We Will Die, Living Like This

Melodramatic? Yeah. It is, but after I get a few “problems” off my chest, I think you’ll understand.

And I will be “graphic” and “putting my business out there” and I just don’t care anymore. I cry daily. Feeling human is something I miss. Being “private” is a luxury that I foolishly can’t enjoy. Just when I think things can’t get worse, they do. My life is an endless mudslide into an abyss.

Before I go to the boring doldrums, I just want to convey hopes and dreams I have. I want to write – multiple books regarding my stroke and recovery, homelessness, adoption, the wicked witch/psychotic bitch who was my adopted mother, the flawed man I hero-worshipped (and still do). And a few other things if I have time. Even some fiction! But I also want to do something for the homeless community, advocacy, give people hope – because there is NONE. Cots at shelters, so people don’t have to sleep on the floor. A PEMANEENT PLACE FOR THEM TO SLEEP IN THE TRI-VALLEY OF NORTHERN CALIFORNIA. This “system” frankly sucks! Those “not-in-my-backyard” jackasses need to SHUT-UP, quite whining about how grren their grass is, how the homeless are trouble makers and leave dirt and debris in their wake, and, God Forbid!, congregate!

Not ALL homeless people are drug addicts.

Not ALL homeless people are alcoholics.

Not ALL homeless people have mental illness, i.e, CRAZY.

Not ALL homeless people want to be lazy and do nothing.

Not ALL homeless people want to sleep outside.

Not ALL homeless people are dangerous

Not ALL homeless people HATE YOU.

Not ALL homeless people will accept that God will take care of them. He will not quench your thirst. He will not feed you. He will not put gas in your car or drive you to a church serving food. And if your feet are blistered and you cannot walk, he will not physically carry you to food and water. Quote all the scripture you want. Believe in those words. Give your life to Him. I did. And He has been there for me, so many times, but did He stay the hand of my adopted mother when she insisted Dad needed to stop a needed medication? No. He had a series of strokes and died. Did he stop her from throwing out my medication, as she was insisting that her family didn’t suffer from Diabetes or High Blood Pressure, so I didn’t either! And how does that work, Gunn, when you didn’t give birth to me? I have the caesarean scar! Yeah, from that girl you had in 1963 that you buried. God didn’t make crazy go away, keep her from beating me, screaming at me, accusing me so many lies, for soooo many years. He stopped none of it. Yet I still prayed. And I still do, but nothing will change. At least she died, but not before I started having mini-strokes. Hell, she almost succeeded in killing me. I never raised a hand to her. I yelled. I screamed. And how much I wanted to hit her for every time she hit me, slapped me, called me a whore, ransacked my room in an attempt to find proof that I was a whore. I just remembered what Dad said, “That’s just the way she is. There is nothing we can do.” There was Dad, you just never had the balls to do it.

Homeless are scary. They scare me, and I am one of them. But they are desperate and afraid and most know they are living on borrower time and don’t expect their lives to get any better.

They are without hope.

Being homeless will change you mentally. There are too many factors that our brains cannot find ways to “cope”, and this is my issue.

I can type as I once spoke, but speaking is HARD for me now. I was a public speaker. I enjoyed speaking before a crowd! Now I can barely talk to one person if no one else is around. I stutter. Words fail me, meaning I know what to say, but I physically can’t because I can’t remember how to form those words. I cannot modulate my voice. I can’t keep the emotion out. I am crying now just typing this. The lasting effect of my TBI. There are “therapies” that can be taught to me and I can work on them. Just as I can get my singing voice back. With time and effort. Maybe. If I get the right speech therapist.

Somehow, I don’t think I’m gonna get a good one. There us only one facility available for my insurance here in Alameda, and the last time I was there, it put my brain into major chaos. My cognitive “impairment” exploded , and I shut down. That “impairment”, the full impact of my TBI, is debilitating and there is no one to talk to about it, unless I go back to UCSF. I may have to, to get the help I need.

I am struggling, and I can’t fix it! I could always fix anything before, but now? I have my good days, and I have my dead days where I can do nothing. Just driving on auto pilot and praying I am not asked what to do or where to go. And I feel so guilty for not being better with Will, but a major portion of my brain is dead and it isn’t coming back. Neuroplasticity be damned! I’ll get some of my old self back, but not close to all of it. Always wanting to please and never doing that. There is much I want to do!

