How Life bit me in the Ass and it Won

This post won’t be pretty or “polite”. There will be curse words and the truth.

You have been warned. Sorry/Not Sorry. I’ll spare last names, except two – those of my family. And one other because she is a worthless Bitch.

If I repeat myself ^^^^

You should be aware I am a Scandinavian Socialist and a Democrat. And if you don’t know what that is, READ. We don’t read enough about other countries and other people. The life we are now subjected to, not America but Trumplandia, is sick, disgraceful and circling the drain with the shit the GOP (Grand Old Prick’s party) has colluded to make real and oppress every American who isn’t rich enough to pay them off. Gerrymandering is one guaranteed way to keep poor and non-rich-whites and anyone of color very, very quiet. That is, if they can’t just get rid of them or kill them. God forbid anyone respectfully kneels during our National Anthem when sung at a sporting event.

What do soldiers do when they come across a  grave of a comrade in arms? They kneel. How unpatriotic, if you believe the bone-spur-draft-dodger-in-Chief. He likes heroes that aren’t captured, after all. Anyone else who doesn’t think just like him is a son-of-a-bitch. Or has a  low IQ.

God bless John McCain, a war hero that served and gave his Being to this country. Thank you, Sir, for your complete and untiring service. You are a human being more people should be like.

Life has been a bitch,  but I tried to do the right thing for everyone else except me. That was disastrous.

If a Jorgensen reads this – fuck you all for ignoring everything and staying in your self-righteous cocoon. If you are an Anderson – I am so sorry. Dad and I had our own hell to deal with and thankfully you were excluded from most of it. Except Karsten. I am so sorry for everything. I didn’t know, damn them all for lying. Especially, that self-righteous bitch who married your father. I know he regretted what he did. How he raised me was testament to that. All the things I learned that he wanted to teach you. Even soccer.  I became the person I am because of him. Gunn had nothing to do with it, If anything, I wanted to be the exact opposite, or a good and decent human being.

But let’s start from today and work our way backwards. That’s so fun. The culmination of my end. Some stuff left out…because length of post.

I had a stroke an, anoxic brain injury that killed part of my brain. If I had served in Iraq, I would be considered a Wounded Warrior. No, I am just a silly civilian who had a medical problem. Screw her. There are people with worse, REAL problems. But, I can type so I’m normal! HA! Not anywhere close to who I used to be. At this point, I have no idea if I ever will be again.

I had no actual medical care for my stroke, my brain injury, for 19 months. Why? Assholes were “taking care” of me. Medical doctors who didn’t do their jobs, but prescribed pharmaceuticals without followup. I had “symptoms”, but I wasn’t referred to specialists because I had to get over them. See a shrink for an eating disorder. No referral for that. Can’t swallow? Eating disorder. No hunger or thirst since the stroke? Eating disorder. Throw up or regurgitate while eating? Eating Disorder. Persistent nerve pain? Here’s a pill. Difficulty sleeping? Here’s a pill. Excruciating cramping of toes and calves? Here’s a pill. One of them shouldn’t be given to those with history of stroke? Give it to her anyway. A Barium test the speech therapist recommended? She’s not a doctor. What does she know? More than he did when I was tested because another doctor believed Jess and it showed a Hiatal hernia and Schatzi ring (again – look it up – I had to).

Trying to see a GI specialist who only took new patients on Friday mornings and in Martinez, when I was in Alameda and had to deal with the morning commute. Sorry if you’re late. Can you come in again in two weeks at the same time? Sure. Maybe it’ll only take an hour and a half instead of the 40 minutes during the day after the commute. At least less than two and a half hours if there isn’t another truck crash on the 580 and a vehicle crash on the 680 and lookee-loo’s who are as slow as fuck.

Another accident and bad traffic. Missed another appointment,

I am scared to drive in traffic now. The Road Warrior who put 100,000’s of miles on cars, driving all over the Western US, but way too much on the 5 between SFO and LA, is scared to drive because I don’t want to hit anyone or be in the way. I miss my Beast. She was a good truck. I can hear TAPs in my head. It’s a comfort.

I had to donate the Montero to charity in January past this year. New engine, but fucked up carburetor that bleed gas and I had no spare money to fix her. Couldn’t pass SMOG.  And my off-roading days are over as far as I can tell. I miss that shift and drift quality in that a bread-box of a Surfer Jeep. 30 years we were together. Oh well. Everything comes to an end eventually. Hopefully not me. Not now.

That day in January I waved  goodbye to her – it was two days after I saw Nurse Practitioner Berg. Bitch. On that Wednesday, we had an appointment so I could get refills for meds (the one’s that weren’t refilled and were out since before Christmas and her vacation when no one did anything while she was “out” or unavailable) and referrals to therapy and neurology and whatever else I needed because I couldn’t eat. Dangerous to a diabetic.

