As many of you undoubtably heard already: I’m currently in a pretty nasty fix. I knew being here was too good to be true, and that sooner or later, something was going to happen to put me back in a bad way with all of the slats kicked out from under me.
Since Melanie’s boyfriend, Tom, is a TSA agent for Homeland Security stationed in Manchester, I figured that eventually they would pressure him in his job about my being there. Since I came to New Hampshire last April, I’d been doing much better. I enjoyed spending time with Melanie and my grandsons, and Tom wasn’t such a bad sort of guy either. Melanie would homeschool the twins, and sometimes I’d even forget that Callum was the autistic of the two. It was a wonderful summer for me here.
But more & more lately, I’ve been noticing Melanie spending more & more of her time, up in her room, and less & less time downstairs with us. I’d find the boys either playing together downstairs or doing their lessons on the computer, but mostly at play and less at learning. But maybe Mel was spending their lesson times upstairs in their rooms. The reason I moved into this household was that because of my seizures, black outs, narcolepsy and all: I need a little bit of supervision now and then, or I will sleep through instead of taking my shots & meds, or simply get forgetful in a haze, and think that I had because one day is pretty much like the other for me.
On my last visit with my Diabetes Educator, Melanie had to come along as she fixes the meals and checks on my progress in my logbook. Because I can’t drive anymore, and there’s only the one car: We determined at this meeting and other times, that Melanie needs to be there to help schedule what appointments I had, to coordinate all the things that involve her, Tom, the twins and the car so that we don’t find ourselves over done and running on empty. She was fine with this last at last Thursday’s meeting. I had TWO bloodtests the previous Monday, and they could only do ONE, because Medicare wouldn’t pay for the second. On the Thursday morning that we met, I had TWO more fasting bloodtests scheduled, and only ONE got taken because the clinic did not have the freezing capability to freeze my sample. So at this meeting, we talked about scheduling for TWO more, a necessity to determine if I qualified to be given an insulin pump. Melanie was supposed to call and see if she could schedule a test for Wednesday (today).
When Monday (Jan.11th, 2016) came around: She simply yelled down the stairs that the boys needed to be doing their lessons (Kahn Academy). I reminded her that she needed to call about those lab tests for this week if possible. She yelled down: “Call them yourself and schedule them for Wednesday at 8:30am, it’s just a damned lab test!” But I almost NEVER can schedule anything with the clinic to work out right when I want it. There’s either problems with who’s available to do them, whether they have what they need to do them and so on… and NOT knowing everybody’s schedules in the house: I can’t make that determination. We discussed that. So, I walked over to the stairs and called up to her about how the last two scheduled tests went to remind her that we needed her help scheduling this
Immediately, she is literally roaring and screaming about it just being a goddamned test, schedule it for Wednesday. Can’t you do a fucking simple thing like that? And I never got s split second to remind her WHY that wouldn’t work and what she promised. Finally, *I’m* roaring: “Will you shut the fuck up for a minute and let me explain?” And she screamed all the louder over me non-stop and saying disrespectful and abusive things that NONE of my kids (or anybody else, for that matter) EVER were allowed to do before. She’s NEVER acted like that to me before. Still standing in the stairway, as the upstairs is too short for me to fully stand up in. I picked up a toilet paper roll that was on the upper banister and tossed it at her. “You NEED to remember who you are speaking to like that!” and she rushed the bannister, still screaming at the top of her lungs and punched me on my right temple. I reached up and grabbed the front of her blouse with my right hand and cocked my left fist and told her, that if she EVER treated me like this again that I would “punch her so hard that she wouldn’t wake up until her clothes were out of style. And we’re done here!” And I went back downstairs into my room, latched the door and worked on calming myself and then because of the stressing, my narcolepsy kicked in and I slept most of the rest of the day without getting up to take any insulin, eat or anything else.
I figured I would wait and *maybe* talk with her the next day or later in the week, when cooler heads could prevail. The punch didn’t hurt so much. A small red blotch and a little swelling, but truth told: I woke up in more pain than that nearly every day for the past few weeks. I had paid up my $600 room & board for my room, and I had about $300 left in my bank account to get more insulins for the remaining three weeks before my next Disability check. I was also thinking that I had to start making plans to move out. Where? I had no idea, but I only allow people to do me dirty on that scale, only ONCE! Or if we have a repeat: It NEVER ends well for the other person(s). My younger brother taught me that in most cases like this: It’s just better to just walk-the-fuck-away, rather than allow myself become everyones’ villain. He’s known me his whole life, and he saw this play out too many times. It was always good advice, I’ve found.