I especially want medical treatment for Will so he isn’t in pain or his cancer kills him. So Gary doesn’t win. Again. That brother of his should burn in hell, along with that skank of a wife. How can you abuse your mother, your daughter, your brother? How do you live with yourself? Your mother dies and you greedy bastard, you just want what is coming to you. Just like when your Dad was dying, use your uncle and have the will changed on his deathbed. Make sure Will is NOT the executor. When Mom has died, lie in court and steal Will’s executorship and have him evicted from the house you both grew up in and he has lived in TAKING CARE OF YOUR MOTHER FOR 10+ YEARS, his name is on the utilities, but file an illegal detainer – as if he was a renter – and have the sheriffs remove him and threaten to have Andy put in a Kill shelter, or have him thrown in the trash, you caustic, sick fuck. I know the skeletons in YOUR closet.

Hire attorneys to sue Gary, and they side with Gary, saying I am not helping Will. Will should take the pittance Gary is offering. Will should have the house, unencumbered with that fucking loan that is on it that is YOURS Gary. You never helped with ANY of the costs to keep your Mom safe and happy at the end of her life. No, you bitched when she bought an Accord. That was too expensive! Why couldn’t she buy something cheaper? She needed a good car when she was still working at Intel? She felt safe in it? Balderdash! She was wasting your inheritance! You and Colleen lived there for years, and you bitched that the house wasn’t updated. That the house fire was her or Will’s fault. As if a Major Appraiser would remove a fire door and replace it with a plain old interior door, Or that Dorothy would! Odd, how the fire inspector commented on that, and odd that it looked so much like the interior doors found in a house like yours? Who was always coming over to the house, using a key they weren’t supposed to have AS THEY DIDN’T LIVE THERE ANYMORE? How much did you and Colleen “borrow” over the years?

Will often wonders how is niece is. Gary alienated her from the family. She was as close as a daughter to him that he will ever have. He wonders if she took Victoria with her, and how sorry he is that he was so dense he didn’t realize what she meant back then. He was taking care of grandma, and that was a fulltime job! Keeping her from running down the street, sans clothes, was a challenge. He feels guilty that he wasn’t able to fulfill her final wishes. Often, in his sleep, he begs for her forgiveness. He thinks he failed her. And you. You have Grandma’s blood running in your veins, young lady! Good on you for taking your life in YOUR hands!

I’ve rattled on about THAT long enough. Back to what is at hand.

We both need medical attention. I need a social worker. I need someone to speak for me, and It isn’t going to be Will. He can’t, as often as he tries. The alcoholism is an issue, with memory and patience and “stuff”. My one income, the Socal Security, isn’t enough. There are “low-income” housing projects, and the minimum income requirement is more than my social security. And we are still waiting on Will’s final determination. They have turned him down for Social Security Disability. His $340 a month for General Assistance doesn’t count for much of anything. At least he has food stamps. I got a whooping $15 a month! Peanut and Butter Sandwiches will be all that I can afford. Perfect diet for a diabetic!

I can’t even get a glucose monitor because the prescription says testing 4 times a day, but I’m not on insulin, I’m on Trulicity, so that “perception” needs to indicate 1 per day. I had a fucking stroke BECAUSE I’m a diabetic, but Testing once pre day is hunky dory? Give me a fucking break!

Insurance company “rules” will kill people. We do have death panels to save THEIR money, not our lives. It isn’t Obamacare. It this colossal mess the Republicans have created in attempting to abolish healthcare for all.

I can’t even get a prescription for Depends, and I can’t see a specialist until December. I am homeless, but the company that supplies the Depends, or a portable commode, needs it in writing from the Doctor that I AM NOT RESIDING IN A DOMICILE. I have a PO Box. I live in a car. But the doctor needs to write that in a note, otherwise Medicare won’t cover it. In the meantime, I urinate on myself daily. I even defecated in my underwear this morning waiting for the bathroom to become available at Starbucks.

Throwing away a brand new pair of underwear is difficult for me. I haven’t shit in my pants since I was a child and had a stomach ailment. That was at KMart. I kept telling Mom I had to go to the bathroom, but she said to hold it until after they had paid and were leaving. My bowels made their own decision. Anyway, because the need was so great, I choose Starbucks instead of Safeway, because I figured I would probably soil myself driving over to Safeway. It didn’t matter.

To be 54 years old and defecate or urinate in my underwear is sick and sad and pathetic, and I can’t help wondering how bad I smell? Gunn was so particular about “smell” and “looks” and “being dirty”. She gave me a fucking complex, and that is what ran through my head this morning that I felt like an animal, not human, disgusting and loathsome. Just what she complained about all the time.

