I feel inspired! So I recorded an EXTRA broadcast JUST FOR YOU! It includes a poetry reading. Stay tuned to Juliemadblogger Radio on Spreaker!
Julie and Puzzle
Here’s what I wrote:
Are you kidding? ECT is NOT “treatment”! Even if a person is “put under,” it’s torture. It does nothing to cure depression. It made me into a basket case and I spoke jibberish for an entire year and a half. Please, end this abuse now and NEVER, ever use this method on anyone. Those “doctors” that claim this is a “cure” and do it to hundreds of people should be punished in high courts. Why do we glorify them as gods? Why do we even call them “doctors”?
The name of the “shock doc” at McLean…I’m trying to recall now….Oh, I can recall his face but not the name. Oh, now I recall. Micheal Henry. As they say to us PRISONERS, as if we are in kindergarten,
“Michael, you NEED to go to jail. Do not pass GO. Do not collect even a measly $200. Are you kidding? You don’t deserve even that. ECT is torture. C’mon now, Michael….Time’s up. Here’s your needle. Now pick out a nice dream.”
To the cop I saw in the store last night
Yesterday being the day of the Boston Marathon,
With our cops busy, that hero, standing in the aisle,
Looking over the racks of snack food,
Or pretending to.
The cops in this town assume they are so, so important,
And I so small
This one, so puffed up and self-important
He looked, and saw right through me
As if I weren’t there.
My Country ‘Tis of Thee
Sweet Land of Liberty!
And his gun, such a pistol!
What a Land to behold!
Such Second Amendment Rights!
And to speak of Rights
It’s a crime, you know,
To speak of any other Right
Except of the Rights
Of those Watertown Strong Cops
To hold guns Against the Criminals
Here in this town.
The beaten down, the poor, the tired,
The hungry, the lonely.
I’m the one you didn’t even see
In the store last night,
And no one cares anymore.
Yep, I’m gonna be broadcasting a Passover Edition of Juliemadblogger Radio PASSOVER EDITION tonight coming up! Stay tuned on Spreaker! Tune in to the juliemadblogger station. By midnight!
Above all, survive. That’s all I can say to you. You alone can do this, and I cannot tell you how. You can’t trust those that promise you the world, because others may come after you with promises of riches. Don’t trust. If your rabbit ears are up because you have been hurt, keep them up, and poised, always.
I love you all, dearly. I am always here to listen. I am tired now. I am sometimes cranky.
If they hurt you, allow it to strengthen you. Promise me this.
It’s a tough world out there. Trust me, I have seen many things.
I am sitting here in a Dunkin’ Donuts. Joe and I frequented such a place, many years ago. Not this Dunkin’ Donuts. The other one. There are all men here and no women, yet I am not afraid. They are all playing board games. They are not here for drink or women. They convene. They aren’t looking. They are speaking other languages and I haven’t seen any of these faces before. None of these townspeople. Interesting. Culture. Another land.
This is the old world, dying. The new world is coming. Marching in. Taking over.
I am realizing that these are immigrants here. This is where they hang out. A refuge. I have discovered it. Here. The old folk. The only place left. Crowded out of town. There isn’t much time left. They are building condos in this town for newbies, techies and the like. The old folk will die off. They don’t want us here anymore, and the old shops are closing in favor of banks and chain stores.
Oh, go ahead, complain about the traffic here, drive on through, build speed bumps and the like. I will move on or die, and you will never know who I was, or am, or know what my words really mean, or care, or know what I stand for, and what I am saying.
Love, Julie and Puzzle
“The System Failed Me.” The System DESTROYED this student! Sasha Menu Courey, your story will not be forgotten!
Oh yes, they were not listening! Wow, I sure can relate!
Such baloney! I’ve just found this link.
Please, watch the entire thing. If you are a college student this could very well be YOUR story, or your friend’s story, or MY story, too.
A young girl is raped. Or bullied. Or hurt in some way. She wants to tell them her secret. But they do not believe her. Instead, they bully her, and lock her up, all in the name of “saving her.”
This “saving” is hurtful, not helpful. More bullying and abuse. She tries to tell them. They blame her. Tell her how wrong she was. How diseased. How badly she needs them now. How incapable and damaged she is. How injured she is…by their “care.” Of course, she knows this, and every time she tells them how wrong they are, they tell her she must shut up, and they knock her down further.
She’s cornered. Listen to her mother’s words in the end. So true. Sasha Menu Courey didn’t want to die.
I, too, never wanted the baloney they fed into me, that “help.” It’s all bullshit. Personality disorder? All bullshit. They never listen.
It looks like that “lost paperwork” that I mentioned yesterday was found. Oh, excuses, excuses. Apparently, since I requested a corner 2nd-floor unit and there are no corner 2nd floor units in existence, they tossed my transfer application aside and did absolutely nothing further. The subject would have been dropped I suppose, but Julie Greene is a damn nuisance and happened to notice that she’d been ignored. I ran into the new manager today. We were standing right there in the hall and I said, “Please, tell me you can hear that sound.”
