What I Want For Christmas or Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda

My old life back? Pre-stroke?

Since I’m in a fantasy world today, I’ll keep to that theme. Bing Crosby is playing. It’s making me wistful and weepy.

I want Dad back and Gunn to have been out of our lives when I was 8. We could have left her with her family when we were in Norway in 1978 when Grandpa was still alive and Gunn hadn’t successfully ended Dad’s maritime career.  And I was happy and didn’t doubt anything. And the beatings hadn’t begun. And she wasn’t twisting my mind with sexuality and accusations and clippings from the newspaper to “warn” me of the evilness of men and how she went on with the lies of how she was my birth mother. No exact facts, just a caesarian scar. Not me, her daughter born 2 years before me and buried in Norway. Her cousin’s son didn’t know it was a huge family secret! Yeah, that tombstone was a shock. Gunn was lies. Dad was truth – to a point. He protected her and paid for it. I would do anything to just have a day with him again. 17 years feels like 17 minutes.

Going to college and staying there until I had a degree. Looking into it myself instead of thinking Dad would know. Even student loans. They made a choice to not acclimate – ever. I was American. They were Norwegian, though Dad did get his Citizenship because he wanted to vote since he paid taxes. And voting with him and understanding politics and government was interesting for both of us. He had someone to talk to because such things BORED Ms. Pris. Such nonsense interrupted Jeopardy, or worse General Hospital. Realizing education was more important than a Scandinavian Husband, that an education would release me from her vice-like grasp, was the prize.

Marrying Antoine was a huge mistake. Period. Chris was right.  I was a neophyte, impressionable, naive. Stupid. I paid for it; emotionally, financially, physically. 5 years of my life gone, 20 to 26. Poof! Then there was Kevin. Chris made him an offer – me on a platter – and I ended up marrying him because he was the OPPOSITE of Antoine.  Opposite that he had no confidence in himself. The Martyr by self-proclamation. A loser with no marketable skills. That I married. Who was the loser?

I wanted children. I had always hoped for three. Boys or girls, as long as I had one of each. Always a reason to wait….wait until we have a house….wait until we have saved up money…..he could be a stay-home Dad, no daycare needed! I’d be working 14 hours a day because that was my job and his job had no actual “importance” in that get a temp with basic accounting skills. C

I had skills. Recruiters called me too often. I hung in too long in several positions and gave my loyalty to some real scum bags. Missed some opportunities and didn’t jump when I should have. 6 figures was nice while it lasted. From Corporate Finance to Pre-Audit to Forensic Auditing to Real Estate to Mortage Lending, then the Big Short, back to Corporate Finance and Audit Lead and Project Finance Administration to Stroke. Helluva circle. I wish I had discovered Forensic Auditing earlier. I could have had a career with the FBI and been on the East Coast. A happy life, without the Emotional Vampire.

I took tests in High School. SAT of course, and the Armed Forces Aptitude Test. The Navy really wanted me and for Annapolis. My test results for Analytics and Logic was in the top 5% nationwide. They may have wanted me for the Trident Sub Project. I would have been there during Tailhook, but Gunn torpedoed it all by telling the recruiter I wasn’t mentally stable. She was a “nurse” and it had been so heartbreaking. Dad wasn’t there when the recruiters were “interviewing”. She made sure of that. He was furious when he found out. I could have followed in his footsteps.

She always had it her exact way, regardless of anyone else’s feelings. Narcissist much?

That IQ test I took during Junior High. Good thing she was smart, but she shouldn’t think she was smarter than the adults. And wouldn’t that make it more difficult for her to find a husband if she had unrealistic expectations? Those meetings with Mensa? Whatever that was. A bunch of old men who just wanted her for sex or to take advantage of her. She doesn’t know. She’s an innocent and we will keep her that way. A pure virgin when she finds the right (acceptable) man. That IQ business means nothing.

All paperwork disappeared. Like everything else Gunn didn’t like or find agreeable.

My IQ is near genius level. They never brought it up to any instructor’s that I know of. Dad was friendly with my Principal and helped “school” my HS Geometry teacher and narced me out to Dad more than I liked, but I caused my own issues with keeping off the Honor Roll by planned percentages.

