Privacy, Illness

Today I had a lot to do. I had to wake up at a decent time because the person from community paramedicine was coming to do the house visit to check in on me, since MRSA has a high risk of reinfection. After that I had a tight amount of time to get over to the storage unit and check it out, because after that I had scheduled a last second therapy appointment. I believe it was that call that woke me up, Lauren told me the rats are doing great and she'll send me pictures soon, and we scheduled the appointment for 5pm.

Around 11:30 I got a call from Diana, the paramedic who was coming over, saying that she was running a bit late. She got here around noon and we went over some brief basic questions. She asked how I ended up getting MRSA and I said that I've been so stressed out that I had been scratching my skin raw and a cut must have gotten infected. She looked concerned and asked me why I'm so stressed and anxious. She promised to keep it between us and I told her all about Jena, Glitch, and Jed and what they had done. At the point I was talking about Jed specifically there was a loud thud downstairs. Diana turned and the looked back at me asking if the door was still shut. We looked down the staircase and it was wide open. I'm sure Jed had been listening in because as Diana went down to close the door he was right there in his room, which is next to my door. Diana called out "Hello?" and I heard Jed go "What? The cats run into the door and open it." She knew he was lying because she knew how hard it was to pull it completely shut. I doubt that even Mister, the biggest cat, would be able to open it. Why would they run into my door and not come into my room anyway? It just doesn't make any sense. She was PISSED and very politely told him not to open the door again because he was violating HIPAA laws by intruding on my appointment. I heard her close the door extra tightly and she said "There, now we won't have anymore 'cats' slamming into the door." I told her that he does that all the time and I don't have a lock on my door. She was shocked and looked scared for me because I had told her about Jed attempting to rape someone in their sleep and I said yup, that's him.

She asked about how I ended up here, where I grew up and other things. We talked about God, and the struggles of having PTSD (unsurprising, as paramedics see some really gruesome stuff, I can imagine). The appointment just naturally turned into casual conversation. She told me about some heavy things in her life that she said she had never told ANYONE before. I told her about the childhood sexual assault I endured from one of my aunts from age 8 to 14. The rape from Erik when I was 22. The drugging and raping by Joe when I was 24. We both cried. But I felt safe to cry. It was finally ok. Thinking about all of those painful memories is hard, but I felt so relieved after finally being able to cry. It feels like it just got stuck in me somewhere and I wasn't able to cry for so long. Sometimes you need to be weak to become stronger.

She got a call from her boss at some point- apparently if their GPS shows the paramedic in one place for too long, they check in and make sure everything's ok. We didn't realize how long we had been just talking, so we needed to hurry and finish the appointment. She took my vitals and I was running a slight fever of 101.4, though she said the scanner is always a bit off. I bought my own thermometer to check, especially since I have several infections, and I don't think I've had a fever since luckily. We also had to schedule the appointments I hadn't gotten the chance to make yet, which is a huge relief because calls always give me anxiety. The receptionist had a few screening questions for me, so the phone was on speaker so that I could hear. They asked if Jena was still my emergency contact and I said "No, but I don't have anyone who I can put," and without skipping a beat Diana says "You can put me down! We've been friends long before this!" (since she called saying she was with paramedicine originally) and gives the receptionist her info. While she did that she also started writing something and then passed it to me.

It was a note with her full name, cell number, address, and read "Call me anytime!!! I work 9-5 M-F otherwise I'm free most of the time (because I have no friends) lol" I laughed and she said she's serious, we should go out to a diner or something sometime- she pleaded "I have a husband and kids, I need a break!" So I said that sounds great. We clicked really well. There really is nothing like bonding through trauma, it's really something else. To be hurting in some way and have someone understand that pain and listen is such a relief. I'm glad we found that in each other. We agreed to talk more. She told me that she finds me fascinating- not in like a creepy way or and "I want to study you" kind of way, but she said that she wants to hear my full story. I thought about that for a minute. I used to do a lot of writing as a kid. Mostly sci-fi type stuff, but there were a few times that some people in my family actually have asked me if I would ever write a book about my life. I've thought about it. Am I good writer? Do people really want to hear my story? Whenever I write it out here or elsewhere it seems like people are generally interested in what I have to say. Do you look forward to it? Is it fascinating? I know that certain people wouldn't like what I would have to say about them, so I would have to change all of the names. I just wrote the entry after this, actually and now I'm wondering if maybe THAT'S what I'm supposed to be doing. Telling my story.

