Blame blame blame….the latest installment….

I need to stay off Facebook cuz I get scapegoated there. I wish people wouldn’t use it as a communication tool, and use email or phone instead, cuz I hate communicating via Facebook messenger. There’s something very nonprivate about Facebook. And there’s something rather ugly about it, too. Bullying runs rampant there. I get told how rotten I am over and over. Told over and over how much I am to blame. I think I’ve lost far more friends there than I’ve gained. Been ganged up on so, so many times. How many suicides have happened due to Facebook bullying, I wonder?
People are just at each other’s throats and I am so sick of it. Sick of the ratrace and jealous of the people who get a zillion loves and likes and a zillion fans wherever they go. Oh, loved so much. I look at some of the stuff they say and really, big shit deal. So what. I don’t see any difference between what some of my less popular pals say who aren’t all that “liked” and what these super popular folks are saying, yet they got all the prestige in the world and are walking with their noses in the air.
Well, that wasn’t what I was gonna talk about, but that’s what I said, here and now.
I could’ve had it better when I got away from the Mental Health System, I suppose, if I actually had a social life, that is, friends and family, surrounded by loving people, but being low on the totem pole meant starting from the bottom in the dredges with nothing. Emptiness day after day. It meant a lot lot lot of grief, being torn for about two years, totally alone, I guess, in sort of a living hell till I found folks.
I’m a lot better off now. Now and then I have a real conversation. I got pals I phone using my Skype-to-phone app. I pay a fairly low monthly fee for the service, far less than you pay for a cell phone contract in the US, far less. It works well and the connection is good here. I don’t see the people but I hear them well. They have phones and I use my phone for it with a data connection. I’ve been using a couple of phone and Internet services, one more expensive than the other. There’s free wifi nearby a few blocks over but I have yet to find it. I’m too darned tired and believe it or not it’s rather tough to find stuff here when everything’s in a foreign language. You can’t ask for directions when you don’t know the language.
Back in the USA, no one would speak to me, literally. I went a couple of years with no phone pals. I would go for months with no convesation, nothing. It was horrible and I remember the day I made a You-Tube begging for a phone call. I got on fucking Facebook begging for a phone call. If only someone would please be a real friend!
Oh yeah, a person who lived blocks away called me one day (you are really gonna laugh) and told me that I “needed day treatment” and told me where the place was. She said, “You and I have been friends for a long time…” I got off the phone and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Friends? Really? If she lived blocks away, why wouldn’t she call me or spend time with me if she was my friend? Whenever I called, she made excuses for not having answered, such as, “I had the flu,” or “I was napping.” For three months she had the flu or napping…I got the hint. Sending me to therapy isn’t being a friend.
It really isn’t. That conversation was one of the few I had back in Watertown, according to my phone records. Isn’t that sad? I think this was early in 2013. Nothing. And they asked me why I starved myself and I said, “Because no one gives a shit.” Well, I was telling the truth, wasn’t I? I could have just killed myself but no, I dieted instead. Give me credit for that, please!
Someday, I’ll get real daring and send a very nice fuck you to the world. I’ll post the photo I took of myself at around, oh, 80 pounds or so and post it here. The date of the photo is August 5, 2013, I think. My kidneys failed August 12. Those that made excuses need to seriously go to hell. The fakers need to go to hell, too. Those that only took money or material goods or sex from me, go to hell. Those that tried to force me to stop writing cuz you were scared of my pen, go to hell. The ones that forced poisons on me or tried to lock me up, go to hell. Those that refused to listen, go to hell.
Those that actually appreciate me in some way, I love you. The ones that actually spent time with me or had actual conversations with me, I love you. Those that don’t know me maybe we’ll connect someday. Maybe not. Someday, I won’t be around anymore. No one is alive forever.

Housing problems continue…but this sure beats psych abuse any day!