I enjoyed that too much. I was hanging on out with the Stoner campus, playing strip poker and not losing an article of clothing during Drama while “running lines”, hell skipping class to run to Naugles for breakfast (teacher never knew), being teachers’ pet, tutoring Math to Junior High students while a Senior, dealing with Gunn’s accusations of my supposed sexual promiscuity, having her “smell” me when I’d returned from being out with friends (3 boys and 2 girls – including my neighbor) to see if I smelled like sex. One thing is for sure, she couldn’t smell alcohol worth a damn. Chris and  I would drink MGD and she didn’t smell that. Was I smoking the marijuana?! Chris smokes, so therefore I must smoke, including marijuana. Yeah, I smoked. I didn’t smoke pot until I was 46 and discovered “candies”. Oh, it made dealing with Gunn so mellow. Hehe. Never got the munchies, but horny was a different matter and I was hanging with Jason who liked boys too. My Gays.

One thing that still burns like an endless flame – my beloved Husband Kevin who had an issue peeing and finally went to the doctor and, as I told him to, took the doctor into the bathroom to show how slowly he pee’d. Months, several procedures and finally surgery, he can ejaculate sperm! That path had been blocked for his entire Adult Life due to an accident with a girl’s bicycle as a child, that he never took the time to completely explain – or obviously show – to a urologist. This was “fixed” when he was 42. I was a year older. We could try to have a child.

I was too old. What about adoption? (And here it comes)

You never can tell what you’re going to get. The mother could have been a crack addict. The kid could have developmental issues. It’s not a good idea. It’s too much of a burden,

Good thing Gunn and Aksel didn’t think I was going to have problems since I was adopted – rejected by my birth parents – and I would be a burden. He used burden. In a few brief sentences, he made my justification for living as a child an inconsequential anomaly that should be avoided.  And I didn’t want to try anymore with the looser without marketable skills. Nam myoho renge kyo MF.  20 years with you was an absolute waste. Your family was cool. Wish I was still married to them. I am sorry Sharon. I tried, but it wasn’t mine to fix or simply acknowledge. I constantly acknowledged it. I should have stopped after a year or two and moved on and found happiness with someone more mature and secure in who he was.  I kept hoping. I was his wife, not his therapist. Or his mother.

Well, this was a stream of consciousness, i.e. word vomit.  Sorry. I obviously have anger management issues I  have to still deal with. So much abject disappointment in my life. It isn’t unique. I do realize that. But it is special because of how and how much and by who it was done. And now I have Will who tells me to stop letting those people rent space in my brain.

Too old and an adopted baby is a burden. My last big wish was incinerated and he was clueless.

I should have gotten pregnant without telling Kevin, that was what I should have done Chris? And since Kevin was shooting blanks, should I have gotten a different “donor”? Cheat to obtain the prize and lie to the child about his father. That’s fucked up dude, even for you. Yet, I’m the bad guy. No. I never was. You should have never said what you did. Never. It still burns my soul.

A Day in the Life

I could be poetic, but that’s hard to do now. I am grateful to My Maker for keeping me alive and sustaining my hope for a return to a normal life. Someday, somehow.

But if my life were “normal” these are the things I miss. Some may be familiar to you.

Waking up in a Bed

There is something about waking up in a bed, with sheets. Pillows. Blankets. Sleeping flat or snuggled next to your little pup or your partner. Waking up and stretching under the covers, warm and safe.

I remember those days. I’m sleeping in the passenger seat of a ’98 Olds Cutlass and the leather seats are going. And my tailbone hurts 24/7 because I wear adult diapers at 54. The “side effect” of a vascular lacunar stroke.

