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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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

It’s Getting Too Hard To Live

It will be the 2 month Anniversary in 3 days of my sudden and incomprehensible homeless status. That in itself is depressing.

Thanks Myrna. That wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t such guilt-filled tool to your spoiled and ungrateful adopted teenage daughter. As my generation says – Fuck that noise. But I lecture, and she knows everything. I’ll refrain from saying something truly offensive since you still have my property under tarps in your backyard on earth which is probably muddy and a quagmire.

That’s one issue I have to deal/live with.

There is a housing crisis, and women witg children in dire situations have priority. Or assicts seeking recovery. Or newly released felons that want a path back to a normal life. Everyone else, get on line. The cities don’t fully comprehend how severe the homeless situation is.

Later this month, an organization called CityServe out of Pleasanton is recruiting homeless individual’s to help their employees find and meet homeless people they might not have had contact with yet. To get a number.

The homeless will hide, stay away, because they know nothing will happen, nothing will change, they can more money from the state but the homeless wil still have to scrap and fight to stay alive.

Lee, a very fastidious and generous homeless man, who washes his clothes and stays feed, yet gives food, clothes and blankets to other homeless, was attacked and sustained a severe facial injury which destroyed his eye glasses over what the prep thought he might have – $40. It was caught on tape at the Safeway and that prep is now cooling his heels at Santa Rita Jail.

Lee is almost 70 and bothers no one. And he was targeted because it was assumed he had money and couldn’t defend himself.

And the weak don’t survive on the streets.

Livermore has a Volunteer Group that runs the “Warming Center”. Good people and a faith based project involving church’s and parishioner volunteers. It has a good foundation, but it is temperature driven, and Weather Underground is the site they use.

For instance, it will be 48F tomorrow morning – no rain, but a wind advisory (35 mph). 100% chance of rain today – before midnight. The Center is closed tonight and based on the projected temperature will be closed tomorrow.

I haven’t been staying there anyway. Too volatile and mentally toxic for me. And a potential TIA threat.

Just before Christmas, there was an incident with a young man who couldnt keep his mouth shut. As a courtesy, my friend Will told him he couldn’t secure his bike to the railing for the steps that led to the Church chapel. The church is over 100 years with old with narrow steps. I have difficulty negotiating those steps in daylight holding the a rail. He was taking one out of commission.

He was offended and defensive and threatens Will. He knew his car and his dog. Steven, that punks name, has gang ties and knows others. He even knew someone that night and asked if that man still wanted to kick Will’s ass. That Stephen had an issue over Will’s friendship with his “woman”. Will’s gay. What’s your issue? That “woman” Stephen loves so much, that he referred to as a “whore” (a HOT button for me, Thanks Gunn) was mad at Stephen, so he wants to take his frustrations out on Will, and Little Steven (both have been referred to as “Lurch” by Will and I – for looming tendencies they display – the latter is Little Lurch) knew this and figured he had an in for destruction. He even told Will daddy was a Golden Glove. So? Daddy you don’t live with is going to pound a grown man of a similar age because he shared to you that thing was inappropriate and not acceptable?

Sure, why not? If he’s as mentally unstable, of course he would defend his offspring. Ugh.

Others tried to defuse the situation, but Baby Lurch (oops, my bad) wouldn’t listen to reason. Even one guy who just eats there said “come on, she has a point. Did you mean that old gay guy? Ignore him.” Another hot button. But BL wouldn’t drop it since everyone saw and heard he was in the wrong.

I even said, I’ve had a stroke and this was very upsetting and dangerous for me and could he please stop. He didn’t. And it kept going until my blood pressure dropped, I started spiralling because of the coginitive brain injury and chemical imbalance in mh brain that is still unmedicated until 1/10/2019, I was rendered speechless, was dizzy and my whole body was shaking, until I was finally able to scream “Go to Hell you sick fuck! I won’t let you kill me. I’m sorry Lord for those words in your house, but I have never wanted to see someone burn in hell like him!”

Everyone saw how bad I was. I made my way out to the car where Will was and asked him if he could take me to the hospital. Donna asked if her husband Bob could take me, but I declined. I needed my new bestie.

We went to Valleycare/Stanford Medical, and they kept me overnight due to it being my 2nd visit that week and third in a month. They wanted me to be evaluated by a neurologist to insure I hadn’t had another TIA. I didn’t, but I’m in a high risk category.

And I haven’t been back to the Warming Center since, because Baby Lurch is still welcome there. I have run into him at other homeless services and had to leave because of his mother mouth and I was so upset. Will and I cried in the parking lot after that incident.