If we had a place to stay, a place to lay down with a bathroom and a kitchen, it would be so different. But we don’t, and it isn’t looking good for us anytime soon. Fill this out, jump through these hoops, and maybe you’ll be lucky enough to be on a waiting list or the lottery. No guarantee of how long or even if,but you have a chance to maybe, to possibly live there someday, like 9 years from now..

At least it isn’t a plot in a cemetery. That’s something. Those cost good money. If you’re homeless, you’ll be lucky to have an unmarked grave. At least the County will do that for you.

Lots of reasons to be depressed, and I can’t “talk” about it without breaking down. The TBI Effect.

We need help. We need other voices speaking for us. Some news coverage? Report this to a Bay Area Channel. I have tried to reach out via Twitter and Facebook, and often shocked how so many are able to raise huge sums through GoFundMe. I guess Will and I are too average. God has abandoned us, since he’s “gay” and I’m not Narrow. We can manage on our own. We have no children, and we have to be to blame for whatever happened to make us homeless.

Am I complaining too much? If you could walk in my shoes for just ONE DAY, you would understand and ask “how do you do it”? That’s just it, we can’t.

Thank you for reading, and this is the link to the GoFundMe, for what it’s worth. http://gofundme.com/f/life4wng20

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Nothing Like Beating Someone When They’re Already Down

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.

http://www.gofundme.com/life4wng20

Trials and Tribulations

Trying to take care of things, but living out of a car is hard. Especially when there are two of you and a dog, and the human Male has ADHD and a short fuse. A loud fuse. He was spoiled by his mom throughout his life and lives that reality. Facing the daily truth is too hard for him since it is his brother’s doing. But Gary isn’t dealing with it. I am. Someone has to, because Will shouldn’t die like this. His mom would never want that. I respect Dorothy’s memory too much for that.

Paperwork is “misplaced”. Keeping track is hard, especially when he moves stuff and the car is “messy”. I try to keep it clean, but he shoves trash in nooks and crannies to be “throw out” later because his back hurts so much. I keep a trash bag and place trash in there and he stuffs that into a clear cranny and it is overlooked until the smell starts. Yuck. Cleaning the car is a weekly chore I go through and he fusses he’s tired.

It’s like being married without any sex. That’s why he’s a trophy husband. He makes up for it 95% of the time. That 5% is a challenge due to my disability, which he doesn’t really understand part of the time. He doesn’t understand I can’t control the emotional outbursts. They can improve with therapy, but my neurologist doesn’t know how to refer me with MediCal.

That meeting was so depressing yesterday. My deficits are no doubt permanent. If I have another stroke, go to Valley Care/ Stanford Medical, otherwise good luck. No further follow-up, until I have another stroke. Gee thanks. That’s what I wanted to hear. UCSF was more upbeat than him, but they didn’t send him the notes from the last meeting, so he had nothing to review or reference.

It seems I have to make sure everyone gets the information they need as it happens. No one talks to anyone else, or faxes the documentation to the referring doctor. I’ll follow up with my new PCP. She is on top of referrals and medication, more so than the last one. I got my optometry referral already. I see the doctor next Friday!

I talked to Social Security today and updated my address. The appeal decision can take 2-3 months, more than likely 2. They are improving! Until that has been typed into the system, nothing moves forward. 2 months!? I can’t handle this, especially since Contra Costa screwed up so bad. I have too much to pay out when I receive the Award, whenever that is and if they don’t question something or they want something else. I just know other’s who have had issues and it doesn’t help my paranoia.

What I need to take care of in the next month:

– My car registration that was due 12/8/2018

– My main storage unit that they have offered to let my pay half if I get it moved out within 3 days of paying IN CASH approx. $1500 and not including a truck or helpers to load to a truck(s)

– Paying my 2nd storage unit because it’s behind as I didn’t have the funds when it was due. Cell phone and car insurance has to be paid and there wasn’t enough left over for that since the $320 a month for General Assistance goes to gas for the car too. And we have to go to the doctor’s and move around or be sited for loitering.

– A motel room for 1 night a week for a shower and to sleep flat. Will needs it nightly, but 1 night a week is ok for me. My back readjusts and I’m ok for a week. He needs his back surgery and a referral to an oncologist.