We parted ways and I immediately called for an uber to take me over to the pharmacy and then to the storage unit. I got REALLY lucky. The first place I tried had good reviews online and was run by a non-nonsense business woman who drives a golf cart like she stole it lol. I asked for a 10x10 unit and she said the closest things she has available right now are a 10x9 or a 10x20. I looked at each one and decided to go with the 10x9. I knew I had previously fit everything into a 10' truck and that's what I was planning on using again to move, and since downsizing I would have more space, and the fact that the storage units were also pretty tall compared to the last place I used so we would be able to stack things up. Plus it was slightly less expensive. The woman went over the legalese very quickly, so I had to go back and read over everything to make sure I understood what kind of lease I was signing myself up for. This place has stricter rules than the last and requires a weeks notice to vacate the unit, as well as fees, which if you don't pay they will very quickly auction off your stuff. I don't think the last place I went to did that at all, or at least didn't openly say it. I decided to sign up for automatic payments so I don't need to worry about fees. I just need to make sure I always have at least $122 left over in my account before the next month comes, because of course I get paid on the 3rd and they require payment on the 1st... Seriously, how are disabled people supposed to live?! Every little thing like that is another hurdle.

I waited inside the office while I called for an uber to take me back to the house because it was raining a bit. This was the first time I got the same uber driver twice in a row! I thought it was kind of funny, but he seemed to kind of be a grump. Though it's possible his English just not might have been good because he had his directions in Spanish as well... You never really know, I guess. I got back to the house just in time for therapy to start. Absolutely perfect timing! It was already 5pm and time for me to unleash hell on my poor therapist. Last time we spoke neither of us felt well and we cut the session a little short, and we were both grateful for it. She took off the next week, which is why we made this appointment. She told me she had tested positive for covid! It didn't hit her too badly, she said she didn't have most of the symptoms and it just felt like a bad cold, but I'm glad she's doing better now. I told her about how I ended up sick again and this time it landed me in the hospital for a week with 3 surgeries and 8 stitches. I told her I still need to move my stuff to storage tomorrow and I'm stressed out because everyone who said they would help me is cancelling at the last second. She's still completely baffled that Jena is kicking me out at all. Landlords aren't allowed to kick anyone out yet still because of covid. Plus they accuse me of being inconsiderate of their needs, but then completely don't give a shit that I still haven't found a place to go and lost a significant chunk of time due to being sick....

Diana told me this is called gaslighting, and it's something manipulative people commonly do to get you to think you did something wrong when you didn't. Everyone who I've told the whole story to sees that even if I did mess up sometimes, their story just doesn't add up. Everyone has told me just don't interact with these people if I can help it because they're very clearly unstable. Diana saw that firsthand. She asked me if Jena was the one with blue hair out on the porch smoking and I said yup. I told her about the damn muffin incident and Diana stopped me and said "Wait what?? If you had never told me she was disabled, I would have had no idea. She got up and walked to the door and let me in with no issues." And you know what. She's right. I always gave Jena the benefit of the doubt, but it never occurred to me that they would be lying about that too and playing up their injuries. I told her that they showed me the x-ray of how crooked their spine is though and Diana said "Scoliosis is very common, but this person was very clearly able-bodied from what I saw." And she's a paramedic so she would know. Now I understand why someone who complains constantly about how disabled they are can't get on disability.... there IS no disability. That also explains how they can sit in a rather uncomfortable looking desk chair on the porch all day long, sometimes even falling asleep there like that. That would absolutely murder my back and I only have relatively mild kyphosis and scoliosis. Someone who had a serious spinal injury wouldn't be able to sit upright in that kind of chair as much as they do, and slump the way they do when they nod out (If I'm being honest, probably high on oxy and seriously nodding out- I lived with an opiate addict before and it's shocking how similar the two of them are in personality, immaturity, they way they slightly slur their speech... you can just tell they're doped up). And because I was curious about back problems and disability requirements I googled it and... literally all you need to do is be diagnosed with ANY back condition that lasts for over a year. Which means not only are they not disabled, but they probably don't actually even have a diagnosis AT ALL. Wow. Why am I not surprised that Jena's whole plan in life is to get comfy on disability income so they don't have to do anything except get high, meanwhile collecting money from the tenants they take in so they can keep buying more drugs...? I feel like everything just clicked.