Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures

I’m at Asbury Church waiting for a shower and laundry. They’ve stopped showers due to lack of hot water. I’m cold already, taking a cold shower would hurt and be the manifestation of hell on earth.

They are looking into it, so I am typing to have something to do.

I have a doctor’s appointment. Ears are still plugged and my intent was to go for that. But I have realized my coginitive decline has become worse. I need more sleep than 8 hours. 8 hours isn’t enough. And I just had a brain fart over “isn’t”. My brain is not in good shape and this homeless thing is making it worse.

I have spent several nights in various warming shelters since it’s so cold and smokey. I have slept on the floor, and as a stroke survivor, it isn’t easy to get up and down. Locked door handles are really helpful. I can pull myself up.

I drag my left foot when I walk. Getting therapy would help, but daily exercises would be a challenge. Have to live with that until I have a roof over my head. Whenever that will be.

I’ve met a few people: Cindy, Eddie and Lorraine. I will share some stories in the future. Just leaving a note here as a reminder.

And, just to remind you http://www.gofundme.com/Life4V

New Learning Curve – Homelessness & Failure at Adulting

Being scorned and told you made mistakes by a 67 year old at the age of 53 is ludicrous and humiliating. Experiencing that when he is fully aware that you have a brain injury is demoralizing. Keeping it up until you leave for the hospital because you fear you’re having another vascular lacunar stroke is inhumane. Making you leave and having to beg to be allowed to take your life saving medication and what you can fit in your car – there are no words.

When you are upset and can’t handle anymore, you can barely speak coherently without wailing/crying uncontrollably and can barely get the words out that you are at at the point of driving out to the desert and slashing your wrists, he makes a comment that it isn’t a bad idea.

The wife is an old friend, but she barred me from entering the house yesterday because I crossed the line. When I went to Emergency the other night, after the bru–ha-ha with them, and my pathetic past of failures to see to myself before anyone else, she was done because I had posted about her daughter on Facebook. I hadn’t used her name, it was pretty much “my friends daughter” was there too. That is it. She may have had a viral infection like I did last weekend. I don’t know and I didn’t speculate. I just said I saw the young woman there. I haven’t gonne back to see the post.

Wait -I’ll go check. My comment was the wife was taking the teenage daughter to the ER and he husband didn’t want to be in the house with me without his wife. No names. I was verbally violent – his parting shot that night. Because I had told him to Fuck himself after hours of bombardment. Yeah, by your estimation, I screwed up when I sacrificial my life to take care of mom. What did it get me? A stroke and homelessness it seems. And not able to work due to that brain damage.

Vascular lacunar stroke is a serious Mother, especially if you’re not in your 60’s when it happens, because there are no statistics if you are 49-51. I am 53 4 months and 9 days, in case you were wondering. I had the stroke 21 days short of two years ago. The last and most debilitating one. I’ve had at least two others previously. Maybe more. They aren’t sure. The lesions and dead brain matter overlap in differing severity.

They didn’t happen before 2012. That much I know. My vision was fine, I had my meds, and Mom hadn’t tried to kill me yet. Yet. That would change, but she died in May 2015. Yeah, you’d think. Her ‘Memory”still had an active force in my life in the form of her family. I was trashing the dead. How about her trashing my life? Never acknowledging her step son, who was all of 2 when she married Dad. Dad was a philandering snake, ok? But he was a good father to me and kept most of Mom’s shit out of my life, even her hatred of his family. Mom’s Christian upbringing was non-existent, other than drilling into my head what was acceptable, proper and expected. AndI got a beating when it wasn’t to here exacting, ridiculous standards. Even when I was 48 and she was 86. Slap and hit my head while my left arm is her death grip. Did I hit her? Defend my self against an 86 yo sociopath? Fuck no. She would have me arrested for elder abuse. She tried every chance she got. I stole from her, refused her food, was trying to steal her house, had stolen her car (that was also registered to me because she couldn’t drive and had surrendered her license thank God), I stole her mail, put loans of her property (car insurance that had my name on it since I was a licensed driver), the electricity bill (since she refused to pay for it since they were cheating her – a supposed loan I had made) and any piece of mail that could set her off. Which was anything. God forbid it still had Dad’s name on it. That was my fault. I was torturing her on purpose.