I avoid Baby Lurch at all costs. I can’t deal with that. It will kill me, as if being homeless isn’t going to anyway.

The other incident with another homeless woman sent me spiraling when she accused me of lying about her. I wasn’t even awake or in the room where she was when it happened.

There is too much drama in the homeless community and the Warming Center is volatile and toxic. Not just my opinion. Several people, including a sweet older gentleman who had a minor heart attack a few days after he was banned from the Center for having empty 1/5ths of vodka in his bag.

As if alcoholism doesn’t exist in the homeless community. Ban it and they won’t be alcoholics anymore? Give me a fucking break.

I’m tired of this and loosing it and Will doesn’t know how to cheer me up or make me smile.

Well, for one thing, I’m broke.

General Assistance os screwed up because I didn’t send in an income form for 3Q. I have submitted it now, but my worker isn’t back until tomorrow. And I have no Food Stamps either. Will gave me his GA. He has nothing but trusts me with his money.

My car tags are expired. I have no money for that or the bogus ticket I got in 2017 for supposedly “running” a red light. Couldn’t explain then because words were still hard, can’t explain know because I get so easily upset and wail.

My cell bill is due. My other storage unit is due. My stuff is still at Myrna’s, like my chairs I’ve had for 30 years that were my brother-in-laws, crystal that my parents received throughout the years, my Keurig, my Kitchen Aid Pro Mixer, a lot of good stuff that I was supposed to give away? I did that when I closed down Mom’s house. Fucking jerks.

I’m pissed. Can you tell? I have coginitive dissonance? That isn’t the same as a cognitive brain injury witchy-poo. Read a book other than fantasy or romance. Or ask your husband since he’s got tons of books. Study the brain and get to know about it, and not pop-psychology. The Reader’s Digest version isn’t quite enough.

Anyhoo, back to me. I’ve been told I’m condescending and have no self awareness. From my friend and practical brother since we were 13. He threw me out of his life a few years ago (via phone and endlessly yelling ‘Fuck you Wendy” – I don’t know what I did) and I’ve been trying to reconnect. Stubborn ass just shut me down. Sent me spiraling again. He doesn’t care.

I doubt he ever did after age 40.

It’s been a lousy few months and I’m fading.

I don’t want to, but the body can only handle so much.

My SSI hearing is in March 20, 2019, but I have just found out that my friend’s sister was granted SSI, after several years, and she still hasn’t received a check. Trump has the government shut down, so will that impact government business to that degree OVER A BORDER WALL TO KEEP OUT MEXICANS?

He makes me sick. Fucking traitor. Putin’s Puppet. Rich toad.

I need to bring awareness to mu campaign. I need to raise that money TO SURVIVE AND LIVE. I can’t trust the government. I can’t trust homeless services. I can trust a small group of people that are keeping me alive.

Share this. Direct people here. I will write amd update as I can, but if I don’t pay my cell soon, it’ll be turned off. And this site is up for renewal also.

I can’t do this and I can’t get anyone to share this in newspapers (I tried – too much to write about – if it’s all true), TV (too much for a segment), on and on. I barely get a share on Facebook for my campaign (thank you Mark and Claudia – you’ve been my team, the other’s haven’t participated).

http://www.gofundme.com/life4v

Thank you. I will endeavor to bring more stories and hopefully some sunshine on a cloudy day.

Christmas is here again….bah humbug

I’m not looking forward to the next few days. They won’t be enjoyable, at least from my little niche of the world. I’m homeless and disabled? Happy Holidays! Sure. Whatever.

Ebeneezer? Party of one? Table for one!

Being homeless sucks. I’m trying to find the bright side, but it’s getting too hard. Between the chronically homeless, Tweakers, addicts, and general crazies, it’s wearing at me. I need to write this shit, but time isn’t with me.

Will is my new fabulous friend. I’m the Grace to his Will and with Andy, his therapy dog, we have laughs and chuckles everyday.

Then there is Eddie, another friend who suffers from hallucinations. More about him later.

Barbara, bat shit crazy Barbara, who set me off when she accused me of lying and other things, just because she also slept at the Homeless Refuge, but broke the rules. She came back after being told she wasn’t welcome. Not by me, but she sensed weakness and exploited it. Bitch. That is one thing I hate about the Homeless community. Weakness is prayed upon.

Please, I can’t do this anymore – mentally or physically. It’s Christmas and I have nothing – no money, some food stamps, General Assistance isn’t available until 1/3/2019, my car registration is due, my car has issues….my life is a mess….. http://www.gofundme.com/life4v

Please help

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.

