Time Out

To be idiomatic, let me say something: There is more to the problem of what urban disability centers promise the disabled and what they deliver, and most wheelchair users, or those otherwise afflicted with chronic conditions difficult to accommodate, like epilepsy, are indoctrinated, and then spit out, never to be heard from again. Some matriculate out, and those who have, reading my posts, would say if they cared to contend the issue, that I am only alive vibrating in a broken vessel of a past that is over, and if my supervisor remains as a token facade with her excesses overlooked, I am dining on sour grapes, as opposed to adapting to my old age.

I will grant my jock crip readers that, but I underwent a great deal of duress, and my independence was endangered, because one supervisor fed me platitudes, and the other was more of a sociopath, and the center's case management staff behaved as bigots who are trained to think in a very narrow set of parameters that actually impede the potential of matriculation. Not in all cases, certainly. Mental retardation has a plateau, and this woman claims to get off on it.

For the record, Cassie is full of shit. That was her welcome home present from me, and if I get too strident I fall on deaf ears. However, I am physically weakening, and due to that, we're going to go for a ride, and I am going in deep. I cannot solve every free market inequity in this country, but I for the remainder of my life will fight the federal mandate that leads to such evil that I almost engaged in mortal injury. It took me years to find this degree of courage. Patience, and if I stay healthy long enough, I am a force for change. It matters to every citizen who believes in constitutional freedoms.

As a technical matter, that November evening I spiraled an outburst on  Linda, the cascade, the torrent of emotion was pretty lame. I rolled to the kitchenette and grabbed a steak knife, weeping, then laughing, hard sniggering. I put the knife away and told Jack soon thereafter that I was going for emergency services, and was as good as my word. That was that, and I am not so self aware to know what I would have done if I had narcotics or more lethal implements available. I selected the wrong center on my first access attempt, tried a medical student later. I would not recommend discussing emotional trauma with interns. This was fourteen years ago and I am not keen on admitting I snapped out, but this is how difficult it was, the realization that she played me, like she played Chris, and he warned me a long time ago. Pay attention when third parties offer advice.

I've never been cured, if that isn't a misnomer. Things simply happened and became so dire I had to walk through hell to survive, like Keanu Reeves playing games with angels, so often paired with schizophrenia  in modern parlance. I sketch the outline for the small chorus, like Homo Tweets, who urged me to get help. There really wasn't any that could fix what happened in my life after 2001. It evened out, but I will never forgive Liberty, nor, by extension, ADAPT.