She wouldn’t write “deceased” on direct mail. Who’s fault, crazy woman.

Anyway, I never saught any services through Riverside County, because it was made clear I was just there for her and I was a capable adult and could work and maintain my life, but Adult Protective Services was watching! She had Alzheimer’s. Get a letter from her doctor. Who? The one who called you and reported me? She needs APS, when she tried to stab me?

If I couldn’t get a doctor to put in writing she had Alzheimer’s, do you think I could ger a letter stating I’m caring for her 24/7? That I took her to every doctor’s appointment, held her breast during a mammogram while she chortled not to get any ideas about a quick snack (I was 48 at the time, and she was 86 – yuck sick gross, you never breast feed me – and I really didn’t need to hear how Dad was such an excellent lover. There is no brain bleach!), flew down when she ripped out her hip and stayed for weeks and worked remotely from her house, drove down when she fractured her hand because she didn’t use a walker or afhere to physical therapy plans – ever, when she had a sore that wouldn’t heal on her face and I insisted she have a referral to dermatology and it was found it was melanoma and I had to look at her open face, teeth and gums to make sure they had done a good job. Because I am as much of a nurse as SHE WAS.

So much pent up fury, but I’m lying. She wasn’t like that AT ALL. Not in her youth or as they remember. Maybe. Pretty selective convenient memory.

And after all I went through and had to learn, because they learned nothing as immigrants other than what they absolutely had to, I have to learn for the first time.

Social Services – Food Stamps check. General Assistance check. MediCal check. Social Security and Lawyer Check. Housing – I have names, addresses, phone numbers.

I now I have a $226 car repair because I can’t drive without 1 tire and a 2nd ready to blow.

I slept in my car last night, and thank God I had my blanket and parka. It dropped to 42F this morning. My back still hates me. And I’m using my cane and sacrificing the aircast. My right foot is screaming, but I can walk with one good leg and not fall. The cane, the cast and me weren’t copacetic and I crashed into people and things and was a human Weeble wobbling close to falling down. It’s a precious look. Very fashionable.

I should find a food kitchen for later. I had a glazed donut. Couldn’t help but think of Bill Cosby and his bit about Glazed Donuts, but he was funny then. Not a predator.

I officially suck at adulting. It’s in print.

I leave this here again, http://www.gofundme.com/Life4V

Please go. See if you can help. Even $5 makes a difference.

And for God’s sake, tell the press, a news staton, a reporter or podcaster. My story isn’t common. The epitome when everything is done right and with the best intentions, and it still everything considered award-winning Muphy’s Law, thats special. Even “thank God not me” worthy. The last 5 minted on the evening news. Because I’m just crying wolf. There is no one out there like me. Contra Costa treats every patient like a close family member. No one has suffered, is suffering or has died in their care.

I remind you – 2 years for a diagnosis of vascular lacunar stroke. Other than the emergency room and a speech therapist, no other medical provider said a word about my stroke, other than shock I would want another aneurysm if I stopped taking Clopidgrel – there are other blood thinners that don’t cause eye hemorrhages with those who have retinopathy (I do), I have a pyschiatric issue with depression and an eating disorder when in fact my central nervous system has taken hit, I have a hiatil hernia (barium test showed that and another issue) and everything else you said is a lie, because you’re an old, ignorant fart that shouldn’t be handling medicine anymore. Or that Nurse Practitioner who lies to colleague’s and police and claim you assaulted her. Sure. An invalid with a cane sitting outside her reach and you behind a computer. Pretty fancy jujitsu. Pity I’ve had known.

But I’m just a whiner looking for attention. Why would I think there’s anything wrong with me? Because I have a history of VLS and you summarily dismissed it. And you mentally tortured me. Happy? Said I needed a shrink for my Pseudo-Bulbur Affect, for my eating disorder when I choke on my own spit, can’t process my daily tasks any way like I used to, can’t communicate as I used to except in writing. It would take me hours to say this with lot’s of umms and pauses and minutes for my mouth to catch up with my brain, or my brain to slow down to process the painful reality of articulating words. Just finding the words that I can say, clearly.

