Persuasion towards Byatt's point

Part of my problem with moving on is that I have such a concentration of negative effects in one place, and those effects have taken their toll to the point that I no longer feel presentable to an employer; indeed, I no longer feel presentable at the Rosenbach, and people disadvantaged as myself mingle there with the Jewish upper crust, such remains of a crust as Philadelphia has, all the time during the museum's business hours-- and if I feel like a piece of shit in a bookseller's house, one that no longer has any stimulus for me-- well, I feel, already, not simply poor, but basically unsalvageable, it is because I keep taking it. Monica Carr did her number on me too when I actually needed a personal attendant's support, and she is still Riverside's extraordinary visitor with her relative here in the building, and her amputee. I have to deal with her, with a dying transvestite and his lover with whom I was once more familiar-- now, wait-- I know I've impacted them and that they're human, just as I've impacted Ed, who still follows this blog, but I am the one eating my feelings, carrying this baggage, and yes, it overwhelms me-- and therein lies your answer. For me, 28 years of this company, and section 202 housing, has been toxic-- and despite the fact that I got blown away yesterday by the Pope's personal assistant favoring one of my tweets, and would have thrown myself out of the wheelchair to clasp the hem of his vestments, why? For faith? No, for the memory of it, the memory of the comfort of belief, the fact remains that all this is a corrosive element of American pluralism. Secularism requires better standards. But by the same token, low income housing is a travesty in this country. Beneath all the regulations and procedures, nothing has truly changed. Taxes subsidize a sterile environment, nothing better than warehouses barely able to wall out low income dysfunction. It has truly destroyed my emotional health and well being, and I do not have any idea what to do about it, even if whatever measly legal protections spare me from the police scraping off the sidewalk into some rehabilitation environment, and progressives cannot repair it when compliance becomes a kind of stranglehold, not even if we satirize writing as therapy.