She went through my prescriptions. my therapy request (physical, occupational and speech), a neurologist and what else?  I didn’t know. My brain isn’t working. I said “I don’t know” and rapped my cane against the tile floor. She screeched and ran from the room. I heard voices and what sounded like “Fuck”and “hit me”. There was much commotion and a “Ranger” (security guard) came to the room and blocked the door. A psychologist came in and spoke with me, never saying what the trouble was, just that I couldn’t leave.

I was upset. Anxious. My mind reeling with confusion and uncertainty. Stupid me, I thought she was there to determine what had happened. All I could do was babel about how a woman who was once a MENSA candidate could end up here and no one would listen to her because she had a stroke. A lot of good it did me.

A short time later, when the police and ambulance arrived, a police officer and the ranger took me into custody, which meant they each grabbed an arm and forced me to a gurney so I could be restrained. I fought back. I was told not to resist. In my mind, it was too much like all the times Mom would grab my arm and beat me on the head and shoulders as recently as 2014. Yeah, an 87 year old woman with dementia beat me because she didn’t like how I cleaned the hallway and she wouldn’t stop until I was crying and in the fetal position. Something she had done to me since I was a child over anything including being late coming home from school after talking to a teacher, not having a communal gang-bang behind the classroom which she assumed I was doing at 12 years of age.

Not true Anna? Were you there for any of it? You’re too much like your big sister. Happy now? You’re more like Gunn than you know.

The police officer never told me what I had supposedly done. Just said for me to calm done (that  is so easy with my broken brain) and pretty much behave and just  take it. They both hung on until I was secured on the gurney. Two hands gripped to each arm and bodily control.

I was taken to Martinez from Brentwood, to CCRMC ER. They asked me some questions. I pee’d into a cup. And a psychologist told me the folks in Brentwood, especially a psychologist, Ruiz I think, had  said I was “grandiose and delusional”.  He wanted to make sure I understood what had been said and that I was being released because I wasn’t a threat to any one.

They provided a taxi to take me back to the car in Brentwood. I still had to drive to Alameda where I was house sitting, having been driven out of the house I was in in Brentwood.  I’ll get to that.

It was 10:00 pm and I was dead tired but still had to drive using GPS ’cause I can’t find my way around a cardboard box anymore and it’s dark and my eyes are shit. I make it to Alameda, unload the car ’cause I had stuff still left at Amanda’s and passed out on the bed and didn’t wake up until Diana found the car open the next morning with the keys on the roof, the car door open, the garage door open, the patio door open and me groggily dealing with being shouted awake.

The aftermath sucked. I dreamed that night. The first time I know of since the stroke. Of mom beating me and the cops helping her. Mmmm, happy memories.

I tried contacting news agencies, including 7 On Your Side, but nothing. No one gives a shit. Hey, at least I’m not black!  They wouldn’t have released me then. Probably.

And six weeks later, I had a knock on the door at 11:45 pm. It was the Alameda PD and they were checking on me over a suicide treat. A what? Facebook had called them because of a post I had made earlier that night. Yeah. a Facebook post for my GoFundMe campaign where, in the 2nd to last paragraph I had written, “would rather wrap my car around a post”, was a suicide treat. Frisked, handcuffed, and boarded onto an ambulance and taken to a Psychiatric ER in San Leandro where I was released 13 hours later when they had determined I wasn’t about to commit suicide.

Why did they take me in? That 5150 in Brentwood a few weeks earlier. That FALSE police report by that Bitch Berg and her Psychologist partner.

You know what else Contra Costa has done to me? Charged me for the ambulance ride to Martinez. They also banned me from using Brentwood Clinic because they want to spare their employees from unruly patients.

How about sparing their patients from do-nothing, lying staff? Terrorizing patients?  Physically detaining them? Why not start with that, Director of Ambulatory Services?

Then there was the whole bit with my dear friend Amanda and her fucking “happiness”. Why not try a new therapist after 8 years and not blaming everyone else for your issues? I had a stroke with brain death. Didn’t know? Neither did I. Did you ask? Neither did I, because I didn’t know what to ask even  and I couldn’t form words, dumb fuck. Did up on look it up on your phone like you do everything else? I had a tendency to cry. Not because you. Not that I could control it. It wasn’t meant to upset YOU or cause YOU distress. My brain isn’t under my control anymore. I wasn’t “doing” anything to you, you fat selfish fuck! I wasn’t conscious of any it.

When I made that Facebook post, I didn’t include you BECAUSE I WAS ALREADY LIVING WITH YOU AT YOUR INVITATION. I had to leave BECAUSE  YOU WERE MOVING. I asked if any of the people I knew had room to spare, and you went ballistic and MOVED UP THE DATE I HAD TO BE OUT. Not February as you first said. Not even January. But NOVEMBER JUST A FEW WEEKS AWAY.