Another Challenge

I’m getting an education on what it means to be homeless and it sucks.

I am in the top echelon due to having a car, so I have to make sure I don’t annoy anyone who doesn’t. My tires could be slashed or it broken into and my worldly belongings (at this point) could be stolen or trashed.

Gee, I more thing to obsess and worry about. As if I don’t have enough.

Folks I’ve met:

Will – nice man, funny, good wit and was in “the business” as he was an appraiser. Mortgage industry has a lot of “former emoloyees”, but it’s nice to talk shop and reminisce. I feel normal for a brief time. I get to be an industry expert again.

Cindy – a nice and helpful woman with a strong personality. Too stronge. She reminds me of class of individuals I refer to as emotional vampires. Sadly, she has adverse interactions with some wrong people and she couldn’t sleep at the church last night. Personal plus for me – I had a corner to myself and no kicks last night.

Gary – I reserved judgement, thankfully. So kind and sincere, my first, second and third opinion was so off the mark. Regardless what is wrong with him, he is respectful and knows his manners. And he has been homeless for a while.

Josh & Lauren – Son and Mom. Good folks, son taking care of Mom who needs a hip replacement. She got a cane yesterday which should make it a little easier. I dealt with Mom and I’ve told Lauren the good and bad of hip surgery. Dad was a piece of cake; Mom was hellfire. It depends on the individual and how willingly they are to get better and do the phsical therapy. As I said, Dad was cake. Mom was a bitchy, whining mess complaining for all to here.

Eddie – you have to be cheerful around Eddie. You can’t help it. He solicits a smile just by chuckling. A good soul. He gave me PBJ the other day when I has no idea where to get food.

Donna & Bob – a Blessed couple who lives the Lord’s truth. They do so much for the homeless community in Livermore and give comfort and divinity, rare for most in today’s world. I can’t give enough praise to these two. They restore hope.

More tales from the other “city” as I discover. Stay tuned.

My personal challenger continues. My ears are still plugged and I don’t get to sew the one ENT accepting patients until 11/29. A moist washcloth was recommended in the interim. Ok

And how do I do that when there is no where for me to stay beyond 8pm to 7am? And between those times we’re restricted?

The next issue is evidence of my diagnosis. I was told verbally I had vascular lacunar stroke but given nothing. The doctors at UCSF signed off on the report 11/8/18 but as of 11/16/18 nothing had been faxed to my PCP. They have faxed 3 seperate requests with no response. I’ve called 3 times and gotten voicemail, but no return call and I’ve let me email and there’s been no response via email.

The last pressing matter is lack of indoor accommodations if it’s not cold enough. Sleeping on the floor is hard enough, but my car is worse. My feet swell and my joints hurt at a whole different level. Sleeping on the floor leaves me with a perpetually achy back and its difficult to just turn over and takes me awhile to get up or try to sit down. My left side still is weak and my right ankle is struggling with the added burden.

I’m a mess, A blind, partially deaf, cognitively impaired zombie. Just going through the motions of survival.

Homelessness is a plague on those unfortunate enough to have one severe thing happen, or a series of unfortunate events out of their control. In any case, it’s mostly not intentional. They’re not all addicts, or druggies or hopeless jerks living off the system.

Pleasanton PD told a homeless center worker that Pleasanton doesn’t have a homeless problem. They do. Every city has a homeless problem. Go to a shelter that is full and talk to those folks of how many are still sleeping outdoors, on benches, in tents or are lucky enough to have a car.

And now there’s a whole town of people who don’t have homes, maybe their job burned out, their kid’s school, their church. What do they do? Paperwork has turned to ash, so how do they get new ones?

What homeless deal with everyday when they’re asked to complete more paperwork and provide documentation.

I could have prepared if I had known I would be homeless, but it happened in hours and I still have no idea why the rush to boot me out. I have been dehumanized and humiliated in sufficient doses this past year, not as completely and thoroughly as 10 days ago.

My past decisions were done because there was no one else and I had to sleep at night. My moral conscious was clear. I thank God their two sons are more like their mother than their father. I felt he was judging me like I was in my 20’s. He did a number on me that I just can’t handle with the brain damage I incurred. It causes me to spiral to a dark place, but he agreed suicide wasn’t a bad idea. He agreed ending my life was acceptable.

Think on that. Suicide is ok – if you can’t be societal normal. That IQ of 163 allows my thoughts to go fast food distances, or just a close precipice.

http://www.gofundme.com/Life4V