Despair

This the word that has become my world these last few months. Overwhelming despair as I face a life sentence ending with the death penalty. It would be welcome at this point because a normal life isn’t something I have any hope for.

Had I known a year ago what I know now, it may have been different, but lack of social and government education isn’t an excuse. You need health and money for that, and I have neither. I am alone and running out of resources.

So often I hear “I’m sorry”, “call this number”, “maybe they can help”. It’s more closed doors or more paperwork and endless wait-and-see. My stroke shouldn’t be a death sentence. I’m 52 and I have no family here in the US. No close family, just a few friends and the knowledge of biological sisters.

I’ve cried so much the last few days. Praying to God’s for help and guidance and His help, pleading to my Dad for strength and the hope he’s looking after me. It’s probably pointless, but I still continue to hope.

I need help and I don’t know where else to turn. Dad’s family still cares, even though we have been intentionally estranged for decades, thanks to Mom. I am hoping to see them again someday, but that looks unlikely. Without hope, what do any of us have to live.

https://www.gofundme.com/wants-to-live

 

Homelessness

Homelessness is a curable illness in our society. It isn’t just mental illness. It isn’t just drug issues.  It is poverty. It is life out of control. It is due to the fact that now every person can make enough to survive. And how most people don’t take the time to listen, because “we” have busy lives or “we” can’t do anything about “their” problems. They’ll figure it out. Someone else will help.

But there is homelessness. I know. That is what I am facing. What a dear friend faced for years and I didn’t know. The guilt I still feel overwhelms me fairly often, because she is still my mentor. My dear friend, and I could have helped her. I could have given a place to stay. It would have been tight and sometimes uncomfortable, because my ex-husband was “helpful” when it was convenient and he could get Buddhist points. He had empathy problems. One of the reasons he’s an “ex”. Good guy only goes so far in the real world.

I have an anoxic brain injury. Should I expect to be homeless? I did nothing wrong. I was just living life, trying to be a friend, a business partner, trying to start my life over again. Then we participated in a Christmas Faire in Sonora to showcase our business and the day after we got back from that successful show, I had a stroke. Drove myself to the hospital, because ambulances are expensive. I was in the hospital for 3 days. I don’t recall much of what the doctor said, other then I had had a stroke. My life ended that day.

And I came to realize that people don’t understand stroke. Especially when you’re 51 and you have one. And the overwhelming loneliness of having to do it alone with little help. The County doesn’t help, especially if you have a little money in the bank. They don’t care that is all you have and when it runs out, you have nothing. If you have no money, they may help you,but if you own a car you could sell it for money. I could be a hooker too, but that illegal. Besides, I would be lousy at it. Probably raped or killed and never making a dime.

That is the face of homelessness. Desperation while still clinging to life. There was a vet I saw at a freeway off-ramp in Banning. Little more than a truck stop on the wa to Palm Springs, but Mom called it home. When I would go to my storage unit (my stuff in Mom’s house? It wouldn’t fit in HER house.), I would see him. I stopped and talked to him a few times, gave him what money I had. I heard his story. He lost the lower half of his left leg to an IED in Afghanistan. He lived with his disabled sister. He was begging for money on the off-ramp because their prescription drugs were costly. His sister needed a helper because he couldn’t do everything he needed.   His brother-in-law had left. She had two kids in High School. They were trying to keep a roof over their head. He was having a hard time finding stead work as an amputee. A lot of places said they would help, but their insurance costs, etc. I could get work 45 minutes away, not something he could do. His sister’s car was a stick and he hadn’t been able to master the clutch. They were a paycheck away from being homeless.

The local Boy Scouts did food drives on a regular basis to help the local food bank. I donated bags of healthy groceries. Everyone deserves a hot meal once a  day, especially kids. Mom often scoffed at my generosity. “You need it more than they do. They have to learn to take care of themselves!” I didn’t learn compassion or charity from her. She was a selfish bitch. Couldn’t even spare a $1 if someone was begging outside of Carl’s Jr. “They’ll just use it for drugs!” Not always the case, but she was always right. She wasn’t always that way. She changed when I was a teenager. Everyone was out to get her then.

