the letter if he looks over my medical records.

I think I will just leave you with this story for right now. This blog is going really long. I think I will go ahead and start on the next blog, one that will be full of a ton of fun. I promise to keep you updated on the SSI situation as much as I can, but I promise even harder that the next blog will make you laugh your a** off. Yes, a**, because if your ass isn’t big enough to need to be laughed off, I don’t want you to laugh it off and therefore have nothing to sit on.

Oh, but before I forget to mention this, I should explain the title of my blog. The other day I had to have my car towed due to engine trouble, so I called my insurance company, as they reimburse me for towing. While I was talking to the wonderfully polite lady on the phone, she somehow decided to start calling me Sara. I’m unsure of what sparked this, but she called me Sara throughout the conversation. I have since gotten the reimbursement check, and it is in the right name, too. In case you were wondering.

This being said, apparently my name is Sara and I have a mental health disorder. See how I did that? I mixed two things that were not true and ta-da. Maybe I should send an e-mail with this subject to the woman who wrote me the SSI letters just to really screw up her day. If I didn’t think she’d take me seriously, I would.

Happy Birthday, Aunt Bev, and Passive Agressive Yard Sales

Before I even start my story of the day, I want to take a minute to point out that Saturday June 14 was the forever awesome Aunt Bev's birthday! This post should come up as being posted on the 14th, since I started it on that day, but that would be a lie. My intentions were good, but I did not get around to finishing this post, but the thought is still there.

HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY AUNT BEV! Here is to many more years of being awesome. Enjoy being 29, because you are only 29 once! (Or, in this case, several times, but hey, who's counting. I say you're 29!)

Thank you for always being there for me, and for just being awesome in general. Your kindness, love and support means the world to me, and I hope you know that! Thank you for just being you! (The cats and dogs agree completely with all of the above, just so you know, but considering the video, I think you do.)

And now, without further ado, I present to you my story of the day, even though it is not near as important, or as cool as Aunt Bev's birthday!

There are a few things I have learned in life, some important some not so important, but there is one thing that I consider to be number on on my list.

No one likes yard sales. This has never been more true in life than it was on the 14th, when Ziva David from NCIS walked into an unsuspecting yard sale, and then announced in Hebrew that junk is junk. Period. There's no way around that, and one man's trash is not another's treasure treasure. God Bless her.

That thing I've learned could could also be number two on my list, as it's just that important. I mean, I guess there's those people who do like yard sales, but no one likes having them. It's more painful than having your cavities filled, which I've done in the last week, more boring than watching grass grow, and more agonizing than getting a farmers tan, which is bound to happen with any luck. Not good luck, though.

That being said, guess what I got sucked into? I'll give you three guesses.

No, I did not get sucked into singing "The Song That Doesn't End." Although, comparably, I would have taken it. I like to sing.

Skipping while singing obnoxious songs? No, although I've been there, done that.

Watching an NCIS Marathon? Oh buddy, you best believe I wanted to, but I only caught the last three episodes.

If you guessed right, you would have guessed that I got sucked into a yard sale. Now history tells us that zoos have nothing on yard sales, and I'd much rather deal with angry animals than people. They are both smarter, and unable to steal from you. I was prepared for the worst.

What happened, however, was worse than I could have imagine. Hoards of people did not fall into line and wreck our unhappy yard sale. Things did not get stolen. No one asked me if the chair I just stood up from was for sale. (Save for later.) In fact, we probably had twenty people in the span of eight hours.

I made a whole five dollars and seventy five cents and it wasn't even my yard sale. I had less than ten things involved in it. I'm not complaining.

But this yard sale wasn't about the money. It was about proving Ziva David wrong. Okay, so it wasn't about that either, probably about proving her right, if anything, but it was about getting rid of junk. It was also about gearing up and dealing with the stupidity of people. I have yard sale stories, and now would probably be the right time to tell them, but instead I will only tell you one that is significant to this post and shattered my naive youth of how great people can be in a billion pieces, but therefore preparing me for yard sales of the future.

People will buy anything, period. They will offer you money for your shoes and sort through your car if you leave it unlocked, even if all the things you wish to sale are already displayed. Basically, people are scary little critters with a will and a way to snap up everything they see, whether they intend on telling you what they're doing, or paying for it. They're uniquely crafty. Yep, going with that.

A few years back, my grandma decided to move from her house that was larger than she needed, and into an apartment in a complex for people who are over fifty and super awesome. This has worked out well for her, by the way, but that's not the point of this post. The point is, I've been part of many yard sales prior to this, but never have I been more mortified than I was at this particular yard sale. It cemented my fear of them, and made me see that it was totally warranted.

Several things happened during the day, including people trying to go through our vehicles, and some lady trying to steal things off of my grandma, who was then in her late seventies. This ended in my grandma chasing her down the street and yelling. I don't wish I was kidding. It was pretty funny and my grandma got money for the stuff, and her exercise for the next month, as well as exercised her vocal chords. I say it's a win.

With all the debauchery going on, what really got me, though, was the story of the chair. There were supposed to be four of us running the yard sale, however my grandmother and aunt decided after awhile that it was okay to sit inside her house and not help at all despite all the stuff belonging to either of them, and the fact that we were being mobbed, but that's beyond the point. When all four of us were still working the yard sale, we had four chairs seated in an open circle around the table for those little down times when we did actually get to sit down, rest our feet, and get our shit together.

Eventually, though, someone was bound to come along and ruin this. I stood up to assist said person, and the second I got up she grabbed the chair that I had just gotten up off of from behind me and yelled HOW MUCH IS THIS? The bitch actually thought I was selling the chair. (If you were wondering why I just called this lady a bitch, please refer to Khloe Kardashian and her hilarious comment towards a realtor that obviously could not read.)

After chair-gate, I have since learned that you just can not get up and leave your chair, or even get up from it, without someone wanting to buy it. I took this into consideration during the recent yard sale.

The chair that I had with me was not any chair. Oh no, it was my much coveted Spongebob Squarepants (or SquareBob Spongepants, if you're Danielle's grandma), camping chair. No, I do not camp. I did once and that went extremely wrong, so we will not talk about that right now, even though it's not totally off limits for one day down yonder. My Aunt bought me the chair for when we woudl go to free concerts consisting of singers that were popular in the 1950's, and it is very comfortable, and I love it. Enough said.

I was all prepared for combat when it came to my chair, not wanting to lose it, or have it accidentally "sold" or "creatively borrowed" the moment I walked away from it to eat my yummy, yummy bagel. This is how I dealt with the fear of losing my chair.

Can't see it well enough? Well, here's a close up for you, then.

And you know where that sign got me? Well, do ya? Hardly anyone came to the yard sale and no one noticed the chair. All for lessons I've learned during yard sales. Sheesh! Where's the spirit? Where's the fear of woman on a mission trampling you and trying to bargain you into selling what's not actually for sale. Where's the sheer terror of the sport?