Faking and Censoring

Being candid is not something I quite do on this blog, mostly because it has gotten me in trouble in the past. How? People I knew read it, told other people to read it, who told others, and then realized who I was writing about, but as I see it, this is my personal space to let go, and let out my feelings.

I rent a room with a family currently, for about a year now. What really crawls under my skin is that I have severe back issues in the form of five disc herniations. I began writing this after the internet had been down for about 14-15 hours, and the mother told me to wait for the father to come home... Why? Because I will hurt my back... Yet they gladly want me to ignore doctor's orders about lifting over 5 lbs to take like kitchen trash out. So when I don't take that out, they get upset at me. I would gladly remove it, if I could. Their five year old can literally lift more weight than I can, which makes me feel like an idiot.

So just to be clear, and because I actually have had physical therapy exercises where I kneel down, I asked my therapist about kneeling down to reset the damn router for the internet. She told me that it was not harmful what so ever. She pretty much told me, if it doesn't hurt, go for it.

The mother is just a huge %*#& for no good reason a lot of the time, and I am left completely clueless. She reminds me of my step-mother. Her youngest daughter tries to show me affection, it pisses her off. I go to cook food and eat it in the kitchen, it pisses her off. So next time I eat my food in my room, that pisses her off. I bathe, that pisses her off. My back hurts, that pisses her off.

So the middle daughter, like mother like daughter, she has moods where she has hated my guts and then tolerated me. I am unsure how much this is being monitored. For a while I knew that the severely creepy brother of the father, who was old enough to be my dad, was cyber-stalking me... He was also peeking in my window, too. But the middle daughter, she got into some trouble and had her door removed.

My father threatened me many times about removing my door when I live with him, but he never actually did it... so I was offended when, let's say, on Dannie's behalf, her step-dad actually went thru with it! But as her boyfriend would wait for her to and would or would not be in the house, he began to become a friend of sorts, which lead to  some disclosure. Many of her friends have lightly befriended me, and I have heard wild stories spun by Dannie about me, supposedly from my mouth. It really digs at me, especially because it is public and online, that there are outlandish stories being told by Dannie about me lying and faking things.

While doing poorly in high school, and goofing around since then, apparently Dannie got a degree in neurology, psychiatry, and psychology, at least, to be able to make the claims that she says about me. 

"Mandi fakes seizures, real seizures people foam at the mouth. I know cause I've seen it in movies and stuff." So Dannie has said. Well my main neurologist, and a second one I saw while hospitalized disagree. When I first described my seizures Dr. Abbi finished what I was describing, for me... I was stunned, she got me! She understood!! Apparently mine are uncommon, but still common enough. I have epileptic and non-epileptic seizures. They are super painful to go through so they are no fun at all... I also feel super embarrassed afterwards....... so I don't like having them. With my current medicine regimen I think I have solved it!

"Mandi tries to steal my boyfriends." Well... I have heard this one before. Dannie makes her men and friends wait up to 3 or more hours to finish getting ready to leave to where they are going... meanwhile as a member of the household, I feel obligated to politely speak to them until Dannie takes them, cause I usually have answered the door, and she doesn't say a word to them....... So because I am kind, friendly, and don't make people wait for hours to pick me up, I am more of a people person.

"Mandi tries to seduce my male friends." Um... all of directly above, and apparently when I first moved in there was an incident that I got out of the shower and didn't know there were people over and I was in a towel and opened the bathroom door to a buncha people.... which I was so humiliated from. I have large breasts, shirts often look sexy on me without me trying... I don't need to seduce.

But there is more... I'd heard this in the past and was hearing it again, but a lot more. Making me out as a villain makes her look like a victim which makes her more attractive because a guy would want to protect her. If it comes up, I don't really deny being survivor of sexual abuse and rape. I don't see myself as a victim, it happened, I have gotten past that, but my willingness in dating and life started rather late because I was victimized and abused... for real, unlike some people. But because Dannie says such wild things about me, when people meet me they are like surprised I am not a crazy person. 