I’m sure I’m the only one.

Excuse any typo’s. Had to use the phone when the computer froze.

Homeless Search Again

There are so many things I want to write about (politics, healthcare, Social Security, etc., etc.), but I have to return to an older and current topic. Homelessness.

I “lost” my home when I had to sell my mother’s house (which I was paying on) to close Probate after she died. I have been “homeless” since. Living with friends has kept me from living out of my Dad’s car (had to sell my Montero because I didn’t have the money to fix it and pass SMOG). But, his 21 yo Oldsmobile Cutlass gets me to doctors appointments.

I can be thankful for that.

Mom died May 2015. Sold the house June 2016. Moved back to Northern California August 2016 to a room in my friends house with the thought of finding a job again after 3 years. Had the stroke in November. Less than 1 year later, was told I had to leave because they were moving. Moving days were shifting and arbitrary, but I had to go. They would get a lawyer. When I mentioned I would too, they were offended.

Through another friend, I secured a 6-month house-sitting/pet care gig and was able to move out – under enormous pressure and hostile feelings. Had to get a storage unit for that stuff and get other friends to help me move.

That came to an end, and I didn’t know where to go. Still no diagnosis and my mental confusion was rampant and debilitating. I was to move to the friends place who referred me for the house sitting gig, was actually at her place for TWO DAYS and the garage door was open one night and IT WAS ME. It was closed when I left earlier that day, and I don’t know how it got opened, but it was may= fault and I HAD TO LEAVE THAT DAY.

Fine. Used my GoFundMe donations and the credit card I still had to find a motel room. And stayed there for 5 days. My knitting bag was lost, and the projects therein including the shawl I was working on when I had the stroke, and a bag of shoes. The Nike’s and Merrill’s I used all the time because with my feet and ankles, they keep me from spraining or breaking said ankles. Gone who knows where.

I took stuff out to storage that I had to hustle to get out of Brentwood when I went to Alameda, which I hadn’t repacked and moved during my 6-month sojourn in Alameda. Not procrastination, simply overwhelmed.

That is a running issue since 11/29/2018.

And then my friend here Livermore said “be here”.

That doesn’t seem to be the case anymore.

The Housing Authority in Livermore has closed their list for housing and don’t know when it will be open.

I don’t have any income or potential. 1 strike against me.

I’m single with no children. 2nd strike against me.

I’m disabled and waiting for Social Security to put their stamp on that. 3rd strike and I’m out of options.

This friend would like me to be in my own place by 12/1/2018.

I have no words. She has requested I contact the County sources, even reminded me to contact another friend for help. She mentioned even a convalescent hospital for me as an option.

I wouldn’t qualify. I can take care of myself now. I wouldn’t met the criteria for needing convalescent. Assisted living? Is there such a thing under Medicaid?

I’m realing. And it’s been since last Thursday. The same day I found out my brain damage is a reality.

What am I going to do.

Try not to commit suicide and bring this all to a close?

I Am Writing a Book(s)

Yup. I am writing a book. Maybe 2. Or more. We’ll see what it turns into. I’ll see what YOU think. If YOU find it interesting or viable. And my laptop won’t launch Word.

So here goes nothing. Or everything. All words as written are true and as I lived through them, experienced them. This has been MY LIFE.

I was adopted. Though I wasn’t told until I was 48, I knew when I was 11. Dad didn’t confirm, but he didn’t deny it ether when asked. He said, “It isn’t something we discuss. It upsets your mother.”

I was 11, as I said. Upsetting Mom was something I knew too well. A homework assignment set her off. It was a biology type of thing. A list of questions we had to answer – when were you born, what time of day, what was your family’s reaction, who found out first,  who was at the hospital, what foods did your mother crave when she was pregnant with you, what was your favorite first food, your least? You know. Questions about my early life.

Mom was irate! Who wanted to know her private business? Why? She went into hysterics and cried and screamed from her bed where she had fled when she heard of the “homework”. “No one will know about my private business!” But it wasn’t her private business, it was my life and my “business” at its foundation. Well, I didn’t need to know, I was too young.