My landlady moved me to a different apartment that she had available. It’s upstairs. Right away, I fell in love with this place. It’s writer’s heaven. I asked myself if maybe my neighbor here upstairs pulled strings to get me here, but maybe my landlady just figured that perhaps this was a good idea for health’s sake. I mean, city sludge means shit and piss. So I couldn’t live with a flood of shit and piss soaking my floor, right? The floor is stone, which doesn’t soak up anything, but the bedroom has a thin carpet on it. That carpet was a concern. The gutter was within feet of me. Eeks! I don’t think the place is gonna be habitable for a while…
Actually, that is my hope, because this upstairs place is REALLY nice. It gets tons of sun. By comparison, the downstairs place was rather large, dark, dim, dismal and depressing. Here it’s sunny and warm. I have windows, lots of them. I can walk out onto the roof. I have a lovely view of the whole town. I have real privacy and I have solid curtains that block out other people’s view. Only one curtain was missing, but I used a tarp that I have. All the electrical outlets work and only one light bulb is out…not bad considering my landlady is having me here rather suddenly on emergency basis. There is a gas two-burner stove. At the other stove there was no stove and no fridge. The gas is turned off and I see a switch but I’m not gonna mess with it. I’ll wait till she shows me how to turn it on.
I don’t know how to tell you square footage. It’s just right. Several rooms. Perfect for writing. I have a table. It’s solid wood. I guess a piece you’d call a “console” in the USA, for TV or stereo. I have a TV but I want my landlady to take it…maybe if I offer her the TV she will give me a break on rent…maybe. There’s cable hookup for the TV. Will this also work for internet? I need to find out if I can hook up to the cable and get Intenet service. Bet I can. The other place also had a similar hookup…never had a chance to look into it.
Above all, privacy. Puzzle loves it here, so much nicer than the other place where Puzzle had to put up with constant comings and goings. So annoying. Puzzle was SCARED. And no offense to my landlady but that shared entrance bugged me. Now, I really like that the people that see me come and go are tiny little kids. They are thrilled that a nice lady with Puzzle has moved next door. No one can say “Puzzle,” though. Funny name, eh? They are cute, too, just like Puzzle.
My landlady had me move here temporarily and the plan has been that I would go back downstairs after the work was done. However…the water company hasn’t done the work yet…the longer the wait, the better for me, cuz it means the possibility of my being able to…er…make this a permanent little transfer up here. How am I gonna finagle it? My landlady might assume that I want the downstairs. However, my neighbor and I have developed an understanding…she knows more English…I am wondering if I can speak to her and explain that this new place is working out far better. I think this is the best I’m gonna do here. The object is to transfer without a rent increase. It’s less square footage…BUT furnished.
Time passes….I have slept here two nights now. I guess it was around 3am, a couple of hours ago. I woke up and Puzzle was puking. I’ve been here about ten weeks now and Puzzle hasn’t done this yet, but now she is. Puzzle…dang! Yep, right in bed. I kicked her off the bed. Then, more, on the darned floor. A bunch of times. Puzzle! What’s up, honey? I cleaned it up but….huh? What the fuck? How can a tiny dog have that much in her tummy? Good thing I thought ahead and covered the bed with a tarp. However, she chose to throw up on the one place where the tarp hadn’t covered the bed. Tomorrow…or, rather, today, my landlady’s bedspread is taking a trip to the lavadero. That guy sure is making tons of money off of me.
Funny, I purchased some disinfectant yesterday at Disco. Disco is a chain store we have here…it’s sort of a small supermarket…I say small compared to USA supermarkets. A whole bunch smaller cuz the USA has these giant ones, especially in the midwest. Disco even has muzak like Tienda Inglesa has. Tienda Inglesa is larger than Disco. Both are tiny compared to the USA. Anyway, don’t let me go on and on about that…Disinfectant….
So I tried to mop the floor. I cleaned up Puzzle’s puke with paper towels and then swept and mopped the floor, then used the disinfectant on it, not too much just a few spoonfuls. I’d like to clean the floor again, for the heck of it.
But let me back up for a sec…
It must have been a week ago. Don’t laugh, or, rather, do, when you hear the end of this one. Or I guess July 18, or call it18 Julio, that’s a national holiday here. I was going to bed and I heard the most godawful noise. This was around the time I had just moved. Dang…what the heck is that? I thought someone was playing some horrible music that wouldn’t quit. I noticed it stopped suddenly around midnight. This happened again, too, on a Saturday night. I assumed this was a local bar. But since when do they do African drumming in South America in the bars? Dang, did I now live near a freaking bar? That close? Which bar had played that godawful music so loud you couldn’t think?
I couldn’t for the life of me figure it out. Periodically this annoying drumming. Know what it was? Rain. Yep, heavy rain falling down on the overhang outside. Wow, it sounded like African drumming that wouldn’t quit. I thought it was a noisy bar! I suppose that explained why I didn’t hear guitars.
