The next 50 years

I regret the hospital visit.  Absolutely without condition. It did me no use. First, I called not because I wanted medical attention. I called because I had been told multiple times that this was the correct course of action in the situation wherein I found myself.  I even cancelled and went another 24 hours agonizing over what to do. I called the health line multiple times trying to get permission to use the medical system as I'd been told, even though I felt unworthy. When they took me in, it started nice. They were nice. Then they did a few tests. Talked to me awhile. Got colder and colder.   The care got less effective and the therapies more invasive and unpleasant. By the 3rd day I was as miserable as I'd been all weekend and nothing was fixed nor getting fixed.  I didn't feel like I was in hostile terrority so much as an unwelcome guest in a society with hosting rules.  When I took matters into my own hands, by then, I was not an unwelcome guest, I wa...

Humans are my enemy.  Every one of them is subconsciously in accordance with the rest. This is what they want.  Me punished as deeply as a human suffer, as publicly and for as long as possible. Every one of them develops this desire after talking to me. They WANT me on east hastings getting beat up overnight and shit on all day. Non human victim for anyone's bad day. All of them want this for me. Even the ones pretending to help are part of it. It's all about keeping me alive until I land on the street then keeping my hide available for virtue signallers and bullies alike to take their narcissistic supply. I was place on this planet as fodder for narcissists and nobody cares that I don't like it.  Of cours I don't like it.  You think cows like being eaten?  Shut up and do what we want. Shutting up is the primary problem. If i could stop trying to trust someone. If i could deeply understand this truth. If I could accept that it's death or suffering. If only my ef...

I have to choose between giving up everything I own including any way of shelting or caring for myself. or my freedom and self will/choice. Wether this is going to jail or giving over to Dan. My life, as existing.  Which really looks the most attractive.  Because imaginary or not, I always hurt.  I cannot connect to the world or get enough to stave off suffering. I cannot hoppe to "dig myself out of this hole" or "pull myself up by my bootstraps" because this is absolutely beyond me.   I couldn't cope when I was young and fresh. I can't call mental health line, it won't accept numgers with an outside prefix.  Plus which, what would they do? Suicide line absolutely hung up on me. I had way too much to say.  Ultimately, I don't just want to be heard. That's what this is about, right here.  It's equal to sitting and nattering at someone who is expected to do nothing and will do nothing. But it's consequence free. Which is not the case when n...

ok, so here's what's driving me absolutely batty.  There is a disconnect between two realities. The line is my face.  On the outside of my face, it would seem that what is coming out is barf loads of static, incomprehensible and fake.  what's coming back at me is not commesurate with what I think I am sending out.  Like right now, I think I am typing grammatically correct english with a subject matter that can be understood and followed. But in fact, it might be a lot of disconnected weird statements about random things.  And when i read it back, I still see what I think I'm typing.  Inside my head, I am struggling to be as honest and clear and forthright and complete as I can.   but I'm being treated as someone who is trying to manipulate, distract, delude and I don't even know.  Lying and manipulating, though.  I just can't with this interface.  Who the fuck am I? Am i delusional? Am I locked behind some weird force that interrrup...

I really can't just go talkto someone.  Nobody wants to listen to me like that.  I mean, the blog has no choice but it's not exactly on the NYT best read blog's list.  Probably isn't one, but you know what I mean. I'm just spiralling. I do most heartily wish never again to speak to a medical professional because of today's conversation. Phrases like "all self reported."  The way he never referenced the functional assessment.  The way he had no idea what the books held. The way he kept reminding me of the time.  the way he has grown steadily more curt with me over time.   I do not believe this will ever be different with anyone trying to help me in any capacity. They give up long before they demonstrate their ire. They give up but stay polite awhile. Which I dismiss, trying to convince myself I"m imagining it.  Like how I"m going to convince myself that I'm imagining any and all physical dysfunction or discomfort. I'm dead sure he won...

I don't feel safe. I don't feel safe in the medical system because I cannot communicate with them.  I thought learning their language would work but it is another barrier. They do not hear me. They aren't listening to my words.  I don't understand it.  Then there's my complicated relationship to my body. I tell it what.  I do not let it decide.  But it is meanwhile having all manner of issues.  Or is it?  And then there's that complication.   Every doctor on earth seems to think one can make oneself feel incredibly sick without actually being sick, just by mind.  And they all think that's me. What if they're right?  Well then I simply tell my body to STFU and refuse to accommodate myself. And pretend the bad days are my fault for not eating right or smoking too much weed or being a miserable person.  Like I always have done. Almost always.  Sometimes I am stupid enough to believe the facade of caring extends deeper, and tr...