Then one day Dannie's boyfriend talked to me because he was upset, so I humored him. We talked and I offered him resources I had received from a social worker, cause we are both kinda poor, lol. But later I found out, when he said, that he had to lie about talking to me and I immediately was like, "Yeah if you have to lie to Dannie about talking to me about getting resource help, I shouldn't be here, and you both need to work on your trust issues." Because he had said things to me that granted reasons for him to be untrustworthy. To be honest, he is a kind guy, but she is nice, too, and pretty, and sweet... And the way he treats her sometimes, I think she could do better. I get annoyed with Dannie, but it is almost like we're fighting siblings at this point in time.... except she is way kinder than my real sister.

So after I told off her bf that I wouldn't talk to him again, even about additional resources again, unless he got an OK from Dannie, he backed off. Ugh, she asked him why he'd been texting me as a set-up for him to fall into, and he did... she caught him. The idea that I would like him makes me cringe. He pretends to be nerdier than he is. Dannie and I know WAY more about comics than he does. He thought Rocket Raccoon was created JUST for Guardians of the Galaxy!! Seriously !!!! Also he is not intelligent enough... I made that mistake once before, and I realize I need a more intelligent guy. But to top it off, when I was offering resources he was totally not that interested in a roof over his head... he wanted me to do ALL the work, which pissed me the #*%& off.

So yesterday I had a rescheduled appointment with my back surgeon's office. It was supposed to be last week, but... ah well. Turns out... turns out... my blood pressure is very low, and a surprising amount of adults steal their crayons.

They used to have a body chart where you would draw a pattern to match how you felt where, now they use crayons, which people now break or steal, which I find highly amusing, but I have to admit, it is much easier than the old method because the pains overlap. By the time we finally got to the damned office... (we were parked across the street and I was pushed in my wheelchair over... I was in SO much pain omfg!!!!)

Without realizing it, I've been overdosing, ever-so-slightly, on my blood pressure medication... meaning that when I was not in pain, or in mild pain, I've been weak and light headed and I didn't know the reason... but now I do. Another thing that people think I fake. My weakness and diziness... but sometimes it is so bad I've fallen over, but I don't have a way to check my blood pressure at home, so I don't realize right away if it's been lower than normal, like it has been lately.

Sometimes in waiting rooms, especially at the E.R. my best friend has told me to, "tone it down" oh and in public... like cry not to loud, stop rubbing my leg so much, stop pulling my hair so hard, stop clawing my arms or face so hard........ but the pain is so bad tone is something I really don't give a shit about. I don't care if a nurse thinks I am faking if pulling my hair distracts me from thinking my leg could just necrotize and fall off any moment. ((Become dead tissue like what frostbite does, from the inside out and fall off.))

Why do I have to change MY behavior because there are bad fakers out there?! When it feels like there is a vice on your leg or spine and every moment it is getting a little tighter, and any second now, it is going to break bone, split tissue, everything will spill out open to the air.... I cry.... It is @*%&ing hard to make me cry from pain anymore. 

When they gave me a caudal epidural, up through the tail bone, I felt like I was dying for days. But now it has gotten so bad I feel that pain from other things now. I have fell off a swing as a kid, flown twenty feet and landed on my neck and head, I broke my collarbone, completely like -_ break yeah ouch, that was nothing, but my pain that is constant is like that collarbone pain... I can't believe I thought that was bad, lol.

So because of how I look, my medical history, and how I behave, it determines how I am treated. I look too put together, I am too young to have such back injuries, and I know too much about pharmacology and medicine. Basically my brains, looks, and injury #*$% me over. I also handle my pain well, and because my dose of blood pressure medication is high, is disguises my pain, too. Then, because so many kids, and adults, abuse pain meds today, I look suspicious just begging for a way to be able to go home and hobble from my bed to kitchen and back. Often a Toradol shot makes me happy! (it is an NSAID, so it is super similar to Advil/ibuprofen, naproxen, etc.)