-My car fixed. I “beached” Cutty (Dad’s 1998 Oldsmobile Cutlass) on a median in the dark and in the rain and it has happened before to others, including a car that a tow truck helped an hour before me. My alignment is so off, I had to have 2 tires replaced and the back strut is “peeing” (must be replaced). I have no money for that. I used what I had from a small inheritance I received for the tires so I could drive and that’s all gone now. Kevin, my new mechanic of choice, said the strut would be another $250, not counting the alignment or whatever else is wrong with Cutty as she creaks more than she ever did. There is more damage that we don’t know about.

That is just some of it, but the most pressing. A home would be nice, but not in the horizon with all the issues having to do with project specific paper work and no award letter stating I am receiving SSI. I have nothing and no hope for the future, because if my appeal is denied, I can appeal again and I will give up. I can’t go through this again sleeping in the car. And there is no help with Homeless Services. That is just a joke. I can’t get my car registration paid without getting an updated bill from the DMV as if they would pay it then. I have given them a bill, a printout, with dates to pay by and they blew right past those. I can’t trust or depend on CityServe.

Please help if you can or share. I need help because the services for a person like me (disabled and not an Addict or with a record) aren’t there. I am able to be “well”, supposedly. No, I’m not and either is Will. We can wait, if we don’t die first.

http://www.gofundme.com/life4wng20

What I Miss Everyday…

What I miss every moment of everyday…

A kitchen to warm water for tea or make a cup of soup or make a hot meal.

A bathroom within a few feet so when I need to use the toilet, I don’t have to do the walk of shame when my pad overflows and the urine soaks my jeans and socks.

A bed to lay flat on. Not a yoga mat and a sleeping bag on the cold, drafty floor where I have to struggle to get up without pee-ing myself. And no one questioning me why I’m up at 2:30 am.

Blankets and pillows to nestle into on a cold and wet day. Being able to sleep until 8 am or 9am, not 7 am when I have to be up and out and expected to have my car out of the parking lot of the church-for-the-week because it upsets the neighbor’s and they consider it “congregating”.

Fruits and vegetables in abundance whenever I want them. Not once every few days and just one not the other.

Fruit juice or V8 with no High Fructose Corn Syrup. And a hot meal everyday. God I miss that.

Not having to explain to everyone I have a brain injury and they won’t get it. I look fine but I’m not. Looks mean nothing to selfish, uneducated, uncaring cretins.

A place to sleep, safe, confrontation free. It shouldn’t be too much to ask for.

I want a normal life like everyone else. I’m sorry I had a stroke that didn’t kill me. I’m sorry I’m a burden on society. I’d correct it if I could.

wwe.gofundme.com/Life4V

Giving Tuesday

The holiday season is in full swing as we are a day away from Thanksgiving. I will be spending my day at St. Raymond’s in Dublin, California with my homeless friends enjoying a notable spread. It sounds exiting. I miss Thanksgiving with my in-laws. I miss Thanksgiving with Dad.  I have no family, so this is the closest I can get.

I wrote a letter to the East Bay Times today. I am including it for your edification

Email: local@eastbaynewsgroup. com

RE: Contra Costa Health Plan is committing malpractice

Contra Costa Health Plan could have killed me by doing it slowly and painfully. Here is what happened and I have filed with the California Medical Board.

I had a stroke 11/29/2016. CCHP failed to follow standard stroke protocol. My eating issues was an eating disorder. My incontinence was “the Change” though I’ve never given birth. I have Pseudo-Bulbar Affect, a neurological imbalance that can be treated with medication (I wail if I become slightly emotional), but I need to seen by a psychiatrist for my eating disorder and depression. But I wasn’t given referrals as I didn’t have “real” symptoms and the doctors were busy with real patients. Not just one doctor – it is systemic. A Nurse Practitioner, lied to her colleagues and accused me of assaulting her during a routine appointment where she had failed to refill several blood pressure medications, a psychologist claimed I was “grandiose and delusional”, though I had stability issues and used a cane to walk.
On November 1st of this year. I received a diagnosis of Vascular Lacunar Stroke by UCSF Vascular-Neurology Services, and they used the 11/29/2016 scans which showed a history of vascular lacunar infarcts. Something CCHP all but denied.
They said I had a lacunar stroke, an aneurysm, but VLS is specific and a rarity when not in your mid-60’s. I was 51 and it can be an indication if Vascular Dementia, Alzheimer’s nasty cousin.
Being 5150’d and falsely accused was traumatic enough. Getting the bill for the ambulance was adding insult to injury. Not addressing my stroke was criminal and impacted my ability to secure SSI. which I was denied the first time since there was no history of doctors appointments for my stroke recovery.
I have a diagnosed cognitive brain injury and CCHP actively and intentionally committed malpractice, even though they were being compensated by the State via Medi-Cal through the Medicaid expansion via Obamacare.
I won’t bother to go into detail about Contra Costa Social Services. Simply put – they suck, are woefully mismanaged and dehumanize as opposed to “helping”.
Sincerely,
Venka Anderson
And I emailed the California Medical Board to revise my complaints to include Contra Costa Health Plan, not just 2 doctors. Their overall medical practice is atrocious. I can’t be the only one.
I remind you this is Giving Tuesday and I still have my own campaign http://www.gofundme/com/life4v which deperately needs your support.  Please let me know what you think – here or on Facebook under the page @onetinysoapox. Thank you for joining me on this journey. I’m not done yet.

