Discovery: there is a new Rock Bottom

I thought I had hit rock bottom before. I thought I have spent several years looking up at rock bottom being far above me. I was wrong. I found a new one.

This will be very personal, I warn you. This has been traumatic, devastating, physically, mentally, emotionally draining. I’m alive, barely, and hope looks like a fleeting thing that just flies out of reach and in my site, such as it is.

I’m in a motel, and not Motel 6. I found a place I don’t have to worry about being assaulted, robbed or harassed with no all-night parties for a $100 a night. The GoFundMe money is being used, though I think of every penny that could be used to keep me paying my bills and keep me alive until Social Security comes through, whenever that is. This is something I have always worried about that if god-forbid something happened I could survive. I planned, but not well enough and I never thought this would be something that happened to me. I thought of going to see a movie this weekend. That’s long gone. I need that money for food because I’m out of food stamps and my food is at someone’s house.

That rare stroke I had should have killed me. I wish it had. It would have been better and not torturous with losing friends and no one truly understanding what I am now. Even medical providers who didn’t care or do their job. Living in a county that has Section 8 and housing assistant that has a 2 year waiting list that has been closed to any new people for over a year. Homelessness is a real problem.

When you see me, you assume I’m fine. I look normal, I talk slower, I limp sometimes, but otherwise I’m fine. I am not. And sheer will or “getting over it” isn’t something I can do. Part of my brain is dead. My neurological system has taken a definite hit. Hell, I even have to say a word into my phone if spellcheck doesn’t find it when I misspell. Spelling Bee champ can’t spell definite without looking it up. I can barely spell any without using an “m”. Never a great typist, I type as I think -hunt and peck.

This week – back to the topic at hand. Last Thursday, the people I was house-sitting for came home. No Social Security hearing, even though the appeal was filed in February. Government shit takes forever because they deal with thousands and I had medical people who didn’t do shit. They committed malpractice and I have filed with the appropriate Boards and that drags on. I had 2 doctor’s appointments this week. I had to cancel both. Because I had to leave where I was staying. NOW. So I did yesterday. Last night.

I was supposed to have an eye treatment yesterday. Cancelled that. At least my right eye got treatment last week. My left eye, pressure readings were high again and the optic nerve is swelling again. The right eye had an aneurysm a few weeks ago.  MediCal pre-approved treatment just in case. Dr. Daniels was surprised and pleased. He’s been a doctor I have been able to trust because he is a professional and has shown respect. And he showed his sense of humor last week. He hummed Disney tunes. It put me at ease and gave me warm fuzzies. That’s rare.

But life gets in the way, so my health is on the back burner again, just like when Mom was alive. I was alone in that, doctor’s knew she had Alzheimer’s, but could I get any help? No. Not even a written diagnosis. She had to stay autonomous. Screw me, even if she was violent. That was my problem.  I don’t have that “excuse” now. I just need to buck it up, buttercup.

I packed as much as I could by last Thursday, a weak ago today. I couldn’t get everything. I had collected more there then I thought. I told D I would have to go back and get the rest, pack it and take it to storage. I knew she had a problem when she said I’d bought out Macy’s. I’ve bought almost nothing for 3 years. A couple of bra’s and a t-shirt. Must needs, because 5+ year old bra’s are stretched out, and I’ve gained weight and needed a shirt that didn’t cling like skin.

I spent Saturday packing boxes and drove to one of my storage units, moved a ton of stuff and repacked it. That unit is full. I went to another and added more to it, and unless I repack it, nothing more will fit. The 3rd unit is full, was full after the departure from the last “friend’s” place I was in. I have to get another unit, a small one, because I don’t have the strength to move anymore. And I need climate control for this one. I have to put my tower/computer in storage. It gets too hot out there. And storage ain’t cheap and there is nothing else I can do because I am homeless.

I’m paying $632, not counting insurance which I doubt will cover anything now, because storage unit insurance is so much. That stuff isn’t worth anything, unless you’re me or a storage unit buyer. They will make money off your crap. And I have enough things that aren’t crap. Probably $50,000 in books, not counting the comics that are signed. Or the Wedgwood China, the silver, crystal and pewter. Yeah, there is money in those units. I can sell some of it, but how? How do I get to it and try? I’m weak as a baby now. I feared having another stroke this past weekend.

I had the garage remote and D was on a tear after the clothes. I put the remote back on the kitchen counter Saturday night. Somehow, the garage door opened and since I had the remote, I did it. I left at 4 and got back at 7 pm. The door was closed when I left. I watched it close before I drove off. I never went back out there. She wanted to hear nothing. I left it open and that was it. I had to go. I woke up to her screaming. I got texts blaming me for taking advantage of our friendship, a 20 year friendship, that I endangered their safety and had brought chaos and had to go.

Since she refused to talk, I had obviously triggered something, I said I would I just needed some time, a few days. We passed each other, there were few words, she screamed and yelled, stating her house wasn’t a storage unit and I had to LEAVE. I packed more, got some totes from Home Depot, texted her and asked if I could retrieve my towels from her room. The response – Yes, but leave the door closed and LEAVE.