Someone will come in and see my list of medication and say, "Wow, you're on some powerful medications..." or they will ask what I am taking and once I tell them, and also I explain I haven't taken anything yet today, or like I took a single one in the last 24 hours, they say, "Well that is some strong stuff, and you're still in pain?" Despite if I claim I took one like 2 hours ago, or if I said I didn't take one, they will assume I took like 5. Even if I tell them I took a pill 3 days ago and ran out due to being unable to see my doctor....

"That stuff if usually given to people with cancer," The doctor stares at me, trying to intimidate me. Every time.....
"I am aware... I have a nast allergy to morphine, should be in my chart, which is why I am on the lowest dose of hydromorphone. Oxycodone doesn't help me much, it just makes me high, which I don't like," I explain, EVERY TIME... And the doctor always looks at skeptically. One of these days I should just let them inject morphine into me and swell up and scream in agony till my throat swells and be like, 'See? Morphine SULFATE allergy... lol."

"How much do you take in a day?" the doctor or nurse will ask me.
"I can take like up to 2 at the most, maybe 2 and 1/2, but usually I take none. I go days without it." I explain. I know what the doctor is going to hear. They have selective hearing.
"Okay, so 2.5 a day." The doctor replies and I wanna punch them in their balls.
"That's not what I said," I hiss annoyed, but I have been labeled a junkie now, nothing I say matters.

The last time that I was hospitalized I kept crying because I was in so much pain... According to the staff they were "Giving the medicine you take at home" which meant they were offering oral norco, and no hydromorphone/Dilaudid... A lot of norco leads to getting high and no real pain relief if I'm hurting super bad. So they just kept overdosing past what I was supposed to take in a day. I would even not ask for it, and it would be in with other pills, and I wouldn't spot it and realize after the fact I had taken it.

Finally they shoved it in my face and kept telling me to take it, and so to prevent myself being strapped down, I just took the damned pills... So I learned I had to cry quietly or else. When I was discharged I was treated like a major junkie though. Yeah, the staff forced me to take way more narcotics than I wanted, and then calls me a junkie. I was content to just cry in pain and try a heat pack, but the nurses weren't. Dr. Herman, my back surgeon, had said something about fixing my pain the night before I left, so I wanted to ask into it before I left and one of the nurses was super pissed that I was staying behind. Finally she said to me, "Do you not have all you pills at home?" no... I have pills...
"Do you need pain pills then?!" NO, I don't need pain meds I----
"Okay what pain pills do you want?" O : I was speechless at this point. "No I just wanted to know if Dr. Herman had scheduled an appointment or left a note, that's all!!!" She was offering essentially a blank rx..... which is highly illegal.

When I was brought into the hospital it was because I couldn't care for myself. I was struggling to walk with a walker, let alone prepare food, incontinence, severe pain, and weakness and so much more. Much of that is degrading and humiliating, who would fake that for something so low as a norco high, when you can score that on the street easily? Mostly the incontinence... Depends are expensive, same with protective bedding pads and rash creams. I also have issues with public restrooms when it come to urinating ugh....

As for the seizures, it isn't just my roommate Dannie who thinks I fake, ignorant medical personnel sometimes don't know better. I legally am not supposed to be driving until I can prove I have them controlled. They are super painful and embarrassing as hell. Who would want to fake that, for those costs?!

But I haven't even had an aura (the sensation you have before a seizure, for some people) for a while, but the pain is wearing me down. I went to that appointment yesterday and it got me a recommendation, but pain management doctors were the ones who have made me feel worse in the past. The irony of their name is not lost on me.

So because I am stuck at home so much, doing exercises that leave me in pain, hurt, and hopefully stronger, I blog. I had to block this guy Carlos from my blog because he's become so obsessive over me, and he's intruded upon my life so much, I've tried to avoid blogging about him at all, for fear of him finding out and freaking out and stalking me/obsessing over me more.

