I have a GoFundMe campaign and I have been truthful and honest. Just like I am here. I have nothing to hide, unlike Gunn, my adopted mother. She would be ashamed of me now that I am disabled. That is the way she was. A stroke was something you could overcome, if you had the proper strength. She was convinced Dad could “overcome” his stroke with no help, no therapy. It was mind over facts of life, and doctor’s lied to make money and keep you feeble or incapacitated because it benefitted them.
Her basis of “truth” was so farfetched I often asked her what color the sky was in her world, as she didn’t live in ours. She refused for the hospice workers to give Dad morphine for his pain. Refused to let the hospice workers massage his limbs that were atrophying due to lack of movement. Made him get up with little help to use the bathroom, as he wouldn’t like to wear a diaper. She didn’t ever suffer a stroke. Seeing Dad in pain and so frustrated due to being unable to speak; listening to her constant yelling to get better and not be “that way” was an emotional battle neither of us could tolerate.
Dad and I communicated with our eyes. I never had to tell at him. I spoke slowly and in a calm tone. I had adjusted my speech so he could hear me when I was a teen. He had a constant ringing in his ears from WWII. Hearing aides couldn’t help him. High pitched voices were hard for him to understand. I came to realize that, so I adapted. Gunn never did.
She did little to make his life easier in anything. Just what made her happy and satisfied and she lied about everything else. She took him away from me earlier than he should have died.
Enough about Gunn. She ruined our lives, kept us from doing what we wanted, but she’s dead and gone now and good riddance. She can challenge God or the Devil for ownership rights. She will loose, but she will try! It has to be the “right way”, whatever that is in her mind.
Back to me…..because this is my blog.
I was “chastised” by a donor on my GoFundMe page for blaming others, for not selling my stuff in storage, I have money for cigarettes and liquor, I’ve received $4100 but I’m poor? And she donated $5 to tell me off. “You have TWO storage lockers? Sell YOUR stuff. You want to burn our candle at both ends.” Etc, and so on. As if $4100 goes that far over months and I have car insurance to pay and my cell phone and gas for doctor’s appointments and a Motel room when I can afford it.
It gets eaten up and I’m living in the car. When I get a place, I should have nothing but buy as I can afford to? My bed in storage has less than a year’s use. It’s been in storage longer than I slept on it, and the one I had before I had been sleeping on that through 2 marriages and it’s useful life. A dining room table that my parent’s bought in Norway in 1985 and is in really good, pristine shape, that I couldn’t sell for any more than $300 and it’s solid Teak! That area she lived in was notoriously cheap. Why selling from there was so impossible. I sold what I could and gave away a bunch. The local charities knew me well.
Sell now from a storage “locker”? How? It’s not like a garage sale. I can’t “place it on display” and invite people to observe and pick. And it’s not something I can physically do either. That stroke thing and the unstableness and the left side weakness.
There was also a comment about my purchasing cigarettes and alcohol. I have had the equivalent of 4 beers and 1 bottle of wine in the LAST YEAR. Cigarettes? Yeah, that’s my addiction and help’s me get through the day with my anxiety issues. I smoke because I am constantly anxious. It’s worse since I’m homeless. Hey, I’m not doing meth or drinking myself into a stupor! Maybe I should. At least I’ll be using the money as it’s thought to be.
I should have a place to live. Yeah, get a place with $4100. It’s not like I got that in one fell swoop. Is there any where other than Motel 6 you can stay for $4100 for more than a month? It’s usually a six month thing and you have to pass a credit check, have “reserves” and show you can pay it.
I am awaiting my Award letter from Social Security. It takes 2 months now. It used to be 3! I still have nothing for more months. What am I supposed to do? Sit in the car and not move or go to the doctor’s, starve but be thankful to be alive?
I dare any of you to abandon your home and comforts, walk way from your job and live in your car for 1 month with a laundry basket of clothes, a cooler with some non-perishable food and your cell phone. Go to a town your passingly familiar with and be homeless. Don’t know what services are available. Go to churches and ask for help. See how long you last. Hope you’re not disabled. God will look after you if you pray. Jesus loves you! He died for you! He may have died for me, but I’m dying out here with Jesus’ love to keep me warm!
I am a Christian, but sorry, He has too many people to take care of already. He can overlook one soul if another is dying by their own hand and He needs to step in because that person hasn’t done what they were intended to do. It could happen more than you think. God’s a busy dude! Think how much time He spends on prayers for sports teams, concerts, women or men in trouble with their significant other, kids who are walking into parental angst over something they did. We pray for everything, like God is the that drive through attendant at In’n Out Burger. “I’ll have a Double-Double with a side of Blessing. No pickles. And a Diet Coke.”
And, pray Jesus, Christoher can avoid the tackles and make that first down! No head injuries for my little boy! Thank you Jesus!
Maybe he shouldn’t be playing that sport until they change the conduct of play? Flag football was great when played it, as the quarterback. I still got tackled and that’s why I can’t play guitar. My pinky was broken so often, I can’t hold a C chord. My football career was over!