>That incident took place a little before noon on Monday, and I slept the day away until about 6pm, there was a knocking on my bedroom window. I open the shades and peer out into the dark on our back deck, and there was a police officer with a flashlight and he lit himself to let me see. I thought maybe there was an accident out on our road and maybe some help was needed or something. So I slipped on my bathrobe and answered the back door and let them in to explain.
I’m *trying* to keep this short, but there’s a bigger and more ominous picture in all of this behavior: Melanie has been an insomniac since she was a teenager. Always the “night owl”. Her mother was too. Myself to a lesser degree, but with the narcolepsy: Staying awake is MUCH harder than going to sleep. But over the past weeks and months; I have no idea of how long before that: Melanie has been regularly taking OTC sleep medications, sometimes with a little wine or a shot of “Fireball”, or changing up from one medication to another when she acclimates to the one. I’m trying to understand why my eldest and wisest daughter was behaving reclusively and then like a rabid raccoon on the rampage. Tom was home for the weekend. I heard her shouting something at him early Saturday. But I just figured it was shit couples often do. It didn’t seem like much, except that the entire weekend, Tom played video games and such with the boys downstairs and Melanie NEVER came down from her room. I didn’t have a single word with her, not did she cook anything for us until very late in the evening when I can no longer eat anything because it spikes my sugar BADLY. I’ve been eating leftovers (which are usually GREAT in our house) and a lot of canned soups and frozen dinners, and the boys make their own peanut butter sandwiches and all. The following Monday was the rabid crack head from Hell screaming in her room, and wouldn’t even make a single call for me, even though I had bought her a wireless phone with an intercom for her room. But she wouldn’t answer most calls, and since I go out to get the mail everyday, I’m noticing piles and piles of credit card and financial style envelopes, piling up on the kitchen counter, never opened, except for letters and cards from friends or Amazon Prime packages for her & Tom. Besides my $600 a month: I often buy stuff like the new phones or whatever, when I have the extra money. I gave them over $2000 to fix up the range rover so that we’d have TWO cars as Tom drives Mel’s to work at the Manchester Airport everyday. But it never got fixed. An electrical problem effecting the fuel pump or such.
The police explain that Melanie had come to their office, claiming that she was in fear for her life because I had cocked my fist and threatened her. Of course, nothing at all was said about punching me in the head first. But now there is an order of protection and I have to leave the premises. I must pack an overnight bag and go stay with some friends. I don’t drive. I don’t have a car. In fact, to leave with the boys to make this complaint: She had to call Tom at work and get him to drive back from Manchester and quietly get them all to sneak out of the house to go to town to the police department. I have no friends to stay with, and no way to get anywhere. It’s a frozen wasteland outside. So they watch as I quickly get dressed: Pack an overnight bag, grab my laptops (the ONLY means of communication I can have with the friends that I have), and they say they’ll take me to the cheapest motel in Hillsboro until we can sort all of this out. I ONLY had $300 in my bank account, that I was saving for my insulin until my next Disability check February 3rd. If the motel cost that much (it’s $75 a night) I couldn’t afford insulin and I wouldn’t even have cash to buy food either and no transportation to go anywhere, except on foot. And I’ve been bed ridden most of the past couple weeks. I’m in no shape for winter trekking or even summer trekking to any good extent, and especially carrying baggage!
So, they end up taking me to the local police department and fill out some forms, take my fingerprints and mug shots and put me in a holding cell with a cold concrete slab in my longjohns and socks, which smelled strongly of urine, until the Hillsborough County Deputy Sheriff come in and gave me a ride to the county lockup in Manchester (over an hour’s drive away). They kept my laptops and baggage in the Hillsboro P.D. and then I was led chained from chest to ankles, fingerprinted again, mug shots again, and put in an orange prison garb and put in a cell full of serious repeat convicts for the night. I hadn’t eaten a full meal since 7:30pm Sunday Evening, and no insulin shots at all since Monday morning, no meds and no food or drink and had my arraignment in chains on a video screen Tuesday mid-morning, and then, without even giving me any paperwork for when my courtday was set: They released me on a Personal Recognizance bond (I had no bail money), and set me out into a blizzard, on the streets of Manchester, without a clue as to where to go, how to get back home (they refused) or even where the nearest homeless shelter was. The ONLY number I knew was my own, and I’m not allowed to communicate with them in ANY way or go there, and my laptops are sitting in the Hillsboro P.D. and I have no idea of even where in the state of New Hampshire that is from where I was, or how to get there without a single friend anywhere in the state that I knew of or could contact, or even contact any of YOU.