I blocked Carlos's Google+ from my blogger, so that means that he must have gone and either signed out to view my profile, made a new account, or done something. He is extremely un-savvy with computers (he doesn't even have one). A few weeks back I went to EQLA which was a convention for My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic and it was supposed to be awesome, instead it was terrible, and I have had to keep it to myself until now.

Carlos.

Apparently Allen my bestie warned him about me and hotels and how it could be a huge PTSD trigger, and I didn't know that Carlos was warned. If anything it seemed like maybe someone gave him a pep-talk of yes, bother and ignore the girl's pleas to stop until the girl screams. It's like guys who think it's not rape unless the girl puts up a super feverish fight with like a lot of violence, but if you know you are going to lose, it's less painful to just submit and get it over with.

So after he kept wanting hugs, touching my shoulders and arms and hands constantly in an intimate way, like a lover would do, I began freaking out, before we even left for the Con we were going to. I don't mind a guy touching me in a flirty way, but touching me in a way that is perverted and lusty bothers me severely, because it implies sex super heavily. Carlos is an extremely sexually minded person, too, to the point I asked him not to follow me on Twitter because I don't want people to see someone like him following me on Twitter... he follows too much adult entertainment. That is alright and his life, but when he lustily stares at me, and touches me, it is super inappropriate, especially in public and in places where I cannot get away because I am restrained, like a car with a seat belt. It makes me feel dirty and causes a lot of bad PTSD memories to surface.

I will admit I offered to go on a couple dates with him, but that was a very long time ago. I tried to politely explain to him why I didn't want him as my boyfriend, but ever since then, it is as if he has tried to win, purchase, forced, and seduce my affection. A friend of mine cleverly said "girls don't like it when you try really hard," which I object to. A guy trying hard is not an issue, but someone who is not sincere in feelings and remains so, they've lost. I've already dated too many selfish guys who don't have respect for me, my body, my space, and my feelings.

If Carlos reads this I know it will probably crush him, but the messed up thing is, I blocked him from reading this blog, so he had to gone out of his way to read it... At the hotel at the convention he constantly followed me. Every time I leave my house, he actually seems to find out, and it is bordering on stalking behavior, especially because he wants to come along! I was hoping I could remain friends with him, but a disturbing text he sent me a couple days ago shows me that he has grandiose feeling and memories that at one point we were in love, when I've never been in love with him... I've only felt bad for him, as a human.

Allen and I have tried to explain what respect means to Carlos many times, but he never understood... so he cannot understand why I will sever our friendship because he is borderline stalking me. He has become less respectful. He always blames other people or things instead of taking responsibility. 

I really wanted to remain friends, so as I write this I am crying, cause I feel like a terrible person... but I've already had two boyfriends who had to know where I was every minute of the day... we're just friends and he is doing that- so... I can't keep talking to him it seems.

 

Then I hear a knock on my door and I am given notice to vacate. Going to be homeless again. Of course Carlos and my father will want to "help" in their severely messed up way that offers no aid, and is a huge joke and makes me just angry. Why do people offer "help" that is of no actual help?

Lerner Rowe and FML

6.19

Today was a BIG day for me; a lawyer's office was going to call me and help me re-apply for SSDI or SSI. AGAIN. This office was different. It was motivated to really help me! Unfortunately about thirty minutes ago they called, and about fifteen minutes ago I ended the call intears, because it was completely pointless.

A friend asked me what the name 'Neptune Fallen' was from, or if it meant something, once. It is not from anything in particular, but it does mean something to me. Neptune is also known as Pluto, and was seen as the god of the underworld, or even heaven in ancient times. Also sometimes Neptune was viewed as the god of the waters, seas, and rivers. Neptune fallen is literally a depiction of a fallen god, of the heavens and or the seas. Especially today.