Dad wanted me to play soccer before it was the rage here. Um, no? All that running and barely scores a point? Ah hell no! Do that foreigner thing and be even more ostracized. I had plenty, thank you.
Back to homeless with stuff. I haven’t met a homeless person without a storage unit or stashing their belongings in someone’s garage or something. They spend money on that. You can’t carry everything with you. If you can, you haven’t done much in life, have you. If you lived in Tornado Alley, all your things, even your dogs, were blown away! But you found the dogs the next day and you moved to the Pacific Northwest where Tornadoes don’t happen. My friends story. They survived with the trauma.
Losing your home, everything you own, your pets, memories from childhood, from your children or parents, even just pictures, is hard and feels like slowly dying. You have an insurable disease. You know you are going to die, you just don’t know when. When you have lost enough and it doesn’t matter. You get to watch it being purchased by someone’s else at auction and there is nothing you can do. What happens to your Father’s ashes? That needlework you had framed and gave it to him again 50 years after it was placed in a streamer trunk? The joy on his face. Something you will never forget! And all you can do is cry now and beg him for forgiveness because you never meant to disappoint him.
Who gives a crap about Gunn. She wanted me to become a registered nurse. Not a doctor! Only men could do that! No, a registered nurse, so I could take care of her as she got older. Like I didn’t?! Cook her food, that she would eat, Clean her house to her specifications weekly. Do her laundry per her specifications and not include my own. Don’t pay the water district or electric company since they were trying to cheat her. Make sure I paid the mortgage even though I wasn’t working since she got me fired because she was more important than they were.
But I’m complaining about everyone else to solicit sympathy. No, I’m stating my reality. What to switch? I would have loved to have been married to someone who was even slightly dedicated and worthy of praise that he would accept. Even hunger for promotions and seeking a better life. Someone who loved me and wanted children. Who took his health seriously and went to doctor’s appointments to take care of issues or problems. Not wait 30 years to deal with his inability to pee like a normal man. Is sterile from a childhood accident with a girls bike. Allowing me to take the “pill” throughout our marriage so I wouldn’t get pregnant when we couldn’t afford it. As if you can ever plan to “afford” a child. Or taking the stance on adoption “you never know what you will get” since they are some times “defective”, you uncaring little cretin of a man. I was adopted! Thank God they didn’t get a defect! Even better, you didn’t marry one!
Putz. Thank God I divorced your selfish, unsympathetic, uncommunicative ass. When did you ever think of anyone outside your “chanting”. SGI and Buddhism as a whole teaches a different life than you’re living. My conversion would do nothing for your Practice. No brownie point’s for you. It’s not the way it works. I didn’t convert because I saw nothing that convinced me your religion was better. Worshipping nothing, chanting to a scroll, getting together with others to chant for world peace. Maybe the last one, but it requires conversion? Nah, I don’t think so. Your Mom explained it better than you ever did, and she was raised Methodist! You don’t have to give up one religion for another. You can be both, if you can handle it. It’s the actions you take. Jesus may have studied Buddhism during those years of wandering. Much of what He teaches would appear Buddhist. You should read more about religions. Educate yourself on the topics you DON’T know about.
Wow, this is a rambling post. Sorry.
I am so frustrated by people making assumptions. Knowing more than me and have never taken a step in my shoes. Have I complained much. Yes, I guess I have, but it wasn’t for nothing. I have seen how others have lived throughout my decade’s on this earth and I have envied their lives. A mother’s love without criticism. I knew that from my Mother-in-law. I truly loved her. She was like a mother to me. Or my friends’ Mom’s. Like Becki’s or Chris’ or Liz’s. They each had their good points. I had a good Dad. I had one good parent. And I am thankful for that.
But to criticize me for having to beg for money since I don’t fit into their little box for what I am supposed to be? I am not going to be shamed by that because “she” hasn’t lived my life or what I have been through. Sorry it’s not in your cup of tea really, it is mine. Honestly, I couldn’t give a flying fuck over what she thinks, but to state I spend money on those necessities needed for an apartment someday and I spend money on alcohol and cigarettes? Give me a fucking break. I’m not a user. I’m not on drugs other than those prescribed by a doctor to keep me ALIVE. It’s hard enough just taking that bunch DAILY and over a dozen. I spend money on Depends and laundry. I overflow the Depends often enough since some restrooms are a hike to get to at night. And I don’t enjoy smelling like urine. Sorry. I am homeless but I don’t have to smell like a stereotypical homeless woman. The stares are bad enough.
After seeing a post on Facebook, it is believed I received a $4100 donation. I didn’t. I am retiring my previous campaign and added a donation and commented that it was a transfer. Not actual cash for the future. Trying to update on a cell phone isn’t working obviously correctly. I did that to credit many who have donated but wanted to remain anonymous. Bit me in the ass.
That’s enough for now. Too many awful things to process for me. I just need enough to survive. This is posted on the Internet. My campaign is public. This post will be linked to Twitter, Facebook, WordPress, and LinkedIn. And that $4100 was the amount previously donated to my other campaign. It’s gone. It has been used. My repetitiveness is due to my brain injury. That’s what I deal with every minute of every day. I’m sorry if that frustrates you. Imagine how it is for me.