Eating at a Table with Real Food

Eating almost every  meal in the car – it sucks! Food ends up in your lap, or on your top, or on your pants (that’s Will).  I miss soup. A simple bowl of soup! And real utensils, not a spork. Whoever made that thing should be made to eat everything with it the rest of his life! Have you ever tried to eat sliced beef with A Spork? How about sliced turkey with gravy, stuffing and mashed potatoes with a spork? In a paper clam-shell that’s disintegrating in your hands? And since it’s the only warm food you’ve had today, and it’s not breaking 60F and raining, you asked for two servings. That little clam-shell is heavy! And you are holding it and it’s not sitting on anything, because you’re eating in the car because you can’t take the noise or the questions or the general polite conversation in the eating hall.

A Shower

It has been over a week since I took a shower. It’s been two weeks for Will because he gave up his spot last week so I could take a shower. He is so good to me. And the shower we will use is considered a handicap shower at the Church that offers it for use M-W, 12-5. There are many who take advantage, and there are other regular showers. The Handicap has a seat in the shower and space for privacy, or space to fall and not die if you’re unstable. The mat they put down hurts my feet, but otherwise the floor is slippery.

And I don’t have shower shoes.One more thing to keep track of.

You know when you get ready to take a shower? You turn on the water so it’ll be the right temperature when you get in. The water cascades over you, warming your cold bones and muscles. Perhaps easing that ache in your lower back that just won’t stop. Warming your cold feet and hands. Cleansing your face and body. You soap up your scrunchie, or washcloth, and scrub your neck and arms and legs until they squeak.  And, if so inclined, shave the bits that shouldn’t have hair.

You grab the shampoo and pour it into your hand, applying it to your hair and luxuriating in the suds encasing your head. You massage thoroughly and you may rinse and repeat before doing the conditioner. Letting the warn water pour over you, rinsing your hair and you shake your head and wring the water out and decide to let it warm you a bit longer.

I remember those days. Now I have to wait for my turn, if I get it, and the plumbing isn’t great and you go from a hot shower, to a cold shower, to a lukewarm shower, to cold again to hot. It’s like living in an old house and your husband flushed the toilet (it happened – more than once).

A Kitchen

You ever have a feeling that you’re kinda hungry, but you have no idea what to have and you don’t want to cook a big meal – or you have a hankering for leftovers from last night?

What about just toasting a slice of that Whole Grain bread you bought at Whole Foods the other day. With some cream cheese and honey on top? How decadent.

What about that bit of rib eye you didn’t finish the other night? Slice that up and add some salt – that would hit the spot.

What about that can of  Tomato Soup Progresso you found in the back of the pantry the other day? That would be  delicious with a grilled cheese sandwich. More work than you wanted, but Tomato Soup and Grilled Cheese? Yum! Comfort food extraordinaire!

A Closet

You don’t really think about that too much. You take it for granted. Purses hung on over door hooks of nails throughout the closet. Shoe racks under the line of clothes – hung by season and color – from daily wear to evening wear. With tubs with lavender and cedar protecting your kint wear that it has taken decades to acquire or actually make, and not look homemade.

All the socks you’ve knit! There was a reason you were the sock queen! So pretty. So comfortable.

All those sweaters! How you miss the lavender one. It was so cozy and you got so many compliments.

“Where did you get that?”

“I Made it.”

“Ohhh. Nicely done! Wish I could do that!”

A Comfy Spot

You have a spot you like to nest in? The corner of the couch. An old comfy chair.  That spot your posterior has been working on for years? You know that spot. When it’s cold and raining and you have a chill, you wrap yourself in a cardigan, or favorite blanket, curl up and read a book, take put your knitting, get that piece your stitching, or the Sunday Times Cross-word. You know that spot? The one that you fall asleep in when you’re not feeling good?

I remember how my couch felt.It’s in storage, waiting for a new home and my posterior again. My comy nest, with my stitching stand and projects in on rollers and in wicker baskets. My knitting projects in their bags with the instructions and my “sock”  kit, ready to cast-on a new pair. Or my Cancer Cap bag, with yet another cancer cap in progress for the annual donation. The Red Scarf Project for Foster Kids that have aged out of the system. The Comfort Blankets or ARF, for the pups and kitties being adopted to hopefully their forever home. And all the other charity projects.