-Cops arrive and interrupt me writing.-

Then forty five minutes after they called the cops leave... Lovely. Where was I? Um, yes, the person at the lawyer's office who is helping me is a fucking idiot... I was beginning to feel better, but now I want to throw something hard against concrete and watch it break...

"Your claim is still active, he wants you to know that," the cop told me. No, not the claim from before, but the claim that I haven't even begun... The claim that is upsetting me. The claim that I haven't even gotten a chance to explain in my blog why it is upsetting me, because cops literally burst into my home and interrupted me! Ugh! I suppose he is a kind guy, and means very well, but his intelligence is something that is really lacking from the little I've dealt with him. Reminding me of the woman from Fry's and the cop Jams dealt with.

So I hear a firm knock at the door, and I assume that it is probably someone of the family I rent from, asking something from me, or notifying me of something... and I open the door to, a buncha cops. The cherry on top is that Maria Sr. the crazy Spanish speaking-only grandma is here, along with the army uncle who is nearly stalkerish in how much he follows people online, including me. Hope he likes this post, he isn't bad looking tbh, and is actually pretty cool and fun to hang out with.

I nearly run outside to the front yard, out of earshot of everyone inside, so we can talk there. Even if I had a giant room that could fit dozens inside, with how thin our walls are, I would choose the same spot. Immediately, but delicately, I am asked how am I doing, and I totally bomb it.

"I'm not doing too well," I blurted out, sitting on the grass, picking at some shoots. "I uh, well my back is hurting, I tweaked it trying to rush out here... But I am feeling better emotionally than I was. I had called a crisis line."

"Alright," the cop replied, I assume happy I admitted that I'd called a suicide help line. I wasn't going to try to pretend that I was totally happy for the last few hours. "Did you tell anyone in the last few hours that you would hurt yourself?"

"Uhhh... yeah on the crisis line, I had pills in my hand, and I was wanting to take them," I answered frankly, glancing nervously up a couple times. "After several minutes I was feeling better and didn't feel like that anymore."

The cop looked almost as if a fish had crawled out of a fish bowl and run away or something. I guess he wasn't used to people just admitting things so plainly. So he asked me more questions like about me hurting myself in the past.

"I used to, a long time ago. You can see scars on my arms, but it's been well over a year since I've actually done it. I might have urges, but I've not actually hurt myself in a long time." I explained.

"Yeah... I can see some of the scars," he glanced at my arms and gestured with a finger at the pale slices intermixed with the slightly darker skin. "When was the last time you did that?"

I scoffed slightly nearly a laugh, "Pff.... I don't even remember it's been so long," I shook my head. "Before I moved here, and I've been here a year."

"Okay," he nodded. I'd been very frank, he seemed to believe me so far, or at least seem to think I was being mostly truthful. My scars obviously are not from days ago, but do look like they could be weeks old I will admit. "Have you ever been to a mental health facility?"

"Like a clinic... or?"

"Like admitted. Have you been to Hillmont?" he asks this. I shudder and the cops notice my reaction. I laugh loudly.

"Yeah, I've been to Hillmont," I answer with a grin, "One of the last times I was there I needed to get my gallbladder out, they were giving me liquid antacid, as soon as I was released I had to rush to Santa Paula for emergency surgery. Hellmont just let it fester inside me. No offense to them, but that wasn't the first time they've injured my physical health. They make me worse than I feel, hehehe." I chuckle and shake my head.

"What about ....?" They mention a place I'd never been.

"Nope, I've never been there... and I was feeling depressed earlier, and I have been feeling down off and on recently. My psychiatrist lowered my dose of one of my meds, I wouldn't be against being admitted to a facility if it weren't Hillmont." I replied.

Again the cops stared at me as if I'd grown a third eyeball or something. I was just being so mellow.

"Heh I bet I could also get a shower, too!" I added with a grin.

"You can't get one here?" the younger male who's been silent asks.

"Uh.... nope," I answer, my voice still friendly, with a smile.

"Why not?" the main officer asks me, his eyes wide.

