stigmatized anonymous–the me too trigger

I pray that the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable to Thee O LORD my God. At least I can still confess that Jesus Christ is my Lord and Saviour and that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh and that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, so according to Scripture, I have the Holy Spirit. I thank God for that reality because I feel quite disabled right now.

I am praying another rosary novena and doing a Daniel Fast to be healed of all disability. It may take some time, as my problem is severe and considered incurable. I think I also have frontal lobe damage from the shock treatments I had years ago. My ability to organize is shot to Hades and has been since I had the ECTs. I did not used to be such a terrible slob to the extent I am now until directly after the shock treatments. I used to to think it was because I moved to a city where I lived in the battered women’s shelter as my first residence there and that I used my messiness as a way to keep others and especially men, away from me.

Now, I believe that it was just after my move to that city and going from the battered women’s shelter to a basement apartment next to a meth dealer who eventually sexually assaulted me, that I had my brain fried as a treatment from Hell.

I begged for it. A young man whose family did everything for him and tried to get him the best treatment, had ECTs and it seemed to help him. It was just my disease talking to me to try to destroy me completely. I am now convinced of that reality.

I was extraordinarily depressed and it did not help at all that I descended into abominable eating habits. I also had to share a bathroom down the hall and a shower with the meth dealer, which was not exactly a recipe for success either but I could not afford any other place because my disability money was cut as a result of my marriage to the man who ended up hitting me.

I escaped the first time to live with a neighbor who traded me a place to live with her for taking out a phone in my name at her place. Then, she proceeded to run up the bill with many long distance phone calls and did not pay. By the time I left and went back to the male abuser, thinking it would be okay, she had made it impossible for me to get a phone again until I paid the debt. That would end up being problematic when living next to the meth dealer because I could not call for help no matter what happened.

In fact, one night a former star quarterback from the local college who had gotten hooked on meth and was high and paranoid started waving a loaded rifle around and the dealer took a baseball bat and pummelled him to get him to come to his senses. It turned out alright but I was right there and watching the whole scene and had zero ability to call the police.

I never did try meth, thank goodness. I was warned by my then-psychiatrist that if I tried meth it would be my “ticket to permanent hospitalization in (the state hospital).” I can end this post with gratitude that I did not try it. I  have witnessed enough of that subculture to know I do not want to go there–not even once…

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