Outrage of Prudent Proportions

A day late, sorry!  Meant to post this yesterday but forgot to hit publish!

Its been a while since I’ve posted anything that I’ve written.  I wrote this a while ago, but wasn’t quite comfortable posting it or sharing it anywhere (except with my memoir buddy, Jenn).  Since I wrote this, I have somewhat come to terms with it, although its still a huge disappointment.


Outrage of Prudent Proportions

Nick announces as he walks through the door that I received a letter from Prudential in the mail today. I’m kind of surprised since we didn’t expect to hear anything back so soon from our life insurance policy requests. I guess nothing should surprise me anymore.

* * *

Earlier today I had a mental breakdown and bawled my eyes out. One of those cries where you don’t want anyone to know its happening so you hide yourself in any vacant room until you’re gotten all the tears out. Luckily for me I was home alone. It had been a few weeks since my last breakdown, but unfortunately its always over the same issues.

I feel like a pregnant beached whale.

I’m not. And I know that, but it doesn’t change the fact that no matter what I do, I can’t shake that feeling. This last week has been particularly rough. None of my clothes are fitting again, although Nick thinks its all in my head. As usual, he’s right. According to our life insurance physicals, my weight hasn’t changed since my doctor’s appointment four months ago.

Over the last week or two, my stomach has been feeling more bloated than normal. To the point where it hurts. Not a stabbing pain, like I used to have when I was a kid. Not a sour stomach, I ate something bad type of ache. A pinched nerve type of pain, inside of my stomach and intestines. Beyond uncomfortable to say the least.

Today the bloating and discomfort all came out in the form of seemingly endless tears down my cheeks. After about 30 minutes of tears, I felt a little better. The useless tears seemed to remove some over zealous aggravation.

A few hours later as I am waiting for Nick to come home, a feeling of hope washes over me that things will start to turn around. That things will finally become a little easier to handle, that I won’t feel quite so defeated. I make a silent promise to myself to finish reading the books that are supposed to help me with my recovery and to pay closer attention to my stomach pains to help figure out what is causing them. Mid way through my mental checklist of apparently simple things, Nick arrives.

* * *

As I begin to open my letter from prudential I can’t even begin to think of what it could be. The first thing I see is a check for $43 and some change. Why would they be sending me a check? Even more confused I look at the letter. “We regret to inform you…” Wait, regret to inform me of what? “…due to the diagnosis of an eating disorder…” Yeah, so, I’m healthier now, almost fully recovered. “…appeal process is as follows.” You expect me to appeal this, are you serious?

As all of these things slowly come together in my head, slower than they should have, I realize I have been denied life insurance. Their reasoning – my eating disorder diagnosis.

“Can they even do that?!” Nick exclaims with aggravation in his voice.

We are both devastated. I feel like I have suddenly and unknowingly wronged my always supportive husband. For trying to become healthier and trying to better myself, I have been chastised and hurt Nick in the process. He of course doesn’t see it this way. Unfortunately, that is the first place my brain jumps to, as if its playing hopscotch, and it doesn’t like any other square available.

Appeal? They want me to appeal this decision? Outrage begins to seep through my veins. All I can think of though is how this is affecting Nick more than it is affecting me. Of course we have to appeal it. If something were to happen to me he would be in big trouble, especially with the new house.

Outrage turns to aggravation which in turn changes to depression as the gravity of the situation hits me. Something I thought didn’t mean much to most people, except my therapist and me, is now determining such an important aspect of my life. It seems so unfair. We regret to inform, hate doesn’t even begin to describe my feeling for those four little words. Loathe maybe. Of course they don’t feel any regret over this particular situation.

Needless to say, breakdown number two was officially in full swing. Luckily for me, this time I had Nick by my side telling me everything would work out, just maybe not how we expected it to. I wanted to believe him, and halfheartedly agreed.

Glancing over at the clock I’m surprised to see it is past 8:30pm. I’m sure Nick is starving, although he wouldn’t say so right now even if he was. I have officially lost my appetite. While I cook dinner I can’t help but feel a sudden disdain for the food that I’m cooking. I find myself silently cursing the perfectly whipped eggs, giving the evil eye to the diced onions and wishing the cheese to hell.

Placing the omelets on the table, I can’t help but wonder where I would be if this voyage to recovery had never begun. As I nibble at dinner, I know its far to late to ever know.


While it shows that this was written while fully and freshly enraged by the situation, I feel it was still well written (thanks to my wonderful typewriter first draft), descriptive and to the point.

What do you think about it?

Previous Post

Next Post

Comments (5)

  1. Nikki

    You’re amazingly talented! I love you very much.

  2. Unfortuniately life does not always treat us kindly no matter how good of a person we are. You know I’ve been through HELL & back & still pushing forward. Never be upset for unabashedly bawling your eyes out…it’s a good thing!! Now, keep your chin up & if you ever need a sounding board…HIT ME UP!



  3. […] have been many ups and downs, in particular not qualifying for life insurance (to read that one click here).  And to be completely honest, every day is a different type of struggle.  There have been days […]

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

%d bloggers like this: