It's been a while since I've posted and I've got a couple things to share. I hope this is an okay place to put this post---rather than break things up and confuse myself.
My story begins with my living environments over the last couple of years. In October, we moved from a 1500 sq. ft. house into a single room in a friend's house. Over the last couple of weeks, the female roomie got sick after her routine of using all of her pain meds within the first week of picking them up. If you know anything about opioid addiction, withdrawals are no walk in the park. Especially when one is taking several high doses of three different types of opiates for the last 35 years. Long story short- Major Drama!!!!
So, I've been trying to help this friend/roomie out with personal care. Doctors appts. Taking her to buy shoes, bras and other necessities that have been neglected by her mate for years. I pay the agreed amount of rent on time. I pay for the cable, i.e. internet. I buy and prepare meals for four people, and clean up afterwards.
The gist is that this person started taking her addiction/mental issues out on me because I am the weakest, most vulnerable person in the house. The other two people in this home besides me and this woman are her mate and mine---so I get the emotional toxic waste. Needless to say, the night before me and the boyfriend left for good to stay in a hotel, this woman had me so harrassed and scared that my boyfriend had to pull our bed in front of the bedroom door to block it being open in the middle of the night while we slept, and we had to pee in a plastic coffee container. I heard her through the night muttering things like "Circe should step in front of a truck---let her bones get smashed and see how she feels." "Circe's next on my "hit list."Or, "Circe is not really sick. She can talk to people, she can go shop, she can sit at a computer.....blah....blah....blah." Well, since I didn't get hit by a car and have the lower half of my leg shattered like she did doesn't mean I'm any less disabled, given my job skill set, my mental illness, my documented and legitimate physical illnesses that can't be faked. Her final complaint was that I'm highly intelligent--therefore can't be disabled. Basically, because I'm not a raving, vicious, vengeful bitch with no couth, class or brains---like her---I haven't got the right to collect the disability that I PAID into throughout a 30 year career.
This horrible drama had me so twisted up that I had to go to mental health crisis clinic last Friday. It has taken until just now to be able to level off a bit.
The great news is the accomplishment. My dad called the day before all of this went down. He reached out and told me that he only wanted me to be happy, that he loved me, and called me his "darling, daughter number one." For the first time in my 50 years on this planet, this is the first time my father has said "I love you," and I actually felt it. There is a BIG, HUGE sense of healing this recent contact has brought. My father has also been very supportive of this latest incident in a way that he has never been before. He took my mate aside and looked him in the eye and said very sincerely, "I don't want my daughter near those people again." This is a big statement from my father. There was no impatient, irritable blame on my part for being stupid, not thinking straight, having my head in the clouds, trusting people when I shouldn't. I finally felt like his protected, beloved daughter.
Can't say the same for the mom, though. I called her on last Friday and gave a brief rundown....."I had to run for my life....yet again.....back to mental crisis clinic.....I'm safe now......be at the ----- motor lodge, room ---- if you need to get in touch." I haven't heard back since. This got me to thinking how she didn't come when I cut my wrists, or come straight away when my son was born, or was there for me when I was being abused as a little girl. In fact, for every major milestone and crisis, my mother has never been there for me, and my father has, in his own dysfunctional way.
My story begins with my living environments over the last couple of years. In October, we moved from a 1500 sq. ft. house into a single room in a friend's house. Over the last couple of weeks, the female roomie got sick after her routine of using all of her pain meds within the first week of picking them up. If you know anything about opioid addiction, withdrawals are no walk in the park. Especially when one is taking several high doses of three different types of opiates for the last 35 years. Long story short- Major Drama!!!!
So, I've been trying to help this friend/roomie out with personal care. Doctors appts. Taking her to buy shoes, bras and other necessities that have been neglected by her mate for years. I pay the agreed amount of rent on time. I pay for the cable, i.e. internet. I buy and prepare meals for four people, and clean up afterwards.
The gist is that this person started taking her addiction/mental issues out on me because I am the weakest, most vulnerable person in the house. The other two people in this home besides me and this woman are her mate and mine---so I get the emotional toxic waste. Needless to say, the night before me and the boyfriend left for good to stay in a hotel, this woman had me so harrassed and scared that my boyfriend had to pull our bed in front of the bedroom door to block it being open in the middle of the night while we slept, and we had to pee in a plastic coffee container. I heard her through the night muttering things like "Circe should step in front of a truck---let her bones get smashed and see how she feels." "Circe's next on my "hit list."Or, "Circe is not really sick. She can talk to people, she can go shop, she can sit at a computer.....blah....blah....blah." Well, since I didn't get hit by a car and have the lower half of my leg shattered like she did doesn't mean I'm any less disabled, given my job skill set, my mental illness, my documented and legitimate physical illnesses that can't be faked. Her final complaint was that I'm highly intelligent--therefore can't be disabled. Basically, because I'm not a raving, vicious, vengeful bitch with no couth, class or brains---like her---I haven't got the right to collect the disability that I PAID into throughout a 30 year career.
This horrible drama had me so twisted up that I had to go to mental health crisis clinic last Friday. It has taken until just now to be able to level off a bit.
The great news is the accomplishment. My dad called the day before all of this went down. He reached out and told me that he only wanted me to be happy, that he loved me, and called me his "darling, daughter number one." For the first time in my 50 years on this planet, this is the first time my father has said "I love you," and I actually felt it. There is a BIG, HUGE sense of healing this recent contact has brought. My father has also been very supportive of this latest incident in a way that he has never been before. He took my mate aside and looked him in the eye and said very sincerely, "I don't want my daughter near those people again." This is a big statement from my father. There was no impatient, irritable blame on my part for being stupid, not thinking straight, having my head in the clouds, trusting people when I shouldn't. I finally felt like his protected, beloved daughter.
Can't say the same for the mom, though. I called her on last Friday and gave a brief rundown....."I had to run for my life....yet again.....back to mental crisis clinic.....I'm safe now......be at the ----- motor lodge, room ---- if you need to get in touch." I haven't heard back since. This got me to thinking how she didn't come when I cut my wrists, or come straight away when my son was born, or was there for me when I was being abused as a little girl. In fact, for every major milestone and crisis, my mother has never been there for me, and my father has, in his own dysfunctional way.