"I waste water apparently. I'm not supposed to take showers, cause I fall, and I can't take baths cause of our drains, and then I also waste water, but everyone else can bathe...." I explain with a sardonic smile. The officer finally is beginning to get a read on me, that perhaps though I seem mellow that there is more behind it.

"You need to find another place to live." he tells me. "But before that, can I see your cell phone?"

"Sure, no problem... and I've been looking for one."

I go and get my cell phone, while one of the cops watch me, and they are shocked by my messy room. The biggest contention of me living where I do. Before the cops left one of them jokingly laughed to me, "Yeah, and you should probably clean your room," with a kind smile. My landlords claim fire department people and police will fine or issue other things if they see it, but so far cops, paramedics, police chiefs, and more have seen my room in worse states than it currently is messy and are totally chill with it and only have parentaly suggested I should clean it up, with a smile and often a chuckle.

Anyways

The main cop has my cell phone and asks me, "Did you tell anyone that you might kill yourself today?"

"When I was online with the crisis hotline, yeah, I was talking about it. I did send a text insinuating it to my best friend, but other than that no..." I answered and then kind of fell onto my side.

The young man cop immediately reached his hands out towards me in worry, "Are you okay? Do you need a chair?"

"Oh no, I'm fine, well not fine... I hurt, but lying on my left side like this is best. Thank you, though." I reply with a smile. The main cop is looking through my phone and the other cops who are closer to my age are looking at me weird, as if how could I just hand my phone over to a cop? I didn't fight, try to erase things, try to explain things?! Nope, just gave him my phone. He can lol over funny texts between me and Jams.

Finally he asks me, "What did you say to... the crisis team... and to Dustin from the lawyer's?" I realize that he's gone through my texts and call history, and likely might have checked my skype and facebook and internet, too, in just that three minutes. I don't use them much.

"Dustin I admitted that the SSI application was pointless, everything in my life was pointless, I wanted to just give it up, terminate anything that had begun, there was no reason to keep it going. If I begin to receive assistance I will receive a gross amount less for rent and food than I currently get... and I began to cry uncontrollably and I was trying to get off the phone and just end the process of applying again... with the Crisis, I admitted I had a buncha pills I wanted to take, and got talked out of it, by realizing there are programs to help people who have nothing...." Finally the cop said he was going to make a few calls on it, and he walks away.

The younger girl cop asks me something I could tell she was dying to ask, "Do you always dye your hair like that?"

I chuckle, "Um, kind of... It was purple since October, but then I was trying to dye the purple out, and I got this pink." We all laugh at this explanation and then the younger man mentions the bright pink is reminiscent of the 80's, and I recall that I like it a lot because it is similar to Cadance from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.

"Can I ask how you hurt your back?" the girl cop asks, her voice polite, but nervous.

"Yeah," I reply. "Back in December 2010 I was in a car accident and got 3 herniations, but then in 2012, this doctor Ashokan herniated on disc from 5mm to a centimeter. That made it so I couldn't walk at all for a long time."

"Oh wow..." she said, her eyes sympathetic.

"Yeah, I deal," I tried to smile encouragingly. This is my life, I can't live for myself. I have to pretend to be okay for other people. Finally the cop with my phone returns with my phone and tells me...

"Yeah Dustin from the lawyer's office wants you to know that your claim is far from being denied, it's still waiting to be approved even," at first my heart jumped before I realized.

"Wait.. you mean the claim, from today?" I ask, confirming the idiocy of trying to comfort me with the cold hard fact that pushed me into the warm comforting arms of the idea of unlife.

"Yes, the one from today," the cop replied. "It might not be a lot of money, but you should look at it like a happy accident."

I have to facepalm, but I don't. "The thing that upset me was that as soon as I get SSI, I won't get food stamps, because it is a California law... and the person helping me with rent will stop that aid, so together my total amount for food and rent will be a fraction of what it is now.... But I have program info to help now so I'll be okay somehow." I lie through my teeth at the end... yet the cold realization dawns on the cop. The person at that office duped him. The girl in the grass who is afraid of her landlords, SSI is going to possibly make it so she can't get food to eat, it might mean death from another mean that isn't suicide, which is why suicide is so tantalizing.

