I keep wondering if I should be polite or point out the obvious. Should I let things go, or ask people to behave in a respectful manner? Should I be honest about how I feel if how I feel is not so thrilled? How much discrimination do you endure before putting your foot down?
When trying to find a place to live I have learned that a casual attitude works best. Act like you are picky and choosy when really you are at the end of your rope. Never admit you are desperate, ever. Never admit how close you are to homelessness. Don’t thank them profusely.
Housing discrimination is the norm. My friend is dealing with age discrimination right now. One “roommate” situation turned her down upon arrival. “We should have asked your age before,” they said. “You can’t climb the stairs.” She pointed out that stairs were not a problem, knowing that now they would need a new excuse to turn her down.
She tried again. These folks were more polite but she knew they could hardly wait to say no to her. She noticed they showed no regrets and made a quick and awkward exit when she mentioned her pet.
Never let on how desperate you are, how tired, broke, frustrated, or disillusioned you feel.
You can tell me,though. I am not judgemental like that. I am not fond of smiling my way through life either.
Love is more powerful than anything that happened in the past.
Love will knock down all the crap that was ever said about you and replace it with kindness.
Love wipes out all the bad relationships you ever had. They don’t matter anymore.
Love erases years of loneliness and unhappiness like they never ever existed. If you are appreciated as a human being none of that even matters anymore.
Love is a power to be reckoned with. Together we can do so much more than we could do before. Imagine that synchronicity. Let’s move forward with this. Love.
Voice of the T……
Cool, eh? I wish him the best.
This is from the Washington Post:
When I first started my ED it was because I felt that losing weight would make me closer to God.
I used to hear all those do-gooders tell me I should “work in a soup kitchen” over Thanksgiving. I cannot tell you how often I heard that. It was enough to make me sick. I was told I was “selfish” because I didn’t! Yeah, selfish. Since I had no family to go to, I was automatically “ungrateful” because I didn’t go feed homeless folks. I was then told if I chose not to volunteer it was my own fault.
What was my own fault? That I was not homeless, and therefore, not getting to eat together in a soup kitchen, and instead, eating alone at home for the holidays? You can’t win, can you?
This is what happens when you volunteer in a soup kitchen: If you do, you stay a few hours, volunteer, know that you are totally alone, then afterward, you watch all the other volunteers (who are from some chummy do-gooder club or whatever) pat themselves on their backs, then wipe their hands clean and go home to their real families. You go home to that empty house. As usual. And you didn’t get invited to the do-gooder club (not that you would want to join).
Please do not tell me I’m selfish for not volunteering in a soup kitchen on the holidays. As for my birthday, it’s a long ways off and I’m not worried about turning 59 just yet. I have no worries about “growing older.” However, I dislike that dreaded feeling of knowing I’ll be alone on my birthday another year, and I also dread being alone on my 60th. I don’t mind being alone in itself but I dislike that nagging feeling that I matter to others that little.
Does it happen for you, too? That many of your significant others die in the same month? My friend tells me that every time a certain month approaches, he dreads it, since one more relative is bound to die. For me, at least historically, my ED always worsened in summer, too. With August approaching it all makes summer much harder, like all that doom and gloom of it crashing upon me. Plus the history of the worst hospital abuses always happened in summer.
Why is that? It’s only superstition, I suppose. Or that feeling of dread that makes everything only seem ten times worse, or mere expectation. That placebo effect.
Ah, Placebo! Now you got me giggling in the middle of all this. Take a pill and August is instantly cured.
The Worst Therapy Abuse Ever: John Gunderson’s BPD diagnosis abuse put thousands of women to the grave: Mary Richardson Kennedy included
Please note that this is only my opinion. However, from what I know and have seen and heard from many people, what I am about to tell you is plain as the elephant in the room that has been sitting there for years. Why on earth no one talks about this and lets it sit there, I do not know.
Please read this:
It took me a while to go back and find the article. I’m trying to find the author’s connection to Gunderson. I’m sure there is one, and it’s most likely a financial arrangement, or mutual back-patting.
If anyone out there has ever met John Gunderson, you will note that he does not provide anything like treatment. His mode of “care” is hardly that. He’ll let you say maybe two sentences, then he’ll spend the rest of the “session” spewing out hateful anti-woman remarks and, if you’re Jewish (as I am), a few antisemitic remarks to top it off. Before you leave his presence, no matter who you are, no matter how “normal” you are, you are guaranteed to leave with a BPD diagnosis.
I have personally spoken to a number of people who were forced to see him. They told me they got the same “treatment” I got. A bunch of insults and nothing else. No benefit, they said. Only insults. “I would never see him again!” one guy said to me. “I hate him,” a woman said to me. “Don’t ever see him!” someone else said. Another friend of mine who I know by email only told me, “He diagnosed me BPD but I had the sense that he diagnosed everyone that no matter what.” This same person had encountered other overdiagnosers and noted the same. They love their pet diagnoses. Apparently he is very wealthy and is esteemed at McLean and seen as an “expert,” meaning he has a lot of power and ability to do harm to innocent people.
The problem with BPD is that it is a harmful diagnosis. It even kills people. It causes bigotry, especially in the medical sphere, and often, mental health professionals encourage families to excommunicate BPD family members, stating that the patients “will never change” and that they have “chemical imbalances.” This is not true. The treatment and expectations only worsen these behaviors. Therefore, the diagnosis should not even be given. It is a completely harmful and destructive way to bully a patient into social isolation, and eventually, early death.