I took care of her the last few years of her life and she physically abused me and accused me of horrible things like stealing her house and her money. She put me through hell for decades, but I took care of her because I promised Dad. Had I known the depth of her lies and deceit, she deserved to die alone. I gave her so much, so much time and money, so much more than most kids do for their parents. Everything was never enough. There was always something more I could do, in her mind. I was her property, never a daughter. Just her possession.

There are many reasons for homelessness, but in our society we have to make it that person’s fault. They are at fault, Period. They did it to themselves. They don’t want to “get better”. What if they want to? What help do you get then? Nothing that I can see. So many programs with their lists to qualify for services. Fill out this packet and if you qualify, we’ll send you a letter. Drive to the next place. Fill out another packet and are you trying to qualify for another program? If you qualify and don’t get approved for that program, we’ll send you a letter on the next steps to get you registered. Stop. Rinse. Repeat. It’s endless. And if you have money in a bank account, even $100, you won’t qualify. And no one listens. Just a form where they give you a number. It’s human prison without the lock up every night.

This isn’t everyone’s experience, but it happens. Too often. When I have a 5 year old asking me for money with Daddy just a few feet away doing the same thing, why should I have any hope? I want to change things, bring more awareness to this plight, the difficulty in taking care of the elderly as an adult child. I want to write a couple books outlining my experiences dealing with her end of life and what ma become my end of life. I want to live. but it’s getting too hard. I am so scared. I just cry now. That is something I have done alone for nearly 20 years. I’ve gotten good at it. I can do it noiselessly.

https://www.gofundme.com/wants-to-live

 

 

 

Struggling

I wish I could be upbeat, but I have nothing to be upbeat about. My life is in the toilet. I’m looking up at rock bottom.

I have the opportunity to rent an apartment, if everything works out. I am nearly broke. The house sitting gig ends on May 20th, and I have no where to go. No place to sleep. No where to eat. No where for anything. That is pretty depressing.

The legal firm representing me for my Social Security claim has processed a additional claim for Social Security Disability which I will have a greater success in securing. Hopefully. My medical care has been dismal. At least until January when I finally met someone who actually heard me.

I am really praying and hoping this happens. I am so tired of not having a place to live that is mine. It’s been 5 long years. I even miss that rat infested hellhole old house I lived in with Kevin, and we lived there for 20 years. Just having my things around me, memories, my comfort items like my couch and the dining room table that I shared meals with Dad – many good and happy memories. And my needlework that took decades to build, to create. I miss doing that work. I hope to do it again, if I ever have a place to love again.

My creativity has left me. I have no desire to create something new when my future is unknown. Well, not completely. It’s very dark right now with no hint of daylight. That is depressing in of itself.

I will include a link again, just in case. I need all the help I can get. There are still things I need to secure like electricity, water, garbage, bring my auto insurance current. Little things. I’m poor. I’m doing what I can by the skin of my teeth.

https://www.gofundme.com/wants-to-live

 

Starting Again

I am starting this site again. It’s mine, after all.

I got ahead of myself last year. Before I fully accepted my new life, my new personality and what I had to face living with for the rest of my days. At least, in part.

On November 29, 2016, I had a stroke. More specifically, an anoxic brain injury resulting from a gliosis lucanar stroke. To put it in layman’s term (simple, not ignorant), it’s like tiny beavers built a dam by my spinal cord and dammed the river that is the blood supply to my brain. When the blood is halted for a minute, or a few, the brain is deprived of blood and oxygen. Part of my brain is dead, and it’s kind of important parts.

I have a long professional history as a finance expert. Almost 30 years. It’s mostly missing now. I can’t even balance my check book, not that there’s much there to balance. How much does it say I have? That’s how much is left, so what is there to balance? Just use as little as possible. You can’t spend what you don’t have.

This space will be used for personal thoughts and memories. Memories are an important part of my recovery and my overall mental health. And I can record it here and look back, because I forget some and need reminders.

I will also journal how my recovery is going. An ongoing update of my journey as a stroke survivor – what I have been through and how I got to this point. I am still coping with most of it. Grieving for the person I used to be and who I will become. That’s a hard task, but I have a very good mentor. She survived. So can I.

There are many days that I wonder why it just didn’t kill me. That’s true. The struggle. Being alone. Feeling that I didn’t matter. I did to some, and they kept me alive this last year. You know who you are. THANK YOU. I owe you my life and I will never let you go or intentionally exit your life. You’ll have to chase me way. With pitchforks and torches.