"Well, you seem to be pretty stable. Um, if we took you anywhere it'd be Hillmont, but..." the cop trailed off.

"That'd be worse, thanks for understanding," I finish for him.

"So you won't hurt yourself?" he clarifies.

"No, not on purpose." I answer, "I do hurt my back all the time just trying to walk around though, but it's all accidentally." to which I get the sad smile I was trying to get, while I chuckle, adjusting my pose to ease my back pain.

"Well if you need anything call us."

"Will do, thank you~!" and with that the cops leave.

--
6.20

Oh before they left, they did ask me what I was doing when they arrived, and I explained that I was literally in the middle of blogging, and they asked what about, and what I generally blog about. I told them that I blog about being disabled, and I was writing out my feelings about the idiot at the office I had dealt with.

What I failed to get into real details thus far was what Dustin from the office said to me that crawled under my skin.

The whole reason I had agreed to make a phone appointment with this office to discuss SSI or SSDI again, was because, it was mentioned that I might actually be able to get an amount that would be survivable on. When Dustin spoke with me, though, this became very apparent, not to be so. Dustin was very spoken that I was too old to have any sort of disability insurance.

“You are too old to have any disability insurance,” Dustin told me, as if I was some sort of idiot. His tone of voice was annoyed, like everyone should already know the information he divulged. “You never worked long enough to pay into it. You chose to stop working too early.”

“I’m sorry, I chose?” I repeated to him, a bit stunned. Was he referring the date of the last day of work?! The day that my best friend had to help carry me out of the store because I couldn’t walk unaided?!!

“You also didn’t choose to work full time.” He continued. “Because of your age, you have to have worked full time for five years… and you chose not to.” Dustin said this like a basic statement of facts. Twisting my horrible accident and torturous turn of my life and suffering into some sort of sweet fun flirtatious early life experimentation! Every time I heard him say “choose” or “chose” I felt like a knife was digging deeper into that injury already in the base of my spine.

“I never chose to not work full time,” I corrected him, my tone as polite as I could manage. “I had to work part time due to my physical limitations, as noted by doctors.” I explained clearly.

“Well, because you chose not to work for so long, and not to pay,” he continued to repeat as if he hadn’t heard me, nor read my case file that I have 5 herniated discs!! My spine doesn’t work!!!! What the fuck is wrong with this man?! “You’ll only be qualified for like SSI.”

Which would mean, basically no money, and under 300 a month. Food stamps would be cut off. The person aiding my rent would stop, also. And I would lose my housing, and my food in one swift active swing. I declared I wanted nothing of it, I wanted to give it all up, and he began to call me greedy that of course I was not entitled to a lot of money like ads on tv suggested… and that was never what I wanted. I want money to survive by. Pay rent, purchase food, medication.

This asshole is telling me that I have chosen to voluntarily, able-bodily-not-worked for most of my adult life, decided all of a sudden I am now disabled and want a lot of money and am now complaining that I can’t get a lot, and supposedly I guess all those injuries and issues pre 2014 do not exist, but he can begin to get me 200 dollars a month starting 2015, and that WILL be enough to live by, even in southern California. BECAUSE DUSTIN says so… Even if there are no places that cheap, nor places where I can find enough food for free even if I can find safe housing.

Thank you Dustin, even if I go to the social security office myself, you’ve made me look like an idiot.

Seclusion from PTSD

So I have been sequestering myself in my room since I got the backhanded snide comments from the father of the family that I live with, accusing that I am choosing not to pick up my room due to laziness and not medical reasons that doctors are legitimately getting angry at me for breaking... I keep going to the E.R. because I am breaking the rules that the doctors have been setting. I am lifting too much weight, moving too much, doing things that hurt and not stopping because I keep thinking that I need to please the new people who have come into my lives.

