Which isn’t surprising for one who suffers from severe depression and suicidal ideation. Still, my happy pills usually block these sorts of days so something is really bugging me.
Granted, there’s a laundry list of things to be bummed out ranging from my inner turmoil to how this old planet of ours is being mishandled by idiots around the globe in positions of power, but these are always true.
Further complicating things is that the government may cut me off of disability which would leave me uninsured and without any income at all. Seems they think I may not be “sick enough” what with the chronic pain I endure that keeps me from bending or lifting lest I keel over in abject, intense misery, agoraphobia, dissociative fugue and the above complaints (which was “good enough” to get me qualified 2 1/2 years ago!). If I can’t get my pills, my suicidal self reasserts itself and all hell breaks loose in my brain. I know this from experience during one of those rare occasions I forgot to get the doctor to renew prescription.
But then, this is the new America, the post 9/11 America. The poor, the elderly, the disabled aren’t put into camps like the Germans had the kindness to do, putting them to death quickly. No, in post 9/11 America where war reigns supreme and the rich are allowed to horde their gold, our poor, elderly and disabled are to die in the streets for prolonged public spectacle, a sanitized version of Rome’s colosseum. Remember bum fights?
Each week, more and more people are showing up at the soup kitchens, faces I’ve never seen before, a lot of kids. One child is too many.