I guess 48 was the right age. Only thing with that – it was self preservation on her part. It was in the emergency room and she had Alzheimer’s Dementia, supposedly,  and I couldn’t speak for her. She was denying I was her daughter as adopting me was Dad’s idea and she hadn’t agreed with his terrible choice. I never did as I was told. I didn’t speak for her. She was tricked. And since Dad was dead, my hold over her was dead too. Odd, that doesn’t change my birth certificate. Her name is still there.

She was a sociopath and a narcissist too. There are examples. Decades worth and I won’t bore you with all of them. Just the ones that really stood out. That still hurt and harm. That will impact me until I draw my last breath. Her poison still kills my happiness even though she has been dead since May 2015.

I never thought she was a sociopath. That’s what a doctor said when they couldn’t accept her into the psychiatric ward at that hospital. They didn’t have the correct staffing and they couldn’t transport her to a psychiatric hospital as transport was not available.  I could take her, of course. I could arrange it. If her doctor would sign off on her Alzheimer’s diagnosis, of course.

I’d been trying for months, but even though her medical chart stated dementia as a condition, I could get nothing in writing. Even though I was taking care of her 24/7. took her to every doctor’s appointment, every lab or test, for years at that point, even after failing and trying to cheat on a Mini Mental Health Test, keeping her autonomous was all important – even if she needed me to be “Autonomous”. To eat, to go to the doctor, to the grocery store, to pay her bills, to pay the electricity even when she thought it was too much and she didn’t want to pay it because she wouldn’t allow them to cheat her.

Dishonesty was an issue for her. The auto insurance was a car loan, and she owned her car (Dad’s car that I paid off when he died and refinanced the house so she could keep it). The A/C was dying, needed repair, as she lived in the High Desert and it ran from May to October since it was so hot and she couldn’t take the heat. Not that she would set it at 78F and let it kick in when it was needed. No. Let the house heat up to 85F then turn it on and complain it was so hot, but turn it off at 10 pm since she was going to bed and the draft hurt her neck and having a window open was inviting a rapist into her home so she could be raped and murdered. The same could be said if you sat on the patio into the evening. They didn’t care about me – they wanted her!

She lived in a gated Senior community. There were no cases of rape or murder. There was no rampant house thefts in this community. HOA issues to the extreme. but no home invasions. Mom would see the news and home invasions in Los Angeles County, she would screech and point excitedly at the TV.  But we were in Riverside County – a hundred miles away from that. “It can happen here! Just wait!”

Just like a sample of Tide Detergent could be Anthrax being sent specifically to you, Mom. That happened. Dad had to call the police to get Mom to calm the fuck down. She wouldn’t stop until he did. There were many things she wouldn’t stop doing, even when told. Dad was better at it than I, but in reality Mom owned us lock, stock and barrel. She dictated how we could breath, and she dictated when we would die. She succeeded with Dad. She failed with me, but she was almost successful.

That’ll come later. There is a lot to unravel with the mania I lived with.

Why Voting is so Very Important

Stay home – unpatriotic. You’re a citizen and it’s your right and if you don’t exercise that right, why stay here and bitch? Leave.

Our way if life is being destroyed. Yes. DESTROYED by a bigot and his sycophant REOUBLICANS. They don’t want us to have healthcare, Social Security, any “safety-net” we might need that other “good paying Americans” chip in for.

Here’s a news flash. FICA is the Federal Insurance Contribution Act and it was passed by the Roosevelt Administration in 1935. It is part of the unified budget for the United States, and Johnson was the first to “borrow” from it to pay for the Vietnam War.

What have the Republicans done for us other than raise the National Debt, approve tariffs, befriend hostile regime’s, attempt to/practice war crimes by shooting a rock throwing protestors, support Fascists, White Supremacy and Nazism? Nothing, except pat themselves on the back and give their rich donors a tax break they didn’t need while telling us the middle class would benefit. Middle class? That nearly non-existent group that is being chocked to death? The Republicans want it gone, along with all non-white groups. Look at how they gerrymandered all those Congressional Districts nationwide?