No, I'm not okay. Is it an overreaction or a recognition of a familiar pattern? Nurse practitioner is not, will not read my symptom diary. All that fucking suffering for nothing. Now what? I just remember it all? No, I quit giving a fuck. That's what. Get my disability and then, you know what?  I'm fucking fine. I don't fucking need anything from anyone. I'm fine. I'm not fine, I never will be. But so what?  Neither are the homeless guys getting beat up overnight for some sadist's pleasure. Should I go be one of them, then?  Is that a laudable choice vs giving up? Why? I do not feel safe, cared for, or heard. I do not feel like I ever will. I'm [issed because I just bought 30 eggs and now I want to go back to starving myself.  I still do not want to sign over my bus to Dan and I still see no indication that anything will change for me. Lots of kind faces does not equal action and even just getting a disability status with the ministry doesn't look al...

Ah, who knew, not me for sure. Recording symptoms makes you feel MUCH worse!!  I not only am deeperly (it's a word now) aware of my own discomfort, but the sheer weight of it all is freaking me out.  I am struggling with the emotional fear and anger and frustration and grief all at once.  Alone, really, more or less. I am trying to talk to others but it's not really possible, I get too many side tracks. Speaking of which, I recall the first asessment demonstrating to me that my ADHD is actually insanely severe but I've got so many copes I can function in spite of it. Well that's happening again and I"m even getting notes on how to explain it to the health care provider to make sure the point gets across. The advocate was telling me how contradictory my statements were until she got deeper and did a proper interview and then it turns out, I minimize my own problems. I try and make excuses, diminish it, or outright dismiss it. Yeah, that checks. I mean, it's what...

I want to walk through my feelings about my health. I've been doing this symptom diary since the start of the month.  My health is way worse than I realized. I worry the NP won't read it.   I worry he will take it too seriously. I worry what it means for me that things seem to have gotten so bad. Then I try to gaslight and dismiss myself.  Both from the history of being spoken to like that, and in the desire to lessen my fear. Because it's kind of scary. Like i want a walker scary.  I am going to ask for a walker. The kind with the seat, the wheels, and the brakes.  So I can get the dogs to the dog park again, for example.   It's kind of exciting like a new thing and regaining freedom. But it's terrifying maybe they'll take it wrong, say no, and give me grief.  It's terrifying to realize I actually do need one. I think. I mean, I walk without it. But not far. Not happily. what's going to happen to me?  I can handle this level of immobili...

Valentines day was kind of depressing but not because of the social day designation.  I got over that a long  time ago.  Now it's just a way to get discount chocolate in late February.  No, it was the flipside of something that makes me happy.  Warmer weather makes feeding myself even harder.  If I buy lunchmeat, it's got to be eaten in a single day. I can't keep yogurt or OJ more than 3 days at best now, same with cheese. Eggs need to be pickled unless they're the unwashed ones from Nickle's bakery.  But I can't afford to go shopping, and that too was getting to me.  I still can't afford to buy food at all, and I was looking at my dwindling supplies wondering how hungry I would get. Then the pot.  Yeah, had about a day's worth left, if I was light use.  So I was feeling pretty anxious about that.  I was also seeing the honey dwindle as I used it for chocolate and gelatin.  The concentrated lemon was also almost gone. ...

I met with the disability advocate. At each step of this red tape process I seem to gain a little more validation.  Today the office was filled with people with disabilities and the woman in front of me had her own back ache story she didn't have to tell.  Her posture spoke it. I was too overwhelmed by the human interface to really think about it but also had a lot of swirling feelings. Worry overy being seen as faking or exaggerating, for instance. Exhaustion from getting lost in downtown.  I really did lose my bearings over and over again. Not normal for me.  I paused to make a note in my symptom diary.  I hope Patrick isn't too annoyed by the first one, I really only intend a one month snapshot so we have a picture of my health that my memory cannot provide.  Ignoring and forgetting my discomfort is my normal.  I am not sure if or what I am learning with it, but it still seems a good idea to get some proper data. So the disability thing.  It's ...

So I'm diving into magic thinking here for the pure comfort of it. I see us getting the keys on april 20th.  I see us spending may getting things built or installed and settled in, and emptying the bus. I see us living in there fully by June. I cannot see how the deed unfolds. I also, therefor, do not know why I cannot see it. If I had 500k it would be the bare minimum, allowing me to pay 420k, the magic number, and handle the tax debt, I think.  Honestly I don't know what i actually owe.  But I am sure the other debts can hang in the wind if I haven't the windfall for them.  At this minimum, employment would pay me instead of them, and the house would be just the dockage fees. Affordable living, as far as this city is concerned.   I keep thinking it might be possible to pay my needs as a B&B since it has a wee guest area with double bed, is gorgeous, and well located for people out to have fun in the city. The marina is fine if you are also living ther...