That darned TV was blasting away. Now, lemme tell ya, I’ve known this manager for a long time, and between buddies here, she’s getting on in years. I was so scared that she was yet another person who can’t hear a darned thing. I stood there with my fingers crossed behind my back. She said, “Yes, I hear that.” Then, she said she would bring some device for the lady so the lady could watch her beloved TV all day long and hear the darned thing without disturbing the rest of us. I mean, you figure if the lady lived anywhere else, say, next door to a MEDICAL student who had to study for an exam, now this medical student’s BRAIN is worthy of peace and quiet, right? So he’d get action. I want action, too. I am worthy, too. I am calling the town if nothing is done by noon tomorrow. I will make a tape recording of this darned noise!
Love, Julie and Puzzle
Are you the victim of a Red Tape Error?
Most of the time, it doesn’t matter all that much when something like this happens. The consequence is mere inconvenience. However, sometimes, red tape errors end up in serious neglect of human life.
Consider that phone call that never gets returned. Consider paperwork left on a desk and then gets buried. The shift changes or someone retires or goes on cushy three-week vacation. Lost.
Or one digit written down incorrectly by a secretary….Yeah, she’s tired. Or just didn’t hear right or didn’t repeat the number back. Or her “8″ looks like a “5″ to the next secretary. Granted, we’re supposed to be all digital these days, but….
Allow me to give you a few examples to illustrate. I will first give an example of something that happened to someone else, names changed or omitted or made generic. It’s something rather common that perhaps many can identify with. Then, I will give an example of something that happened to me that was of no serious consequence because I and the other party forgave each other. Thirdly, I will give an example of something rather immediate and ongoing that is having rather serious consequences and is yet unresolved.
A friend of mine paid a tuition bill on behalf of her child. Let’s call the child Jane Smith, a common name. The payment was timely and in good faith. The receiving institution, the University, goofed up and wrote down the incorrect Social Security number for Jane Smith, by one digit. I suppose in some back room, someone realized they’d screwed up.
“Eeeks! There are two Jane Smiths at this institution! Which one paid and which one didn’t?” So, in haste, credit was given to the wrong Jane Smith.
Our Jane called Mom and said, “I thought we paid. They aren’t even letting me into class.”
In the end, it all got straightened out, to my knowledge. Jane and her mom were inconvenienced. It could have ended up worse. But it didn’t. No one ended up homeless or divorced or had their kids taken away because of this error.
Does this stuff happen all the time? Of course it does. We let it slide. And we should, because secretaries are only human. I do hope that the institution apologized to the Jane and her mom for the inconvenience. I don’t know but I assume it was straightened out. An immediate admission of one’s error, and immediate heartfelt apology makes all the difference, don’t you think? When apology is made, we should of course accept this apology and move on.
I have seen Red Tape Errors result in serious consequences whenever that chain is broken, that is, either the error results in something very bad happening, or no apology is made for the error, and instead, the victim is blamed. Sometimes, a victim of a Red Tape Error who complains is labeled a “problem” or “special case” or someone with a “personality disorder” or has “psychosocial difficulties.”
But why? Is contacting lawyers and human rights organizations now considered a “disorder”? If you order something online, and the product never arrives so you phone your credit card company or Paypal, will you now be considered a “difficult customer”? What’s wrong with caring about your well-being, your children, and your home? Or are we now supposed to be blind sheep and forgive, not saying a word when other folks screw up?
Red tape errors happen. We can assume they will happen. That’s why we make back-up copies and why we are told to keep our own records in a file. That’s why hospitals computerized their pills. If you were a patient when the hospitals made that switcheroo, you remember the mass confusion over those computers, don’t you? The computer-challenged nurses had no clue how to operate those machines. It was back in the 1990′s and early 2000′s, and trust me, many nurses, if you ask them, still now in 2014 don’t know what a browser is or what an URL is.
I remember standing at a “meds” window in a long line of patients waiting for pills. A frustrated nurse at a machine. She handed me a pill. I looked at the pill. It didn’t look right. She said to me, “It’s the generic. That’s why it looks a little different from your usual one.”
It sure was different. Never seen a generic one that color. Shiny, yeah. But totally wrong color and….
It was the entirely wrong pill. At the last minute, I didn’t take it. The generic name was similar but the brand name was different.
I’m not sure what would have happened had I taken that pill. It would have depended on dosage. If the dosage was low, I would have had a racing heart for a few hours and nothing else. If the dosage was high, Lord knows.
The pill was Mellaril. I am not allergic but I am by all means not supposed to take it due to tachycardia. A true allergy means a rash or swelling. Tachycardia isn’t an allergy via the immune system. But it’s a bad reaction. We don’t wantee, do we? I was told in 1983, “Never take it again.”
So the nurse at the machine was kind. She was apologetic and all was forgiven. No one blamed anyone else.
Okay, here’s another Red Tape Error:
I put in a housing transfer request a month ago. I have been waiting for a response. I was told I’d hear back within three weeks via USPS, at my home address. I was told if I didn’t hear, that is, if the response letter got lost in the mail, to simply ask the brand new manager. Today, I noted that it has been a full month and I have heard no word whatsoever. How strange that I often see these folks in the hall, and…nothing, no word, nothing!
