Funk — Or Not
That is a smelly title for a post. That’s because funk, by definition, can mean “smelly.” It can also mean paralyzed by fear. Which isn’t what I will be yip-yapping about, either.
So, that being said, for the last several weeks, a few of my friends have called or emailed me and said they were sort of in a “funk.”
They weren’t feeling well, their mental outlook was pretty well shot, and they were on the verge of the vapors. One used the word “depressed,” but backed off of that because I think she thought if she mentioned it aloud, it would grow.
Like the blob.
I get in funks, ruts, bummed out, confused.
It is as though the earth is spinning, days come and nights follow and I can’t figure out what is out of sync. Everything is mundane, or a chore and nothing sounds really good.
For my friends and I, we are at the point where we aren’t spring chicks anymore. That time when we were most often, the youngest in the room, is gone. We have become our mothers and tsk, tsk, grandmothers.
Our bones and joints often ache. Sometimes it is because of drugs takes to ward off the return of cancer. I, as well as many others, have arthritis. Put it this way … if it isn’t one thing, it is another.
My sisters and I used to roll our eyes at my mom. She’d always be going to the doctor. I could give you a list of ailments, but I will spare you except for one, which made me what the heck.
Narcolepsy. Yessirreebob, she would be sitting at the kitchen table and would suddenly nod off. Luckily, she was oner that before my dad began having TIA’s sometimes during dinner.
I think mom’s shrink had narcolepsy, too, so he gave it to her. For a fee.
I am not making fun of the illness, as illnesses aren’t things to make fun of. But my mom had a list.
But not feeling well can lead the way to a funk.
So can money worries, kid worries, grandkid problems, being a caregiver, having friends get sick … and die. There is a whole list of stuff that can come at us like softball sized hailstones.
I write about “My South Carolina Life.” I show you things I make and talk about places I go and people I meet. You got to see the construction of our new house. Those are fun things to share.
But there is also the other side … the day to day life that I lead. That Nick leads. That we all lead.
I don’t like “poor me” stuff, but I do like honesty, and to be honest, some days are hard.
Even when your kids are well-past 18, 30, 40, you have concerns for them. I have still not come to terms with the miles between the three children and four grandchildren in Ohio. So there are most often, mental longings and conflicts of time and distance.
I have not necessarily been a good steward of my body in terms of exercise and good eating habits. I will say that I have worked on my brain a lot more, and that, for the most part, has been good.
But we are now paying the piper in more than one way.
I am not going to get into rancor, but we feel as thought we are now “victims” of a health care system that used to work for us. It was expensive, but it worked for us. It was so expensive that we went through a large bundle of our retirement funds.
It was discontinued this year. Nick went to Medicare in March. At the end of last year, I had to switch to a North Carolina plan in the health exchange. Then, when we moved to South Carolina in the spring, I had to start again and join a plan in South Carolina.
That, in itself can give you a headache.
When you find out that all you do is pay in and don’t get anything back, at least until your high deductible has been reached, can make you, well … sick.
Then, you find that your doctors that you NEED, aren’t covered and neither is the prescription you need. Not only is the brand name not covered, but neither is the generic. I spent two days trying to figure out what was what with one of the two prescriptions I take. Between prior authorizations, denials and it not being covered … holy c ole sale, I had myself worked up.
We used to go to the doctor when something seems wrong. We didn’t by anyway abuse it. We don’t like to go to doctors, but sometimes, it is necessary.
This year, I have held off. At least as much as I can. I have a choice with my eyes. I can come up with the money to get a shot in them, or I will lose my vision.
There are those who have diabetes or another chronic condition that must get treated.
I never thought we would be in this boat. I never thought my health would be at the mercy of the government.
I only mentioned that to keep things real. I love my life, but it isn’t all about frivolity. Living is hard work.
Wow, I got off on that one, didn’t I?
I have had a couple of friends talk to at some point that they felt like if death came to them, they wouldn’t care. It would be easier. That is a hard thing to admit, much less say.
They were in funks … and maybe, depression.
The good part is, my friends and I help each other, just as you do your friends. WE listen and laugh about the most ridiculous and inappropriate of things.
And we work at changing the things we can.
But somethings, like aging and forced policies and certain aspects of our health, we have to learn to live with and learn how to improve our health the best we can.
Somedays I do that better than others.
Yesterday, I was at a store, a pharmacy, being told a different story than I had been told on the hone. I had been dealing with so much of this stuff recently that I wants to scream … at Mr. Insurance and Mr. Government. But it was a young girl behind the counter. She was doing her job. A most difficult job … which is dealing with people like me who feel they have been screwed by the system. She didn’t deserve to be yelled at, or looked at with a stink-eye.
So, I, in my nicest voice, told her of my exasperation and she said she deals with it all day, everyday. And we had a nice exchange, even though I left disappointed and feeling like a victim.
Your eggplant that is causing a funk bight be your body not working like it used to, or you aren’t sure if your money will last as long as you do. It might be that you have watched or are dealing with someone you love’s ill health, or hard time. Heaven knows, these political times and world issues can lead us to a funk hole. Boredom can do it, too. So can a lack of purpose or the thought that you can’t afford to ever stop working.
It can be most anything.
I try my best to keep things moving forward. I don’t like to be a downer, but oh, I can moan and groan with the best of them. But like my friends, I try not to do it too often.
Oh, it really helps to have a “bitching” partner. I have a few. We reserve the right to periodically, (there is a limit), call and rant.If necessary, we can cry, but that doesn’t happen often. We listen to each other. Judgment is put aside and we let the world, our bodies and whatever else that is ailing us, have it.
That is where I believe that women have it better than men. We have our hand-picked sisters … our gals, who help us through funks, through times of being down and confused.
Sometimes, it is just being able to express it aloud to someone, and we know we aren’t alone and we will get through it. Our problems might not be the same, but the fact is, we all have “stuff” that we are living with, dealing with and trying to make the best of.
Many of us are at the age where we know that some things might not get better. Our bodies and minds might take some help to keep going. But we will make it through. With as much grace as we can muster, with laughter that resonates through our hearts, and an extended hand to help others through difficult times.
I am always here to listen.
And I am grateful that you listen to me.