The Bitch on my latest freewrite

wonder how easy it is to write on this thing. Really. It’s an iPad with a Logitech ultra thin keyboard, yet by measurement, the keys are nearly are widely spaced apart as my last beast. The one that blew out and then subsequently decided to eat my hard drive as his last meal before six treats of work could be recovered. I had to let go. Nearly 20,000 pages.

But I had let go of nearly everything else already anyways.

And as I had written the words, the words formed from the memories which would stay with me, I reminded myself that all was not lost.

Those who do not know me, note nothing awry save the fact I have little short term memory, while those who do, know something is wrong but unable to identify it without an explanation. And that is where I often run into trouble. I over explain for fear I wont be believed, the fact I had not been for years, having nearly cost me my health, freedom and life. Not necessarily in that order and not necessarily only once.

I have learned that saying little or nothing unless asked direct questions has been the best policy. If I am ever asked for my story, I will be happy to tell it, but until I am asked, I will today? Say nothing. For too long I tried to tell people the truth of what happen to be judged and labeled based on false assumption whereas those who Knew the truth, saw the facts straight on, told me I had survived the impossible and it was amazing what I had gotten myself through. I hold on to these rare gems, in hopes they will glean out all the negative.

The first accident from which I was later told my brain atrophied to that of a 70 year old due to the lack of treatment. I am always then asked why I never received whaat any other person in my situation would have, emergent care. To begin to explain would immediately discredit my person to anyone who wasn’t an attorney, in law, or in any way aware of the going ons in a DEA investigation gone wrong. One in which I am suspected of a form of domestic terrorism, the lead agent, Gary Decker convinced I am selling research chemicals. And I can understand why he believes this. But he is wrong. As wrong as he becomes desperate to be right in the aftermath of violating my home, person, freedom and most basic rights. If I am guilty, they only are taking the necessary precautions. And if I am not, they are violating my most basic human rights. The most important lesson I would draw out of this would be that authorities do not take accountability for their actions, no matter how wrong or illegal. Instead they will violate the person they already have some more, in hopes of falsely incriminating, provoking or otherwise ensuring that person is no longer credible or without a voice. They have for years attempted to snuff mine out, but social media now assures that it will not be save my death or incarceration. Given I have made their attempts on both well documented and known, it is far less likely they would try again. And hear me when I say there is great frustration in having to choose between your reputation and your innate safety, knowing you will be discredited instantly by a truth far too impossible to be believed, beyond those who are in some way intricately involved. My parents own nativity of the process was taken advantage of to my great disadvantage, they persuading them to follow through on a prayer request that would land me in NH State Hospital, involuntarily committed. They need to extract me from my residence they will search through and through, upon my return eleven days later chords ripped out of walls, tables and chairs pulled away from the set place and the ceiling tiles all askew. But what happened within those eleven days and the two of intense interrogation beforehand, is a story in and of itself and we are not there yet. I do not know you. You do not know me. Let’s start small.

I am not writing at length about the seven years of events. But the end result. Where I am today.

The fact that those who do know me know there is something was very wrong. It isn’t me and I would be the last to know.

But inside I am still there as much as I had ever been, more alive and angry than I had been. Too close to death too many times not to mark a distinction.

I have lost the ability to use much of my brain in the way I did before the accident, unable to regulate my emotion as I did before, being subjected to professionals

Prior to the events

Upon recounting them, not stating one falsity, my credibility will invariably be questioned by those who have no comprehension of what authority will do when they are wrong.

In my experience it is not to make amends, take accountability, pay restitution and move on. No, it is instead ,over and over, desperately attempt to make me out to be whom I never will be, by treating me as though I am and was guilty of what I had been released from.

The ceaseless attempts to incriminate combined with a disability not yet diagnosed (later as traumatic brain injury, post concussion syndrome and PTSD), I never am sure of what will greet me the next morning despite the fact I do not use alcohol or drugs, the seizures and vomiting which occur for nearly two years after the primary 2011 Car accident, increasingly crippling.

When I become so ill I need to go to emergent care, in lack of an official diagnosis, I am treated like an addict, the contempt and skeptics made as clear as their attempts to not ‘encourage’ any repeat visits. But to be here, is never a choice, it is my last choice and always they are the ones who tell me I need to go, dehydration so severe each time they cant get a vein.

I was diagnosed as a paranoid psychotic, borderline and as having bipolar disorder

If these were not present or suspected prior to the injury those were not the appropriate diagnoses. But no matter what I said, I wasn’t heard. Not yet at least until the emergency MRI, which would reveal what I had desperately tried to say all along, the delay costing me severe atrophy.

Also there was white matter within my cerebellum and I am referred first through Core Neurology and then Boston Mass General. The reason for the second opinion is quite simple. Core Neurology is directly association with Exeter Hospital which is the facetious which failed to treat me the night of the accident. The one which caused, in lack of treatment, my brain to severely bleed and atrophy.

I am recently told, it is not what God has done to me, but for me, I do understand that had I kept functioning at the level I was, I would have proven very successful in the way this country too readily seems to define it, when success in a divine sense would mean being of greatest benefit to ones fellow man.I understand how I have been and will be more useful with and in my condition as opposed to having lived without it. I fear, however, the only success in a divine sense I will be awarded will be in the form of the one most judged only to be redeemed at some tragic cost; the curtain draws.

This thought, percolating here and there, requires me to hold more than faith in a God when I am here on this earth and as well a life in the here beyond. A possible next life in which I will be able to Live On.

At least that is what I tell myself when I become discouraged

They say people find faith when they are most broken, while mine neither grew nor shrunk but was and has stayed always and ever present. So

Perhaps I should be grateful, God having pared down my options and opportunities in life, making it far more simplistic. Far more simplistic than I had ever foreseen it.

But I guess it cant be that hard, to write on this at least, the keyboard is tighter, smaller. Too small for my man hands, even though I am a woman. My mothers mother always said they were beautiful hands, with long feminine fingers, yet they were always quite large but unexpected events made them even bigger. Morphed them into super hands, fingers stronger than the nails I never bit. I never understood why people did that. A nervous habit from what I understand. I myself have many of those, pacing is one of them. Unable to focus enough to adhere to task and too anxious to sit so that my monthly average sedentary tine, according to my Fitbit, is 43 minutes. I have always had the needs to move, inability to sit still, but not like this.

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