Title.
I had no job, no money and no family. I was young and had no identity documents, and was knocked back from government services because I couldn't prove who I was. I took the first safe shelter I could. With the benefit of many years experience, I know there were other options but at the time it seemed like the only option. There are ways of accessing help without ID, but I didn't know where to look.
It was a small, dodgy outbuilding at the back of someone's property. It was clad by nothing but tin. The wind would lift the rusty roof up and slam it down with a deafening crash for hours at a time. No insulation, no services of any kind. I slept on an old mattress, just laid on the floor. It had a slope to it and the springs were poking through. I had a single, sweat-stained blanket.
I lived there long enough to experience both an unusually cold winter and a heatwave. I remember the sound of the frozen grass crunching beneath my feet. It was the first time I'd ever experienced temperatures that low, having grown up in a hot climate.
The owner would occasionally let me use the facilities inside their house, but only ever during the day when it was unlocked. They gave me enough food to survive which they'd leave outside for me. We'd have a very brief exchange maybe once a week. Apart from that I had a total absence of social interaction. The property was isolated if you didn't have a car - which I did not.
It was a trap. It seemed better than the streets, because I had relative safety and a roof over my head. But it also left me totally unable to change the situation I was living in. I couldn't go anywhere to find help, I couldn't contact anyone. I didn't want to leave because the alternative seemed worse. I was stuck.
The owner had meant well. They had their own mental health issues and, even if they had been high-functioning, they had no idea what to do. They were a hoarder and the inside of their home was somehow filthier than my "living" space. The situation was a result of the contradictions between their heartfelt desire to help, their own anxieties and other mental demons. They were trapped too, in their own way, and had barely more contact with the outside world than me.
Isolation destroys your mind. You can't think straight, you lose your ability to solve even basic problems. You become paranoid. You hallucinate. Your memory is obliterated, not just for the period of the isolation but the memories formed before and after too. I had to piece together a time line of major events in my life from a couple of years before and after from little scraps I kept.
I lost my inner monologue during that time. The voice in your head. My thoughts became sensations and movement, like water being poured into a network of branching channels and spreading amongst them. They'd remain that for years and even more than a decade own it's still not the 'same'.
I was almost non-verbal at the end - finding even a few basic words, to say "yes" or "no" to a question was exhausting. My manner of speaking is not the same as it was and my accent isn't quite like anyone else who was born here. For at least a year later I was still losing time, hours or days, and was unsure of how I got there.
I was aware I was losing my mind throughout the process. I'd try to force structure and logic upon what I was processing but it doesn't work. The information you're receiving is already corrupted, then it gets further twisted in your mind. There is nothing more terrifying than being trapped in your own mind.
Eventually the owner, in a more lucid moment, managed to get mental health services to come out. I felt so betrayed at the time. I was terrified of them, unfamiliar faces after so much time alone. I was deeply ashamed. I'd come to realize this act saved me, but I hated the owner for it at the time.
Shit, that was tough, I hope you're fine now. Accepting help is pretty difficult sometimes.
Living through fall of communism in USSR and the start of capitalist era. One of the memories I have from the period is when food shortages started happening. All the families in my neighborhood would end up lining up at the store early in the morning like black friday, and then the store would just wheel out a cart with whatever they had that day, and people would rush in to grab it. Me being a small kid at the time, I could squeeze between people and get to the cart quicker than my parents. So, I was basically risking my life being trampled to death just so I wouldn't starve that day.
TLDR: fuck capitalism.
Lived through and ethnic cleansing genocide. I always laugh when western keyboard warriors start talking about how war is "needed" or "coming" and larping out their movie fantasies. Real war is nothing like TV. Its hell all around. There are no victors in war. Everyone loses.
True true. Even though I do express my feelings like that sometimes. It's more expression that should be transfered to art.
Going with my father to figure out how we would clean up the bathroom my grandfather attempted suicide in as I didn't think it was something he should do on his own (it was my maternal grandfather but still...). I was right. It made every horror movie look tame. However, it was so terrible that there wasn't much we could do other than phone crime scene cleanup and stay out of their way while they earned every single penny of their fee.