Watching TV from my corner, or reading a book to the end while Kevin watched TV. Rooting on the Vikings! Watching the Oscar’s or the Tony’s or the Emmy’s. Or the Simpson’s. Or the Superbowl. Or a rented video.

Streaming stuff from the computer. Yeah, I can set that up on HDMI. No Chrome Stick of Amazon Fire. Who wants you TV watching you? Creepy. Network with security and no hackers.

I miss technology. Sadly, it’s sitting in my storage unit with everything else.

Last but not least – the Toilet

You don’t think much about that, other than “where is it”. It’s down that hall, by the elevator, at the Taco place. It’s close by or you know where one is. And, hopefully, no waiting.

This past Thursday, I saw a Gyne-Urologist. I was tense, worked up, anxious. I have had too many doctor’s appointments where I was told it was all in my head.  I need to see a psychiatrist. I’m a hypochondriac.  I shouldn’t step out of my lane and assume I know more than a doctor.

Well, if you won’t diagnose me, what am I supposed to do when there is something actually wrong?

Dr. Frink kept me waiting – 3 1/2 months for the appointment and 1 hour and 15 minutes in the Exam Room, but she was worth it.

“So tell me why you’re here?”

“I had a Vascular Lacunar Stroke….”

“That incontinence is bothersome, isn’t it?”

She knows what one of the aftereffects is! I didn’t have to explain anything! This is the just the second time that has happened.

I’ve had this issue since my first lacunar infarct – or four years – and she has a solution. It won’t be easy or quick, but she has a solution. And I am thankful.

I have hope that I can stop wearing the adult diapers that have left my tailbone so sore due to the car and how I have to sit. I can wear Poise Pads again and normal pants, instead of sweats that make me look like I’ve dumped a load and walking around with it. And with the Overactive Bladder medication, I won’t be “leaking” while walking to the restroom at a local Starbucks of Safeway or Home Depot, as most 7-11’s have personnel that speak broken english and are from countries that women are seen as property, and don’t care if you need the restroom. “Go to the Gas Station across the street,”  as a staff member goes into the restroom made for the public, but requires a key.

And all those times I would walk to the restroom and I would start leaking, and end up crying when I would finally get to the stall, as my pants are wet, my shoes and socks are wet, and know I have to change so I don’t smell like urine. Get into the stall, take off my shoes, strip my pants and diaper, get out the Personal Wipes and clean up, put on another diaper, dry the sweats with the hand dryer or put on another pair of pants/sweats, new socks, wipe out the wet spot from slip on shoes (can’t do sneakers with the laces – too difficult), and make sure my bladder is empty before getting up and leaving.

And hope no one is waiting or banging on the door to hurry up. It happens at Starbucks I shit my drawers waiting for the restroom one time. The dude was on the phone. And laughing. I hear him as I was humiliated. No one should ever experience that circumstance. No one.

A toilet. No matter it’s age, as long as it flushes and is available, it is a welcomed entity in my life. I worry about having access to it constantly. I worry about an employee giving me grief over needing to use it. A basic need and it is embarrassing asking if you can use it and you’re told no. They don’t offer public restrooms. Then I use the disabled card and who will refuse that?

My Day in the Life. I could write more, but I think you can sense the difficulty for me and Will. We’ve lived in homes we owned. Had furniture and necessities that were useful and provided physical and mental comfort. I miss my books. The feel of them. The smell.  I miss knitting, which is so difficult to do in the car with everything else.

I took several hours today to write this because I needed to get it out of my soul It eats at me daily. Like thousands of Sugar Ants crawling around my brain looking for water and a way out.

My therapist Pam had a suggestion to ask my psychiatrist if BrainSpotting may be useful. They map the brain for how your process or react to specific actions. I need that, since I have physical reactions when I feel intimidated or cornered, and I wail and become extremely anxious. Pam also suggested I get a MedicAlert Bracelet since I am unable to talk when these episodes happen, and I don’t need to be 5150’d again because I can’t talk and they think I’m having a bad trip.