I packed the car. I mean PACKED the car. I missed the Montero yesterday. She’s gone. The Cutlass can fit bodies in the trunk, but boxes? Long skinny boxes. I fit all I could restricting my vision for driving. Slow lane for me and no changing lanes to the right.

I got the car packed, barely, forgot two coats and all food that didn’t fit in my small cooler, gave the other roommate my key, since D had put a note on the cooler to leave them when I did, and he closed the door behind me. Before pulling away from the curb, I sent D a text stating I would have to contact her in the next couple of days to arrange to come back and get the rest. I wanted to text her because I don’t trust what anyone says anymore when they torch that bridge, and she nuked it.

I drove to this place, unpacked for over an hour, settled in and went in search of food at 10 at night. Safeway was open. The motel now had a no vacancy sign in the window. Got a few things and went back to the room. I walked. My back needed it, and I was freezing. The wind was cold last night. That’s how I realized I’d left my coats, at least my Vikings fleece jacket that I wore on knights like this. Not the Tahoe down coat I used when it was cold and rainy. Need to get those. I will try on Saturday. I have texted the folks I was house sitting for. They have spoken to D and told me to advise them when I would be by to make sure it is ok for them. They are D’s friends, they have her interests at heart.

D has cancer. I know this. We both have a death sentence locked on our existence. I want was is best for her, but I have to think of me and my immediate existence. She has had too much taken from her with a huge struggle for survival. I want to avoid those dark paths, dead ends, road closures. I know what she has been through and how pride kept her from seeking help. I would have, had I known. But she didn’t reach out. Didn’t ask me for help. We are too much alike in too many ways. The difference – I can be vulnerable and grudgingly accept help, put my pride in a box and bury it. Appreciate the help I receive and try to pay it forward. I still want to do this. When I can, I will. That’s why I haven’t killed myself. I have to pay back many people, and I have to see justice from those that caused so much chaos in my life because they felt they could. If it happened to me, how many others have they done that too? How many of those couldn’t speak up? How many didn’t have the strength to continue? How many just gave up? If it’s just one, that’s too many. Someone else than me. I found a fight I am willing to take on. They did that to Mom. I learned enough to deal with it effectively this time.

No one deserves to be dismissed just because someone thinks it is “ok”.

I have cried so much this past week. D feels that it’s just self pity. It’s a result of the stroke. A neurological disorder called Pseudo-Bulbar Affect, PBA. They have a pill for it. I had a neurologist extensively note it in my file in March. He retired in May. I see the new one next week. Maybe it’ll be addressed then. But, I can’t help that I cry when I’m frustrated, or upset, or thoroughly confused – which I easily become because part of my brain is dead. Confusion is my constant companion. I battle that every minute of every day and I can’t just “get over it” like D thinks. She knows I had a stroke, but I can train myself to be normal, supposedly. At least normal enough for her. I don’t know. How can I when I don’t know what has been lost for good or what has been lost for now and may come back someday? I just don’t know and I hate that. I hate not knowing something so important about me. And I have to learn to live with that and be patient. Patience is a virtue that I used up a long time ago.

I unpacked enough here. Finally found my spare test stripes so I can test my blood sugar. I ran out this morning, before I finally took a shower. That was the longest I have ever gone without a shower. And I pee’d myself twice the last three days. My bladder nerves are messed up. If I feel the need, it’s probably too late. I wear leakage pads now for when I sneeze or cough. Yeah, in making it down the stairs, I started peeing before I made it to the bathroom. Overflowed the pad, soaked my underwear and pants. Even socks. I had sanitary towelettes, so I could clean myself and change when I got back to the bedroom. Laundry is piling up.  The washer and dryer here are broken. At least there’s a sign on them to that effect.

One of my knitting bags, the one that had my current project is missing. A bag of shoes is missing with my Merrill’s and walking shoes isn’t in my trunk, or were in the house. I looked thoroughly. Probably lost. My usable black shoes. At least I have the brown one’s. $120 to replace. I can’t remember what was in the knitting bag, except a Norwegian embroidery that I’ve had for 15 years and can’t replace. The instructions and yarn were in the bag. The fabric and my first stitches were not. I have that. I barely started. I have no way to finish it, or even know what it’s supposed to look like when a portion is complete. I think it was supposed to be a pillow. Who knows.

My writing is disjointed, like me. I’m going to add a video I did earlier today, before the shower, and a link to my GoFundMe page.

My friend M has told me I can have a place to lay my head, but she’s incurred a death in the family and family is at her house through the weekend. I am a burden, but I don’t have to be a jackass, so I’m at a motel. Thank God for GFM and a generous donation by a mutual friend. Stitcher’s have hearts of gold.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for donating if you do. I am not too proud to ask. I can’t afford not to. I’m pathetic and I hate myself. I’ll cry about it later when I try to sleep.