My Doctor said to me that “it seems like whatever you are doing and wherever you are going is intentional”.
I told him, “You would not believe the horrors I have witnessed.
I told him I said, “My uncle died recently and on his death certificate it said Schizophrenia.
My aunt, she does not wear pants that cover her ass and frequently gives me presents from the child’s section at Walmart, thinking that I am a six year old girl who wears a size 7 in rhinestone cotton jeans. She thinks I like to read Seventeen magazine and I try to tell her, no, I like Schopenhauer and Humes, occasionally a Sontag and Woolf essay, but I am not sure she understands what that means since her hallucinations began when she was 14.
Sometimes the neighbors call the police on her because she is running naked in the streets looking for someone to murder (and I do not blame her),
for the system has set her up with a health attempt failure in the 48 years she has been under their control.
I asked her one night, “What do you like? What present would you want if you could have anything in the world?”
and she said,
“Why, no one has ever asked me that before!!!”
I looked at her, and then looked at the mental institutions in my mind from my first time in New York where they kicked me out of school for being suicidal, in the local hospital the second and third time when they refused to feed me properly when I told them I was vegan and allergic to soy.
I said, This is a hospital I thought you were in the business of making people become better not worse, and after when I asked to be outside to see the sun, they took me outside with the rest of the group to this courtyard where everyone smoked their cigarettes and I walked in a pace because there was no room to avoid the impure fumes I refused to let inside my lungs.
Westerners think that I am like them. They think i will laugh at their jokes and appreciate their humor and appreciate their commentary on the men who frequently ask for dates because of their lack of them due to their ugliness.
I think You have no Idea do you, what it is like. What it is like to have the epigenetic and genetic alterations in your family lineage pass down to you so that you receive all the traumas from the historical wars travel over on this homeland and soil. You are so cute. So cute in your self absorbed insecurities, and while the western mental health practitioners deny such a pain hierarchy, I deny their denial, holding knives punctured into skin for torture much worse than verbal comments of self deprecation. When you have both you are the queen of the hierarchy, and I wish they would all bow down to me.
I realize, finally, we are not in the same business, I Do Not Think You Deserve This Country and I Wish They Could Deport You Too.
On the men, I like those, the cute ones that ask for dates. Because they ask they do not demand. Demand the way some perpetrators do by yanking legs off of beds and dragging them to the bathroom where they rape them loudly, or silently, in peace, muzzling your mouth and skull and make you watch the blood that comes from bodily places you didn’t understand what were for, but now you know. Now you know it feels good and also terrible at the same time.
He said, “Now I understand why those girls always want to have wild and frequent sex.”
I say, Yes. It is mind-body research in action.
I am not done data collecting but when I do it will be so monumental because I am the originator of independent and institutional science, I tell you. Criticize my breaks but I remind you they are necessary when you have walked a life of strife. Somebody on Tinder said he didn’t think I was real because of the clever bio and hot pic.
I said, No, I am just a rare breed.
[some of this may be fictionalized and may all the truth come out with time]
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