And their leader, the King of Lies, is out there calling our Fourth Estate, our source of information and NEWS fake, lying, dishonest, etc., etc. Projecting much, Donnie? Don’t like bad press? You create it. Live with it, you orange smear.

Voting is so important, even though it’s Midterms. Every candidate, every measure, every proposition impacts our lives and by not voting you’re telling our Country you don’t care. If you bitch, the automatic comment should be “did you vote”? And when you say no, well you got what you asked for. Quit UR bitchin’

VOTE

VOTE

VOTE

This Life is too Hard

I hate to be a proverbial belly-acher, but seriously? How much is one person supposed to take before you say enough and end it? Even if you want to live, the roadblocks keep coming at all angles. And “living” is a luxury.

Where I am now, a roof, toilet and kitchen, is a home I am humbly thankful for, even though all my things from one storage unit is under traps on the dirt. Everything. And I can’t get to it because of instability and confusion and lack of mental reasoning to fully comprehend what is in my heart and mind, because I become too upset and I just can’t take it. And no one underatands that.

My Facebook friends don’t get that. I had a stroke. Awww. She’ll get better with time. I had a vascular lucanar stroke at 51. 1/5th of the population has that at 65. Sixty-five. There are no percentages for 51 year olds other than within that 1/5th. Is it 1%? 0.5%? 5%? I can’t find any numbers due to it’s rarity and not needing to know, most likely.

How can I get people to see there is an issue when I can’t even explain it to them? When I don’t know myself.

And how can I explain that moving things that were inside the house are now under a tarp on the dirt and I should be fine with that because I didn’t sell it or give it away? I can get used to having nothing because I will soon enough.

I’m even fearful of doing laundry because my friend has “smell” issues like Tide. I’m trying, but being accommodating is so damn hard when I don’t have the brain I once did.

And now she wants to insure I find housing by December 1st. There is nothing in Livermore, especially Section 8 and I have no income. Homelessness is a very real and serious problem in the Bay Area, especially for someone who can’t work and is waiting on Social Security.

I don’t know what to do. Any suggestions? Please don’t say Salvation Army or St. Vincent’s or some other Christain Charity. There is help for veterans, not civilians who have suffered a life changing disability and doesn’t know where to turn.

If you can, or if you know anyone who may help, please refer them to http://www.GoFundMe.com/Life4V

Or, if you know a reporter or journalists or someone connected to media, please pass along my story. I need all the help I can get. Because someone crying wolf doesn’t get tje time of day, let alone a reply.

Homeless and Hopeless

I don’t enjoy my life. I don’t have anything to look forward to, except doctor appointments and diagnosis. That’s a double edged sword. Diagnosis for something that won’t get better. Or restore me to my former self.

Though I have shelter, it’s not mine. My home. And though I have some of my things here, now on pallets with tarp on dirt, it isn’t the bulk of my stuff still in storage and will be lost too quickly for lack of payment.

Since I can’t work and earn money, former 6-digit income worker who can’t work – ironic – I don’t have any income to pay for my storage units. Homeless losing the bulk of everything and I didn’t do “this” intentionally. It’s a waiting game for Social Security and I didn’t have medical care – other than prescriptions to keep my diabetes and hypertension and cholesterol under control with no management or explanation and I can’t eat like a normal person BECAUSE of a medical condition caused by the stroke, but it’s an eating disorder that needs pyschiatric guidance. Bullshit.

They brought on my suffering due to ignorance and apathy. And if I had care, or even an explanation of the type of stroke I had, it would be easier to accept and adjust to. But, I’m alone with no close family, so tough luck. Too bad, so sad. Loser.

Should I think any other way? Why? I am dealing with this alone and the few who do deal with me don’t get what I am going through. Every hiccup is a major road block, a landslide, and I have to wade through it and not drown or sink to the depths. And succumb to death, which would be so much easier.

I went to a resource provider for Alameda County, and she gave me a list of meetings I could go to, to train you about renting a home and all that it entails. Goody. What I did for 30 years. It’s depressing and frustrating and so much to handle – alone. Nothing is easy anymore. It’s all so difficult and more just piles on every day.

I need help. I need someone with answers, not more questions.

gofundme.com/Life4V