I walked around. My leather duster needed another layer or so to keep me warm, but my clothes were in my overnight bag in Hillsboro. Melanie and Tom KNEW very well the degree of difficulty they had put me in. As the hours passed from my arrest, my ideas of EVER forgiving them this got farther from my heart. I was biting my own tongue just to keep from cursing everyone involved in this dishonor and degradation! I figured I might find a Trailways Bus Station somewhere near the heart of town. It was overcast and a blizzard, so I had no idea where north or east or such might be. I was hungry, thirsty, sore, and fighting falling asleep. I found a bus station, but nothing went to or near Hillsboro, and I doubted I could hike more than a mile, if that because I had no shots, meds or food for at least 48 hours and my heart was pounding in my ears like a Salvation Army drum. A nice ticket seller said she could sell me a bus ticket to Concord for $5 and they would get me a cab, which would take me to Hillsboro P.D. for $60, and showed me where an nearby ATM was, and I pulled out $260 of the little I had to last me until next month.
It was around 9:30pm by the time I got more papers, now of a longer and more severe nature about never going or calling home again. But the nice officer called the 1830 House Motel and drove me and my baggage there. I paid my last $150 for two nights, and set up mu laptops for emails and Skype, took a shower and put on clean underwear and started making Skype calls until I couldn’t stay awake any more to get help. I was already very sick before this sad adventure had begun. It has taken it’s toll on my body severely. It is now early Wednesday morning and I got a breakfast sandwich of sausage, egg and cheese on an English muffin and a large cup of coffee at the truck stop across the street. It’s the first real meal I had since Sunday. I took Gabapentin for my neuropathy, and keppra to lessen my body wracking seizures, and lisinopril for my high blood pressure. I feel like I was run over by a stampede of rampant buffalo. But I’m just a wee bit more stabilized with this. I can’t test my sugar and it probably isn’t TOO high since I had no food for so long. But I started writing this letter, to see if there’s any way to be able to get out of here before my time runs out. My money’s already run out and this was ALL I have left besides my life.
I don’t like “mooching” off of my friends in ANY way. I like to pay my own way. I only get $1100 a month in Disability checks, and I need tto o be able get a room & board situation going or a nursing home, and some way to get out of here and into there where someone will kindly wait until my next check is deposited February 3rd. As an Ultra and a targeted individual, they ALWAYS hit me at my very weakest points: My wife, my kids, my friends and such, because they KNOW that I will not bend or comply with them. I cannot. *I* run my own programming, and I know I’m not getting any better. We had scheduled for another set of MRIs for February 16th, because the brain damage does NOT reverse. It progresses to worse and my meds need to be upgraded accordingly. I won’t be able to make that appointment. But I’ve been living with the pain for a long time already and am still strong that way. But I at least need my own bed and regular healthy meals and my insulin logged into my book to track and at least 4 times a day. I can set up my SSI Disabilty for anywhere that I can move, but NOT out of the country and not anywhere that I have to go by plane. I am still strictly “No Fly List”. But I can get on a bus when I have the cash. But at $75 a day, i cannot stay here long enough to get to that next check. I need help. I need ideas of where I can establish my Medicare and get treatments and a way to get to them. It’s a LOT to ask of anyone, and especially when my own family turns out like this with alarming regularity. I don’t mind if I have to pass on. I am truly way too tired of this present world. It would be a blessing and a mercy to me to leave it behind. But I am not and never have been “suicidal”. I’m an Ultra. We fight until there not a drop of blood or a breath in us to fight with. If you can find someway to help me: I love you for it. If not: I still love you a lot anyway, because you never did me like I’m being done now by “loved ones”.
I will keep my Skype and emails open to talk this out. I’m at “firstname.lastname@example.org”, which is also my PayPal account. My Skype is “John_Stormm”. Thanx and blessings to you all!