Week Two of Homelessness

Still getting the hand of this different way of life. Can’t type too long. I have a therapist appointment with my MFT Pam. She’s awesome and I have so much to tell her.

These last 2 weeks have been a cyclone.

Donna and Bob – the homeless is their ministry. Donna has been so helpful and caring. A vision of the mother I wish I had had. Kind, caring, compassionate with encouraging words. I want to be her when I grow up! I’m grown, I need to achieve what I was meant to be – an advocate for the less fortunate, the voiceless, the broken. What I’ve always wanted but didn’t know how. This lesson has shown me, and my viking heart has an enemy to battle. No two-handed broad sword, just a voice, a pen and ink – or a laptop and WiFi. Donna encourages me to accomplish this,

I am thankful to have a place to sleep. even though it’s on the floor and difficult for me to get up and lay down, to even turn over. And my back hurts so much! A sleeping bag doesn’t provide much cushioning.

You get home after a doctors appointment and you find the locks changed. You’re barred from entering. You go back to your car confused and don’t understand what happened. You drive off not sure where to go, but you go off to cry because there is nothing else to do. You text later, asking to pick up your life saving meds, some clothes, your laptop. You receive a text q few hours later saying to come and get that. Except everything you had in an upstairs bedroom has been brought into the living room, your clothe in a pile on their hangers, boxes stacked up, bags thrown in. You have to decide RIGHT THAT MINUTE what you need. A folding table is set up in the driveway to facilitate moving things out and to the car because you can’t carry much because you’re so unstable. You bring out the suitcase and it’s almost dark, so you put it in the trunk and the clothes in the back seat because you can’t take the humiliation of “packing” in the driveway. Your food is one a cooler bag. You manage to grab your meds, your laptop, your dirty clothes, your clean clothes, your parka and your cell charger and you leave just as the sun is dipping into the west.

You don’t think of your backpack, or your gloves, or your knit cap you made last winter which would be perfect to over your infected ears. You have one book and on lame knitting project. The rest is under a trap in the backyard, except for the PC Tower which is indoors.  The entire incident was traumatizing, dehumanizing and frankly cruel. The horror I went through the day before determining what mistakes I had made to come to this stage – I’m 53, not 23. I have been a business professional. I took care of my adopted mother full time for 3 years.  I sacrificed my life for that ungrateful, hateful, destructive bitch and for ANYONE to pass judgement of me now?  Where were you when I was going through that? Why didn’t you tell me then I was making a mistake. I wasn’t selfish enough to not give a damn about an octegarian who had no family here to take care of her. Oops, my bad. I didn’t know the extent of her lies at that point. It wasn’t until after her death the truth was known. Was that my bad? Not how Dad raised me. You adjust and find a new path. What we had done for year.

I took a verbal berating from a man I had respected, but abhorred now for his small mindedness, his obvious dismissal, his abject cruelty. I would have parried with a verbal retort, something along the lines his lineage was showing or such an imbecile who claims intellectual superiority, but with my cognitive brain injury I just managed to squeak out “Fuck you Gary”. And he was obviously offended and I was now vicious, no wonder I had been thrown out before, etc., etc. When I stammered out it took everything I had not to drive out to the desert and slash my wrists, he made some comment that it wasn’t  a bad idea. I can’t remember the exact words, but it wasn’t anything to dissuade me from suicide. I’m going to live if only to prove he is a heartless dick. I feel sorry for his wife of 46 years. Being the butt of jokes, constant jibes, heartless goading – it is demeaning and I don’t see it improving a they get older.  It wears at your soul.

Not being heard isn’t that different and I lived with that throughout my childhood and my marriage.  I dreamed of a different reality and it never appeared.

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