As you can see, Mary Richardson Kennedy underwent “treatment” with this man, John Gunderson, whose mode of therapy was abusive and unkind. I myself had only two “sessions” with him many years ago (around 1997) and found him rude and intolerable, and to my shock and disbelief, for a doctor, below average intelligence. I convened with other patients afterward and we all agreed. I cannot imagine what Mary Richardson Kennedy went through. How many sessions did this poor woman have to endure? Did anyone even know that this man was abusive? Sadly, therapy abuse does not come without consequences. After the abuse, which was called “treatment,” which of course, didn’t help Mary at all, she got worse, didn’t she? I personally believe the abuse was what caused her suicide. I have known this for a long time. To me, it’s obvious that the harmful BPD diagnosis and the therapy abuse were what did her in.
I do not fault her husband, either. He, too, fell prey to her phony diagnosis. He was told she had a disease by this authority figure. Why should he not believe it? This sealed Mary’s fate. Now, her husband expected certain behaviors of her. It saddens me that Gunderson harmed this family to the point of killing one of its members. But Gunderson was by all means a woman-hater. He was even cruel to his female students.
Is it okay for me to bash this man and his “treatment”? Yes it is. He’s a public figure. He is all over Google and he claims expertise. I had personal contact with him and I can tell you it wasn’t an evaluation. It wasn’t treatment. It was a series of insults and little else. Because of the grave harm being done I believe that it’s okay to say the things I am saying. In fact, it’s overdue.
If anyone out there claims getting insulted by a therapist for an entire hour over multiple sessions is helpful and does them good, you’re probably being paid handsomely (in some fashion) by the abusive therapist to say so. Therapy abuse causes suicide, homicide, and other violent acts. People who harm others via diagnosis and bogus “treatment” such as Gunderson and their ilk should be stopped. If anyone out there reads this and was harmed by him, do not hesitate to comment.
This is a no-brainer. Do you still cherish your brain? Or any of your other organs? Do you cherish your life? Or do you want 25 years of life shaved off the end of it? Physician-assisted suicide has been legal all over the world and has even been sanctioned by most governments. Do you want to end your life at around 50? Easy! Average lifespan may be 75, but those who go to psychiatrists live 25 fewer years. This sounds like a tried and true suicide method. After all, aren’t mental patients said to be suicidal? Easy as pie. Just ask your doc for a psych referral. You’ll be sure to die. If you don’t, you get guaranteed incarceration and pretty much get eliminated from society anyway. It’s a win-win deal! Who needs Kovorkian when we have all the shrinks we want at the local clinics and hospitals? Big Pharma endorses this, so you can trust ’em. I promise, and you know my promises are totally reliable since I hate making them. At the very least you get an appointment. Too bad, you didn’t die yet. You’re stuck with endless appointments and a bill. Go cry it off and then come back here and laugh over it later.
When I lived in what I now refer to as The Oven, I found the place was uninhabitable. I didn’t realize this until after I had moved in. Now I know that many homes all over the world are not habitable year-round. Either they cannot be lived in during winter because they cannot be heated, or they are not habitable during the summer due to too much heat. Certainly floods, fires, electrical problems, molds, disease, ants, termites, other insects, safety problems such as rickety floors or stairs or walls that are falling down can all make a home not habitable, never mind sanitation problems due to pipe or roof leaks. Domestic violence or other serious crime issues can also make a home not habitable in particular for women or children, or people from the LGBTQ community or those of certain religious heritage. Unavailability of clean water or scarcity of food can also cause people to flee their home, as can an oppressive government or other threat.
When I was living in The Oven it was hard to get anyone to believe what I was going through. It was really true, though. No one can live in temperatures over normal body temperature, which is 98.6F, or 37 degrees C. Once you get to 100, you cannot last long. You will start to sweat at an incredible rate. If you have been outdoors at that temperature you can stay outside for maybe 30 minutes, but you don’t want to live indoors where it’s that hot. In my situation, it was tough to get anyone to believe me. Outdoors we had lovely temps of 70 Fahrenheit, but inside my home, due to the greenhouse effect, it was boiling hot, and getting worse.
I should have left in November, had I thought ahead. I had never experienced such a thing before, so I didn’t know. I wish I had known.
The previous winter, I had seen families that had also been similar situation. They had rented homes and then discovered they’d been ripped off. So during the summer they sat on the street corner. Just sat there. Parents and kids. I’d walk by with Puzzle and they’d pet her and ask her name in Spanish. I’d feel sorry for them but due to privacy issues at home I felt at a loss and didn’t feel okay about inviting them in. After the summer, they disappeared.
I know now what was going on. Each day, each unbearably hot day (for them), they’d wait it out while their home was uninhabitable. They sat near where I lived on the street corner waiting till the temp in their rented place cooled and was bearable again, and safe for the kids. I’d say they went back close to midnight. If it was anything like the Oven, their place was still well over 90 upon their return.
Undoubtedly the coming of Marzo was a relief to them, and of course they didn’t renew their lease.
Stay cool! Here’s a video showing you what happens when it gets hot inside a car, even one that starts off cool. This is Texas.
Notice that even after 10 minutes he’s starting to have a hard time putting a sentence together. Now, imagine me and Puzzle living like that.
I’m glad we got out. Cute house? Yeah, cheap, too, but I know the landlord knew it wasn’t even possible to live there, and rented it knowing this. The previous renter had rented and fled, too. I hope it never ever ever got rented again.