So today it’s been exactly one month. I approached the new manager. I have known this woman a long time as she worked in the other building while I was a resident there. I moved to the old building in 1993 and she began working there (as she states in a recent mailing) in 2000. Now, she’s moved up the ladder to “Elderly Housing Manager” for all the buildings here for the Housing Authority and all residents living in so-called Elderly Housing, which includes me even though I’m not elderly. She seems like a nice person and I remember liking her. I remember when she was hired.
I walked into the main housing office and found her there and asked outright about my application for transfer and if the approval had gone through. Other office workers were right there listening in, so I was uncomfortable standing there. This new manager looked at me and said, “What application?”
I reminded her of my application for transfer.
I told her. I started to wonder. Had they not received it? When the other manager retired, was my application lost in the shuffle? Did it sit on his desk and then get lost? Was his desk cleaned off by our awfully nice but scary-quiet janitor guy? Then my application thrown into our dumpster? Uh oh. Our new manager glanced at me, that uncaring, unfeeling look.
She said, “I’ll look into it and get back to you.”
Oh REALLY? I have been trekking to the mailbox daily in suspense waiting for word, and now this? Living with this nightmare TV day after day, saying to myself, WHEN THE HELL WILL THIS END? and saying to myself, THIS IS GONNA FALL THROUGH…and now, paperwork clearly lost……
I told myself I was only telling the previous manager one-tenth of the nightmare I was going through, just to be kind.
I didn’t want him to know just how unhappy I am here, so as to ensure his retirement was ending happy and pleasant. So that way, should I die tomorrow, no way would it be anyone’s responsibility but…..
So (this I had been debating) I left out that the real reason I had moved here was that I had been raped in the other building. I felt that that bit of info was unnecessary. I left out that the neighbors here hate me for no logical reason and that they are cruel and make hostile remarks all the time. I left out that the apartment is run-down and in some ways, unsanitary even. I left out the fumes from the maintenance garage. I left out that the stove doesn’t work a lot of the time. I left out that the floor is falling apart, that the kitchen cabinets and countertop need replacing and never mind the toilet seat. I left out my ordeal with the carbon monoxide detectors last year, and the hot water ordeal, also now resolved.
So….every day, hearing that TV, promising myself, “It won’t be much longer….” but today found out they’ve lost the paperwork and had no clue about my request.
After this encounter, I came back to my apartment. I said to myself, “I gotta blog on this.” But I was so tired from the usual lack of sleep that I told myself, “Well, I’ll lie down for a while and when the new manager comes to inform me what happened to the paperwork, Puzzle will wake me up.”
The new manager never showed up. 4:30 came and went.
Every day, I hear that TV. Every day, I feel like I’m gonna die hearing it, I’m gonna tear my freaking hair out, that this place is just plain inhumane to live in. A freaking blasting TV from sunrise till like 8pm. Today, my neighbor had her fucking door open and she was blasting the fucking TV.
If I hear another TV, I’m gonna…let’s see….something REALLY original. Fantasy: Yeah, that next door lady needs a whopping dose of antipsychotics! Keep her asleep so she won’t turn on the TV. And a really good hearing aid so when she turns on the TV, she will turn it down. Or maybe a headset. With a plug. And a spring on her door so it stays shut, please!
This is a fucking nightmare, trust me. I cannot ask a 90-year-old lady to turn off her TV if that TV is her whole life. If she was a 30-year-old party-goer, yeah, sure, I’d have been over there years ago and demanded that that TV be turned down. But no, I can’t tell a 90-year-old to turn off the only thing she’s got.
And the housing authority simply has no clue that I live in inhumane conditions here. The whole explanation that I told the former manager was lost in Red Tape. Paperwork lost. I waited a whole month only to find this out today.
Will this new manager even understand? The old one did, but the new one….Will I EVER get out of here?
Sure, I can leave. The problem is, I’ve got no place to move TO.
There are people out there with wonderful lives. Tell me about it. What’s wrong with all you assholes with property that is EMPTY? Why don’t you rent it out to homeless people that need homes? If you have such wonderful lives and you are so, so happy, why are you being so freaking selfish?
Funny how that happens, isn’t it? Greedy, greedy, greedy.
Love, Julie and Puzzle
What if I follow the Yellow Brick Road, get to the end, then find out, “Eeeks! Nothing’s at the end!” Just emptiness. Sky and clouds. An empty field. No wizard. No answers. No pot of gold. What then?
Well, I suppose I could say to myself, “Guess that was a gyp.” Maybe I’d feel wicked disillusioned. Maybe I’d be so, so darned pissed at God for ripping me off.
Or, maybe not. Maybe I could look back and remember that I had fun getting there. That tin man, he was okay. The scarecrow too, he wasn’t bad. They kept me laughing. And when all is said and done, I got my Toto to cuddle up to. No home exactly, but me and my little dog will make do.
You all can believe if you want that there’s some answer. Keep plugging away down that road. Believe in that answer if it keeps you going. I’ll be waiting. Right here basking in the sunshine.