The “episodes” really upset Will and he finally understands it isn’t something  have and control over currently. The stoicism is gone. I feel stripped naked and on display. It is the most humiliating occurence that could happen to me, and it happens regularly.  Why I avoid people. I don’t want anyone to see the crazy freak I become and I hate it to the core of my soul.

Why do I share this? Because I can’t *speak* about it. But I can type. Exactly. My voice is still here, but when I type. No sound out of me. It is so slow and clunky and awkward. Nothing like I used to be. Maybe someday.

https://www.gofundme.com/f/life4wng20?teamInvite=zwFy5EWAGSludrnkCZ9nBW6TpHJfA8I5YvaDJ67Bhi8fNwXnHH6M2OYJcXZSgemz

The Realities of Homelessness

The daily mental battle

Sleeping on a flat surface and stretched out.

Taking a shower without someone yelling “HURRY UP!!!” Just being able to take one every 3 or 4 days, not every 7+ days. The record is 15, I think. Warm water and soap to remove the stench and dirt and letting you feel “Normal”. Washing your hair!!! When it’s been up in a ponytail for better than a week and when you take out the rubber band – IT DOES NOT MOVE. Not a single hair. It is that oily! And know I am susceptible to yeast infections in my fat fold, aka lap fat. Oh, for a flat tummy! Oh, to be 60 lbs lighter! Oh, to not have the stroke issues! Oh, all the shit which I really want to go away!! The yeast infections are due to the “plastic” in the diapers and heat and sweat trapped in unbreathable and confined space. I was able to wear cotton undies for a few days with leakage pads. The infection cleared up. Hell, the last time when it was really bad (August), Dr. C. had to lance and drain a boil. Eeeeww! Yuck! I had to keep draining until the cream dried it out! You never want to experience that, especially so close to your private parts,

Getting up at 3am and being able to go to a bathroom and sit on a toilet without having to drive to a Safeway and hopefully not commit to the “walk of shame” or drop a load in my diaper. I now carry adult diapers. I can’t justify any vanity on my part. Oh, Gunn would be scandalized! “But, Venke! Vhat will people tink of you! How embarassing!” Shut up, bitch. I wouldn’t be here if not for you. Her voice comes back too often. It is what it is and I’ll just have to take 600 mg a day of Neurotin to insure the nerves down south are in communication with Central Command. And that will be undergoing reconstruction for years. I have a bathroom purse. It’s nice and made from “vegan” leather. OK. There is some vanity and not wanting to advertise “homeless and poor and peeing on myself”.

Typing and “storytelling” is part of my therapy. Who’da thunk that!

They’re playing Christmas Music at Starbucks. Eek. From 40’s Big Band to Rap. *Shudder*

Being able to go to the kitchen that has a refrigerator, a stove and cook top, and maybe a microwave (let’s not forget cutlery and eating vessels and tumblers), to prepare a warm meal or have a piece of toast when under the weather or just a glass of milk. Heat a bowl of chicken noodle soup! Or a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. Make a box of Kraft Mac and Cheese. A grilled cheese sandwich on sliced sourdough with Tomato Bisque from Trader Joe’s. A breaded and thick cut pork chop with baked apples. A chicken breast with sauted asparagus. A homemade Cobb Salad or Chopped Broccoli from Costco, A PB&J with something other than Concord Grape Jelly and on 10-grain Wheat, not that cheap wheat bread that has zero nutrition and is worse for you then Wonder Bread. Fresh Wonder Bread……yummmmm. Addicted to that as a child. Gunn did me no favors. She sure didn’t teach me nutrition, encourage exercise or chase me out the door to play with neighbor kids. Brownie’s offered too many camping trips with a parent participating. Good God NO! “Ve don’t do dat in Norway!” No. families go hiking and fishing and sleep in…..sleeping bags? That’s the rumor.

I’ll be back soon. I’m off to Speech and Cognitive Therapy!

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A Quick Post

Will is at Storage with Andy – getting my diapers since I used the last one this morning. I’m at Starbucks just having updated my GoFundMe campaign.  And just trying to provide some current context, which I will do here as well.