You accused me of doing something to your skirt (ugly shit) and Brandon’s  boxers. Like what? WTF? I did your laundry every week, put it all away, fixed your closet so you could find shit one place in your fucking house that wasn’t a pig sty, and  you wanted to know what I had done with them? How fucking sick are you? After I had been doing it for months, falling and stepping over shit constantly. Cleaning up after myself just as I had in my own house which you hardly ever do except put it in the sink. Maybe. Bitch at your daughter for not cleaning up the bathroom to your expectations. When the fuck did you ever cleanup after yourself? Use a garbage can, not a bag on a hook in the kitchen that would be overflowing so trash was on the floor and all over the kitchen. Empty Dr. Pepper bottles on the couch. Candy wrappers between the sofa cushions. Shoes all over the floor at the base of the stairs for someone with a limp and movement issues to slip or trip over?

I was keeping Lili from doing her chores? I loaded the dishwasher so there would be plates and utensils to use for eating, not just stacked in the sink until she got to them eventually.

Sorry I had a stroke Amanda. It was cruel of me to have one and impacting you. How rude of me. What a rotten way to abuse our friendship. What a terrible thing to do to our  business. That same business that 2 weeks after my stroke, you needed to know if I was “in it or not”. Two fucking weeks, and I could barely talk, yet I have to have  give you an answer because you have to know because of your mental issues? Fuck that shit! Everyone has to kowtow to you and your issues. There are other people in the world. No wonder you have difficulty being partners with anyone else. You’re a self important bitch who can’t deal with anyone else suggestions until you can usurp them. Get a free ride and bitch how they do nothing. How about you not sharing but just taking over?

That weekend in Sonora? I assembled the shelving I had and you “helped” by holding the uprights while I drilled and fastened them together. I took them in from my car and I took them out to my car. Pine Ikea Ivar side rails and shelves. Shelves weighting 8 lbs each and there were more than 20 of them. I had brought enough for 21′ of shelving, but I stopped at 12′ because You didn’t want that much. You have a bad back, so you were useless. I have a bad back too, and that might have been the reason for my brain being deprived of oxygen when my neck muscles spasmed.  I wanted the show to be successful for you and it almost KILLED ME.  But, I am complaining out of turn. At least I got $160 from that show. How much I spent – who knows. I really enjoyed having to return the shelving to storage by my self. Moving boxes just to get to the space to return all that to my rented space A WEEK AFTER THE STROKE. Just so I could save you money and Brandon didn’t have to build anything.

I treated you so well. Like a little sister. If I were a lesser person, I would say you’re a self serving cunt, but that’s not me .  And I was never “critical” of your parenting, never said you lied to your kids, never made a claim against your narrow minded anti-immigrant rants. I had a different view and it was non-confrontational. Pity you never learned civil discourse. “They did stuff that affected me” isn’t an excuse to go off on someone else. A Muslim high school won’t impact your property value.

How did that move to Vacaville go? Oh wait. You didn’t move. Oops. My mistake. Good thing I got out of your life.

You did take me to a couple of doctor’s appointments. You did come  to the hospital when I had the stroke. I drove myself because ambulances are so expensive and you had your twice weekly therapist appointment that day – and needed it – so I drove myself. 3 days in the hospital. The only time I have ever stayed at the hospital that I can recall. Drove home too. I didn’t want to upset the little one. And that’s my problem – I don’t want to be a bother.

Less than two months before, I had a cousin  from Dad’s side of the family find me on Facebook. And I found out how much Mom and Dad lied about, especially Mom. I had a brother. Dad had a biological son and she alienated Dad’s family so they wouldn’t lie about what she had done FOR YEARS.  I knew I was adopted when I was 11, because Mom was a lousy liar, but Dad? Because of her, of course. Whatever kept her happy and quiet. Gunn was wife #3 and he had a child with #2? God forbid she was a STEP -MOTHER. She was barely a mother. That was too much to deal with and with a complete and healthy brain.

And 2 years ago I moved back to the Bay Area after taking care of Mom, her life and her estate, in Southern California with no help from anyone and she had Alzheimer’s Dementia.

That is my life in 24 grueling months. Good times, right?

Thank you to my Norwegian Anderson relatives, for your support and caring, especially since I needed that for my mental health and well being. Dad was a good man with serious flaws, a screwed up 3rd wife and in-laws. I got nothing from the Jorgensen side who lambasted me for telling ugly truth about the dead and didn’t say one fucking word about my stroke. That meant so much. Especially Freddy and his “good words”. Fucking lies and opinions based on NOTHING.

Author: Vykinghart

A divergent catalyst trying to make the world a better place while screaming from a tiny soapbox.

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