So last night before the Grand Puke-off, this being, say, around midnight, Puzzle woke with a start, looking out toward the window, in the direction of the street. Same noise. Drumming. I assured her that everything was okay. Just the rain. She crawled back into bed.
I guess I got up at some point, deciding I’d check to make sure Puzzle had enough water in her dish. Her dish is in the kichen near the windows and the “drumming.” So I went to replace the water she had.
Oops. Problemo. I’ve got a leaky roof. Yep, a leaky roof. That kinda explains why it’s a bit soggy over in the corner there. Hmm…do all homes have problemos?
So after I cleaned up Puzzle’s puke, and swept and mopped and disinfected, I noticed you just couldn’t get the damn floor dry. Hmm….yeah, soggy floor. You step on it and water comes up. Not extremely wet like the moisture-locked place, I lived in for two months, but still, just a bit wet.
This place isn’t moisture-locked and there are no insects crawling around. Honestly, after living in the first place I had, I assumed anywhere you go here, you get bitten alive, but that ain’t true. It’s an incredible relief not to be bitten all the time. I’m no longer covered from head to toe with bug bites nor do I have to use a mosquito net every night.
You guys wouldn’t believe the contrast. The people are just plain much nicer here. You aren’t assumed to be “crazy” if you cry, nor assaulted with psychiatric labels for, say, dropping things on the bus or having the wrong fare. If you sing in the street for joy, you aren’t called “crazy.” In the USA, you are called stupid for taking your time crossing the street and you get honked at. Here, people politely wait for you to cross (unless the driver is a USA import). If you are old or sick or pregnant you will get plenty of respect, too, and assistance but not unwanted or unnecessary assistance forced upon you.

I cry all the time for joy because I am here. The inconveniences are minor. I hated in the USA being called a liar when I wasn’t lying. I hated the bullying and put-downs. Know something? I haven’t once been criticized regarding my weight here. Not once. No rude comments. No snide remarks. No forced weigh-ins. No one imposing their ideas of “health” on me. No forced appointments. I hated that so much! Judged by my income level…yuck. Freedom is wonderful. You guys have no clue how much that means to me. I’ll never forget how I was shoved on buses all the time, told I was too slow and holding people up…shoved on the street because people were in such a hurry and found me offensive, looked down on because my teeth aren’t perfect and are an indication that I don’t have much money, shouted at because I drop something, oh please, USA, you can keep attacking each other, hating each other, being at each other’s throats now that I am gone….I don’t want that anymore!
I’ll take the soggy floor over what I went through. I can deal with this. I think all I need to do is contact some people somewhere and find some way to solve the insomnia. This is the main thing holding me back now. I have figured out that this insomnia is universal among those that were given way too many drugs in the past.
I hear this from so, so many people. Sedating drugs. The body gets used to the drugs over a period of years and then, cannot sleep. Either you stay on these drugs forever and let the drugs ruin your organs (take your pick of which organ) or you can choose insomnia.
Which organ? For me, my kidneys and thyroid, but psych meds ruin your heart, your brain, your bones, your liver, your glands, your reproductive system, your sexual functioning, your skin, your hair, your digestive tract, they can cause cancer, they can cause all sorts of movement disorders including TD, they can make you look like you have other psych diagnoses you never had to begin with, they can ruin your social life, they increase photosensitivity, they cause weight gain, diabetes mellitus, they can make you so nerved up you kill yourself even if you weren’t suicidal or homocidal to begin with. And so on.
Um…lifesaving drugs? Tradeoff? Okay, for the few. Teensy minority, not the thousands and thousands of people that were put on these drugs rather arbitrarily and told they HAD to stay on them for life. Coerced. Sure, I was totally convinced I was one of the PRIVILEDGED, SPECIAL FEW. I figured this special bit made me very, very loved.
Guess what? No one loved me. They were only being paid to pretend to love me. In the end, no one was there at all, and realizing this almost killed me.
Anyway…I’m okay. Alive. When I think of how much better off I am now, I wanna cry with joy. I actually talk to people on the phone via skype now. I remember for about a year no one would talk to me and I feel so good to have tons of conversation back in my life. The locals talk to me, too, limited cuz I don’t know much Spanish but I try, and treat me like a regular person, not “crazy” like back in fucking Watertown.