  1. Will is SOBER!
  2. His day of sobriety is October 12, 2019. He had his last drink (fucking bottle, or Handle, or 1.5L of vodka every 36 hours) on 10/11/19.
  3. He is Clear and Vibrant and hooked on Starbucks Nitro which is making him a very talkative chipmunk!
  4. His memory is so much better and he is the one DRIVING! I let him take over the wheel and I am enjoying being the passenger once more. It’s been since 2012 except the handful of times a was I with someone. Literally – no one since 2016 and that was Amanda. Less than a dozen times since then. Maybe half a dozen. He’s my driver! Hehe He even jokes he’s driving Miss Gracie. Andy is enjoying the way it used to be. Daddy is supposed to be in the drivers seat. Rawroo!
  5. I have started writing my “book”. I had too. There is so much pent up inside me with no where to go. So much anger – and hatred. Dad didn’t have to die when he did and I didn’t have to have my stroke when I did if it hadn’t been for HER. I will NEVER refer to her as Mom ever again. Her name was Gunvor. I will use that or the nickname Gunn. I apologize to any women who have that name. They should never be confused with the Gunvor who was in my life.
  6. I am looking actively for an attorney to handle my medical malpractice/malfeasance case. It is complicated and messy, not simple and direct. I have spoken to a few attorneys and I will speak to more. I will not give up.
  7. We have figured out how to handle Will’s brother. That’s all I am going to say.
  8. We know what we will do when all this is over and lawsuits have been settled and life has settled into a normal mode with a roof over our heads and a refrigerator and a bathroom. We so need a place to live, but Abode isn’t going to do anything for us. We missed out on Section 8 housing last week. Too many applicants and the website became unavailable after 12 noon. They opened online only at 11:00. Heard nothing from Abode. They need one more thing – a letter on agency letterhead stating a person from that agency has known we have been homeless for part of the year. Multiple letters from multiple people to cover each month for the last year. This was rolled out by Alameda County on October 1st! We have everything else they wanted to complete the application for the apartment in Oakland, then this came up. If we can come up with this for each of us and have it for them, they will need updates or something else before we fill out the application. It’s bullshit is what it is. No wonder people are homeless and living out of their cars for 7 or 9 or 13 years!
  9. We quit smoking. No more Camel Crush.We vape. I quit smoking completely and enjoy vaping, which I rarely do if I am not driving. Will vapes and occasionally has a cigarillo. My blood pressure is normal and Doctor is happy, though worries about the vape because the “News” says they are unsafe. Yeah, ok, if you buy off the black market, from a guy who makes them in his garage,etc. We don’t. You don’t want kids smoking, let’em get carded! They did when I was 18 and I was told, “NO! Get out of here!” They need to be told No. They aren’t denied often enough as it is without them having a temper tantrum. “Wha! I am old enough! You’re discriminating against me. It’s ageism!!!” Bullshit, little one. We had to suffer at your age. It’s your right of passage. Now, shut up. You’re bothering me. And get off my lawn while you’re at it. (Metaphorically)
  10. I’m a little behind on the news….has Trump been impeached yet? Has the NYSD gotten his Tax Returns? Has SCOTUS flipped on their backs and placated the Big Horny Dog? Curious. Asking for a friend.

That’s it. Will is back with dinner from Asbury Church. Chicken Teriyaki and Rice. Gee. More carbs. SMDH

Hello – I’m Back!

I’ve been having issues with WordPress, namely MY site and not the one they want to create for me. I’m limited to posting via my tablet and it isn’t doing spellcheck.

Poop. The grammer nazi that resides within is very hostile and precise. And preachy.

I’ve posted two active Contact posts with their “experts”, as you cannot call them, and I’ve been waiting for over an hour. Today.

GRRRR.

I will be doing something new. I will be posting daily – words, pictures, even video. I will be chronicling our daily life and trounbles as homeless people in the SF Bay Area. Me and Will and Andy. Our little family.

We are also at Facebook/onetinysoapbox. Check us out there too, in case I post to that because this is giving me issues.

One of the issues having a TBI that has caused cognitive impairment – website FAQ links are a pain when you don’t have a simple question.

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.