While I was sitting in the ER alone, I was feeling miserable. Before I had gone I had made sure to call my back doctor's office and get confirmation that I should be going, and I was told to go... But, the doctor seemed to think that there was no reason for me to be there. At least he wasn't like the brilliant genius doctor who said "there's no reason to expose you to more radiation with an MRI." I was very glad I left minutes later, an MRI stands for magnetic resonance imaging... nothing radioactive about it.

One thing that caused me issues, and often does, is they wanted me to pee on demand. Through an ultrasound they saw that my bladder had a decent amount of urine in it. Can other people just pee on demand like if they were told to stick their tongue out or cough? I mean, I can't pee unless I either have to pee, or it happens out of my control. But doctors and nurses always get upset and annoyed at me when I tell them that I cannot pee on demand and that I will have to have to get an urge and even then it might not come.

I was hostilely told "Well just try!" by a nurse, and handed a bed pan. It dug deeply into my flesh and I tried forcing my muscles as hard as I could, but nothing was going anywhere. I tried pressing on my bladder, nothing. I had four more little cups of water, and no to no effect. But as I was lying there alone in the hospital, with that bed pan beneath me, I was thinking of some of my pet peeves about peeing...

I can only do it in a toilet, and I can only do it absolutely alone. In ladies bathrooms I often have to wait a long time, or at least until it is very empty before I can go... then suddenly the memories of why I had this huge avoidance of urinating outside of restrooms in isolation flooded back to me and I began to cry out from more than just the physical pain that I was in.

How can I tell doctors that I can't force myself to urinate because it is part of my really screwed up PTSD from when I was a kid? 

As a kid before I realized what molestation was, and not just something that I didn't like and was a secret, I could go piss in the woods, or even on the side of the road on long road trips if it had to happen, hehe.

There is so much in my life that my past abuses have affected me in how I am today that I don't even realize and cannot identify, let alone begin to work on, that it hurts so much. But beginning to identify it, lets me begin to work on it. Once I stopped crying, I was able to get a wheelchair and finally pee for those damn doctors.

END SAFE BLOG HERE

but there is more to that night that affected me

----WARNING THE FOLLOWING CONTAINS MENTION OF CHILDHOOD SEX ABUSE---

So there were 2 culprits who affected my bathroom behaviors and feelings. But the first one and predominate one, she was a close neighbor. She was a girl, so when she'd ask me to come in the bathroom with her, it didn't seem that weird at first... but the things that she began to say and talk about while there I didn't like.

She also had terrible games... house was one of them. I loved to play house as a kid! But not with Lizzy. She'd always make me the wife. Every kid knows the fun part of house is like the day. A job, pretend eating, pretend shopping, and dressing up... But Lizzy being older than me, she'd guide the day... She always brought nighttime so soon, which I didn't like, because she would never let me be the husband.

We had to undress for bed, of course, cause we were playing realistically... and she wanted to play more like real. And at the tender age of 5, with her finger, she got over me, and pretended to be a husband and showed me what they did.

Lizzy would never talk to my sister again, they were best friends, and then my sister would hate me forever, if I ever told anyone... and besides we were just playing... why would I need to tell anyone? My sister was always envious when the three of us played and Lizzy wanted to go and play house alone with just me... her eyes felt like daggers in my back, the jealousy, but I didn't want to go.

She's also play doctor, which started off completely normal... but turned into like a gynecological exam... When a neighbor girl who was my age moved in later, I was so over-joyed, I had an excuse not to be near Lizzy, ever again.

Yet as I was sitting in the hospital trying my damnedest to pee in a plastic tub while I heard all these voices around me, I heard a young girl, Lizzy's voice, and the things that she would say to me, want to do to me.... and the nightmares began again.

Other things in my life, other people, other events too... it's driving me back to old habits, that I want to self-mutilate, I'm walking on a razor's edge. Maybe I need to move.