I Got Distracted 1


When I woke up last night, I was going to write down everything that happened at DHR.  That was the plan I had when I fell asleep yesterday morning.

It didn’t exactly happen that way because I woke up to my dad saying, “Billy said something you’ll want to read. And Deb agrees with him.” I read it. I reacted. I thought I reacted rather well to it. And then I got the response to that response and I tried to respond to that with a certain level of maturity. I even interacted with one of Billy’s friends for a bit before I truly accepted that this post was meant to give people I’m biologically related to an opportunity to tell me off.  When I accepted that, I first blocked Deb, then my aunt, then her husband, then the in-laws of my cousin, and when I went to see if Billy was continuing with this, I found that he’d blocked me. I’m not sure if it’s because of my response to him or because I posted this status.

I went through a few panic attacks because of Deb’s third sentence. While we were at Nana’s house, I began suspecting that my aunt and Deb (or someone on their “team”) was reading my tweets or monitoring my Facebook account. I already knew that this blog was on their radar because it was part of the initial fight. I didn’t realize until last night just how much these family members were monitoring the blog. In the last month, I’ve been logged on Google Analytics 41 times, while I’ve been checking to see if things were working. Their IPs have been here at least 47 times. Possibly about 60, when you factor in that the visits are coming from different cities in the same general area. I started panicking when I realized that they didn’t just dislike me, they disliked me in a very obsessive way. Honestly, the fact that their IPs are coming up on my stats as being here as much as me, as much as spambots, and even more than people who do like me come here is really fucking scary.

Anyway, the night was basically spent trying to keep them off this site. It probably won’t work completely, but maybe they’ll finally start to get the message that I need them to go away. (I’ll be calling Nana later today and asking her to please not discuss me when they call. I know she has memory loss issues, but I hope she’ll remember that.)

So, as you may have figured out by now, I did qualify for food stamps. I will get a partial amount at some point for this month with my benefit start date being the 9th (yesterday) and going until the 31st. Next month, on the sixth, I will receive my first full benefit. My parents have to send in a letter saying that I pay rent so that I get the complete benefit. Otherwise, I would only get a certain percentage of the benefit.

I’m glad that I qualified because, as I’ve said on Twitter and on here, I need this assistance. I need to be able to buy foods that help me hold off this disease. I just wish some people that shared my biology would get that. But I guess that they don’t want to accept that.

And they should accept that the state government verified with the federal government that I qualified. There was a sheet on the worker’s desk that had the verification of the benefits from Social Security. This means that the State of Alabama, once again made sure that I was not just trying to game the system. (They had to check on the property tax exemption, too.) Now, for those who think that Social Security doesn’t check into see if people really need disability, let me assure you that this is an agency that has been given full access to my physical health record and who I have authorized to have full access to my mental health record. That means that they know what is wrong with me. They’ve seen the doctor’s notes. They’ve read the 28 years worth of records. They review it regularly. They even sent me a thing earlier this year saying that they accidentally started to review it again this year, even though I wasn’t supposed to have a full case review this year. Basically, that means that even when they aren’t supposed to check up on me, they check up on me. This is why I get displeased with people who say I’m able-bodied and prospering  or something to that extent. (Less than $500 a month [half of the maximum monthly income level for food stamps my household level] makes me all wealthy and hoity-toity. Mitt Romney’s probably soooo jealous of me right now. He’s probably weeping on Paul Ryan’s shoulder.) As I said last night, people who think that need to stay out of my life.

And yes, I have now posted 3 times in 18 hours about the same argument. But it bugged me. A lot.

Footnote-ish thing #1: Deb said I was 30. I’m 28. There is nothing wrong with an adult liking Hello Kitty or using a cutesy image for a profile picture. She also said I was bragging about being on food stamps. The only Facebook post I made mentioning that I would be on Food Stamps was sent at the same time as this tweet and says the exact same thing. I had made some posts on Twitter about the upcoming appointment. None of them were bragging. Most were just about my being concerned about it, and how I didn’t want to post about it on Facebook because I was worried that a shitstorm would befall me. I was apparently quite right.

Footnote-ish thing #2: I love that my dad tried to defend me. I love that my mom isn’t upset at me over the reactions of people from her side of the family. I love that I had friends, not just from online, but ones that I went to school with and church with, that were comforting in the aftermath of the shitstorm.

Footnote-ish thing #3: If you haven’t figured out by now, the official name of this event is going to be The Shitstorm. I should make some kind of t-shirt that says, “I survived The Shitstorm.” I could wear it and pose in pictures with Hello Kitty merchandise, Barbie dolls, and teddy bears. Because that would be awesome.

Footnote-ish thing #4: Yes, there is quite a bit of sarcasm in this post. I’m sarcastic by nature.


About Janet Morris

I'm from Huntsville, Alabama. I've got as many college credits as a doctorate candidate, and the GPA of some of them, too. I have a boss by the name of Amy Pond. She's a dachshund. My parents both grew up in Alabama.


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