I'm 62 so this happened a long time ago. My mom didn't like novacaine so she found a dentist who didn't use it (I found that out later as an adult). For whatever reason I had 15 cavities one year. I couldn't stand it but somehow I got to the last day of many and I just couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't willingly open my mouth for that pain, I just couldn't.
The dentist took that hooky little metal instrument dentist's have, held it near my cheek, and said, "If you don't open your mouth, I'm going to go in RIGHT. THROUGH. HERE." Those last three words were punctuated by him poking my cheek with that little hooky instrument; once for each word.
I opened my mouth in the worst fear and feeling of abandonment I've ever felt. I now need nitrous and my wife holding my hand to get through a cleaning. Dr. Fryer. A sadist.
People don't understand how much they break people sometimes. I'm sure I've done it too without realizing. I wish there was a way past it but I guess it's just life.
My brother is a veteran, and when he came back he started "self-medicating" with meth to treat his PTSD. He was constantly on the verge of crisis and making violent threats (carefully phrased to not be actionable). At the time, I was working at an Amazon warehouse, at times doing 60 hours weeks, and at the time I was on Facebook and if I got off work and wanted to check it, he'd see I was online and if I left him on read it would be a whole thing. I described it as being a 911 operator on call 24/7. I basically wrote him off as dead to me, but my parents wouldn't and that was the worst part. I remember visiting and we tried to go out for dinner but then he texted my mom with another crisis and now she's in tears again, like always. It was constant. And he'd accuse them of all sorts of stuff, my mom still had one of those phones you had to press the button multiple times to get a letter and if she had a typo he'd accuse her of doing it on purpose. All he did all day was be alone with his thoughts, going through the same cycles, shooting up meth and absorbing whatever crazy right-wing bullshit he was listening to.
My parents are pretty well off and they were there for him. They tried to check him into all sorts of mental hospitals and rehab, but he'd check himself out early. There was an incident early on where he checked himself into the VA and they tried to cut him off Xanax cold turkey, which is potentially life-threatening, and he responded violently. This put a flag on his record which made it difficult to get him treatment later, and he was also careful to phrase his threats ambiguously enough to not be institutionalized.
It was pretty clear to me that this was only going to end one way, and at one point I thought about going up there and killing him myself, before he could hurt an innocent person. But the cops kept a watch on his house until it happened and he took a gun and led them on a car chase to somebody's house, pulled a gun on them, and got shot in the arm. When I heard it happened, I didn't know if he'd live or die and didn't care, I was just relieved that it had finally happened and that nobody else got hurt. He went to jail for a bit and that got him off the meth so he's doing better now.
What really gets me about it though is how easy we got off, though. Compared to the people on the other side of the war, the people actually living in Iraq and Afghanistan, hundreds of thousands of people slaughtered, countless civilians. The children terrified of sunny days because that's when the drones fly. How many times over do you have to multiply the pain and suffering I felt when I saw my mother's face in tears to get even an inkling of the suffering inflicted on those people?
And it's all just out of sight, out of mind. We went to war and people hardly even noticed, everybody just went about their lives as normal like it wasn't even happening. People don't even give a shit about veterans killing themselves on the daily in VA parking lots and waiting rooms because they can't get care, they sure as shit don't care about brown people on the other side of the world that the news treats as subhuman. And now, Bush gets rehabilitated on Ellen and the libs expect me to vote for Biden. It's absurd how little people care about all the people they murdered.
Yeah I talk to people about that idea it's so sad how much they don't care.
I was a delivery driver once, I loved the job. Until they made us follow their crappy routing system called "ORION". Problem was you can't implement it in real world settings. Since we were forced to follow it, I argue it put our personal safety at risk due to increased turns and overall time driven. Quit because I'm not dying over it. But it was the most frustrating, hellish thing I ever had to do.
Alcohol withdrawal after months of insane 24-7 drunkeness. I was in a pretty bad place for a number of years. I've gone through withdrawals like this multiple times, usually when I was passed out and woke with no booze just after the legal cutoff for sale at night. There is nothing worse feeling on the planet. No illness or injury (that I've experienced) can compare.
I drink but don't really get hangovers anymore. I think a medication I'm on has that effect.
Because before the medication I would get bad hangovers, extreme agonizing depression and lock jaw. Even just a few drinks would leave me depressed for a week.