asking for help. It's traumatic.  Really.  No, really, it's damn hard for me and part of why I get so kookoo when I have to. Well, for one, you are giving away power.  You are giving permission to judge.  You have "nothing" to trade.  Then, every single visit is a new person who wants to hear it all over again. Cry for me.  I know the notes are good, but let's test your story for truth. The why of it doesn't ease the mental trauma of reliving and reiterating things over and over.  I'm not spending that time healing, but stewing, right?  And crying. And feeling embarassed, small, dependant, and infantilized. Now there's the history for me.  The sheer mass of "no" answers and negative judgement and the nasty things they sometimes say and do when they think I am trying to get more than my share in life through the charity system.  I know people do that but I really never cheated like that. Worst ever was earning $300 and not declaring it be...

Tried to call the taxi to see why its not here and did I miss it. He kept cutting meniff so I had to repeat myself then gets on the other miline to someone else "she's pretty hostile but still waiting." Like come on, I was just being my natural tieed self trying to figure out a proble.. HOSTILE???? And peeps want to say I am overreacting?  I do not believe I have ever been guinely hostile a day in my life to anyone. I can accept that it has likely happened and I forgot, bit it sure isnt a habit. I immediately piped up, I am mot hostile, I just dont have a pleasant tone because I am autistic." Fucking "hidden disability" doesnt hide well enough. Today I met someone whonwas crying to hear my story, a social.worker. Veronica. Ironically she looks like a distant bully of mine. If that person was 30 yrs younger. Like they could be relatives. Yet she is the first one who felt truly sincere. Things they will do for me: Fill out my applications for services, 3 of. ...

Yep. Soon as the pshrink okayed me as not hazardous, everyone got a lot less attentive and colder. It was like the room had a poltergeist. The regular social worker hasn't yet met me and I am likeky leaving in 30 minutes. All the social worker attention was about getting my insurance coverage fixed so the bill gets paid.  So yeah, situation has not really changed. Me? I am writing on my fingers now. STFU  Both hands. So I don't forget how fucking pointkess it is to talk to people about anything, much less seek help.  Its all a paper thin mask of compassion stretched tight and translucent and I need to stop believing the lies.  I feel very depressed and alone now.

I do not have a decent keyboard so you likely get the treat of a short entry.  I went by ambulance to hoapital monday night after 3 days of intense bpwel cramps.  The cramps quit but the problem remains.  People have been knid, but I am npt actually covered for this due to a data entry error. If I can get my ID and paperwork in to the right people they can fix it but the doctor, whom I have not met, refused a day pass.  I wonder if she is a karen mad at me for taking out the nose tube on wednesday. It was destroying me. This hospital stay is wearing mighty thin. All they have tonfeed me is sugar water and salt water with fake flavourings added. I tried eating some and got all my nasty symptoms back. The sinus drip and sneezing, the depression. So back to eating actually nothing instead of virtually nothing while the IV drips fucking dextrous into me. Great, sugar. At least the iv isnt dyed and flavoured with petrochemicals.  I am feeling like fleeing. I will wai...

I posted about my suspicions with MS onto facebook.  Quite deviously, honestly, knowing that my mother is paying attention there.  I want her to know how damn hard I've had it, and am having it.  Because I want her to feel enough guilt about her failure towards me, and her cruelty, that she does include me enough in her will to rescue me.   I mean, imagine she died and it's all my sister's.  That's highly likely, it's in character.  But then she also has times of what seems genuine remorse.  Whether it's remorese, it displays a cognitive understanding of her role in my suffering. Well she sure did read it, and, letting me know she knows, immediately gaslighted me about my dad's case.  Lady, if it had turned out to be a stroke after all, you'd have beeped up about it in the last forty years.  Yes, you love that kind of gossip. you also have been gaslighting me since I could talk.  It never resulted as you intended.  Rather, it p...

I have MS. No, it's not diagnosed yet.  I will be pushing for a diagnosis. Last night I looked up the disease. I was wondering about how my right hand has been acting the last few weeks. It's a new thing. It just fumbles or is weak, and then it'll recover. No pain, no message of debility, just my hand acting like there's static on the line. This was something I figured you got with MS. I knew I was at risk but thought the condition would be really dramatic because of my Dad's story (mom made it out bigger than it was) and the extreme case woman I knew and another couple people, all of whom acted like the world owed them pearls for their suffering, me included. Well shit.  I have been enduring as much, if not more, as any of them. I've been puzzling and adjusting my diet and my exercise and doing more meditating and  more stress management and stretching and just puzzled and suffering. Addressing each symptom on it's own as an isolated problem next to other p...