Thursday, December 8, 2011

The Family that Preys Together -- Stays Together!!! Part Deux (I've used this title before)


My family at Wrightsville Beach on Dad's 90th birthday, April 23, 2008: sister Jane, brother Mike, Mom, "fat" me (at my peak of Lithium-induced weight -- 332 pounds -- I'm 225 pounds now), Dad, and Dad's late dog Maggie. My younger sister Julie took the picture.


>>> ADDED 12/09/11, 11:15 AM: CORRECTIONS (in parentheses and purple)
>>> WARNING!!!: "The Devil" momentarily possessed me a few minutes ago when sister Jane called me and this posting will include brief "bad" language.

My sister Jane, having spent most of the nineties and the oughts working in commission sales, retreated a few years ago after the economy went sour to her original job from right out of undergraduate college at UNC Chapel Hill '75 or '76 (she later picked up her masters before going into sales). She is again working for the State of North Carolina in Disability Benefits Determination.

While I consider myself FULLY able, after a discussion with Father Bob at St. Mary's parish here in Wilmington in which he pointed out that THE GOVERNMENT is likely to see me as disabled, so why NOT apply for disability and accept their money. He said I don't have to internalize the idea of my disability (I had feared that I would and it would lead to ACTUAL disability.

You see, my parents and Jane have been pushing me since I returned from Mexico to the US a year ago, to file for disability. At the time, they were ALSO demanding that I get psychiatric treatment -- ESPECIALLY Lithium ingestion therapy (Lithium reduces your ability to think, but more importantly, keeps you from seeing the connections between events). That's why my mother over-ruled Dr. Waggenheim (sp?) -- the first (nearby) shrink I ever saw back in 1978 when I temporary lived with my parents in West Chester, PA -- and found a Dr. Wallace "Wally" Hussein (actually a German name, NOT Arab as it might appear) (his name was actually Wallace "Wally" Hussong, German, not East Asian as it might appear!!!) in Cherry Hill, NJ (FORTY-THREE MILES across metro Philadelphia -- which was LOADED with oodles of qualified psychiatrists), who agreed IN ADVANCE to put me on Lithium. Dr. Waggenheim had thought I needed simply to talk things out with him, and I had a GREAT rapport with him, but Mom stopped THOSE visits after TWO.

In fact, when I returned from Mexico by car mid-December 2010, and was staying with my parents in Raleigh, they had Police remove me from their house and filed papers that I would be trespassing if I returned. They wanted to be sure that I would be easily arrested.

A few days before at an evaluation at a Raleigh mental health care organization -- which Mom had INSISTED she accompany me to (but the evaluator would NOT allow her to sit in on, despite her virulent protests. She DID put lots of her two-cents in, informally) I was evaluated by someone without an MD or PhD as "Bipolar," and told I would be put on medication. I was set up with an actual doctor's appointment about a week later.

On the way home, I told my parents that I would reserve judgement until I spoke with the doctor and was not at all confident that not-doctored personnel should be telling people they would definitely be medicated.

This did NOT apparently sit well with my parents, and that night (the night of the full lunar eclipse), at about 3:15 AM, my father took his BB gun out and shot the windshield of my car. In the morning, he denied that it was him, but I had awakened from his fumbling about the house and seen him return the gun to the house. He later admitted it. (And he DID later pay to have it repaired.)

Things were uneasy, but I kept the peace by not discussing the evaluation or upcoming doctor's appointment. Next thing I knew -- and ENTIRELY without warning or politely (or rudely) first asking, cops arrived and ordered me out -- THE FIRST I KNEW THAT ANYTHING WAS GOING TO HAPPEN.

>>> This is a LITTLE background on how loving is my family!!!

Jane DID come down and help me with the interview which was the first of my application for Disability about a month ago, and today, she called to say that the papers we added so that she is copied on my application's progress had not been entered by people in "THE SYSTEM" properly, but she thought she could get it straightened out. Wisely, because my sister works here in Disability, my claim is being processed in Kentucky and there are many safeguards to prevent family influencing claims -- which we have no intention of anyway.

After discussing that business, I mentioned that I had recently received a nice donation from my anonymous blog-lover in New York City, but already had spent nearly all of it on another month's rent at the shelter and U-Haul -- as well as getting some repairs done to an old computer that has files that are not TOTALLY essential, but will help me in the case when I file RACKETEERING charges against Ben David, Judge Criner, Patrick Stansbury, some Tennessee Williams people, etc.

I lost a three-sided filling in a tooth that anchors my flipper 18 months ago, and am hoping to raise some more money to help pay for it. I discovered there is a dentist in my First Prez Discovery class who actually is a good friend of my father's first cousin, Ruby Kenan (Ruby Kenan Marsh who turned 100 this year) or Fannie Blackwood (Fannie Eliza Kenan Blackwood b. 1919???) (I'm a little hazy on our conversation, but I KNOW both women from my high school days when we visited them and they chastised my father for "turning Yankee" after marrying my mother). I am hoping to have him do the work, but want to secure the money first.

I mentioned to Jane that I had tried REPEATEDLY to get someone in my immediate family to send me $18.50 (the cost of a three-sided composite filling by a good dentist in Puerto Vallarta). The cost in Georgia had been $240.00, but they had REPEATEDLY and SELF-RIGHTEOUSLY refused to do so (they also refused to send $18.50 -- 200 pesos -- to clean and dress an open wound on the bottom of my right foot the size of a quarter that had been infected and took five months to eventually heal on its own).

This afternoon I asked Jane why they had been so adamant in not helping me in Mexico. She began: "But you are sixty years old now, and . . ." I abruptly cut her off and yelled: "FUCK YOU AND GO TO HELL," and hung up.

I do not regret it.

See also: http://scottkenan.blogspot.com/2011/05/my-reply-to-cnns-request-for-info.html .

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