Mitochondrial Deformity

"Look at her labia." Joanne Marinelli, the first one

What I had hoped, at least until a couple of years ago, was that my half brother and his wife and myself could scrape up the resources to renovate his basement, and that, while not ideal, would have gotten me away from Jimmi Shrode's constant silent censure that I have to deal with here in the building on a daily basis. 

Before Benny and I quarreled, I wanted evidence from him that would illustrate that he was behind me, and provided him with the tools to do that before I lost patience with the fact that no movement was forthcoming. After my resource site AccessLife went out of business, and after New Mobility's management ceased to acknowledge me by 2005, the only supports I really had were inertia, both personal and systemic-- systemic in the sense that no regulatory model in Pennsylvania has ever propelled me forward, as opposed to becoming a hindrance. Seven years is a long time to feel stranded, to be doled out more molestation, then physical trauma.

And if I had the means to give my notice, I would force Jimmi to respond to me, because ugly gay men, in particular, have this sanctimonious way of cutting. I've burst into tears in front of him after realizing the enormity of what Limda had done. Playing me like that damaged me almost irrevocably, dashing any hope I had for the same things most Americans want. Mortgage, self-sufficiency. I don't want to be his friend again, but would like to take off the heat and get both him and Erik to realize that utilizing their personal relationship as paramount, not to be challenged, hurts the center the two of them supposedly govern. And the board of directors doesn't govern very well. Liberty Resources is constantly settling lawsuits.

I *see* my damage in the context of these events the same way that my site member sees it, but I know myself well enough to know that if I did not have to put up with the 8th floor LBGT A team as a daily reminder that I am exiled, it would be easier on me. Battling to keep my head up is hard enough. Now, let me put my progressive gay love hat back on for a minute:

When Linda told me she supported Jimmi for the job he wasn't supposed to have, she meant it in terms of peer support, and that bubble boy would be better off matriculated (impossible, trust me, what local media will tell you about Phila ADAPT bears little or no reflection on reality; they are terrorists, with brain disorders and palsies and intense moods and fat broken bodies, but still zealots who don't worry law enforcement since they are zealots easy to kill). I get that, but when you treat a federally mandated center as if it was a point guard mafia for the 5, 6 at the top who are indispensable, that is the corruption of socialism.

The corruption of materialism lies in the fact that I cannot be a burden to Benjamin and his wife. Rare thing in the US these days that families are the main resource for each other, and Benny is scared of what I am willing to say, like that his biological parent abused Stephanie, and that Stuart Lone, the wrong stepfather, would have killed little Nicky if powerful uncles had not intervened. Sensible people say "It's over."

I have a lot of overs, in this building, in my career, school years, institutions. When is the last time someone was able to touch me? My mother was always telling Kmac to check out my anatomy because my bipolar mother whose estimable gifts have watered themselves down within did not like how I looked. Kmac's ugly ruddy hands were always clutching my pubic area. If I had known what she was, I would have let child services take me away. They asked me at school if my mother was unfit. 

It is unfortunate I was such a clever, loyal child. In Dr. Rubel's words, I am not done being pissed. Tough enough for you? I am going to hit even harder. I want to save future spastics from needing the dowager.