First, there will be some people who will read this from Klantown and laugh. After all, I’ve been publicly bashing their town on here with the air of an elitist who has their shit together. However, as hinted previously, I have had quite a few struggles in my time here in California. Generally, I’ve had a lot of problems in my life that I’ve elected not to share on the world wide web. But I guess now is as good a time as ever.
A little less than a week ago, I was a hit and run victim, as I described on my previous short blog. Driving through Fullerton, as I approached a stop light, an elderly woman slammed on her brakes, causing the person in front of me to slam on theirs, and the chain reaction ensued. Although I avoided contact with the driver in front of me, the person behind me obviously was not seeing the stopped traffic and slammed into the back of my car, propelling me into the car in front, and subsequently pushing their car into an elderly lady in front of them. In the confusion, the driver who hit me took off.
Long story short, I have been living in my car for roughly three months. Although I was working four jobs at one point, I still could not earn enough money to find my own place. Everything is so expensive in California, and some bad decision making, along with a psycho aunt, led me to homelessness. Although I maintain that my life is consistently filled with bad luck, I never seem to make my situations any better. From tornadoes in Alabama, to, ironically, a car accident in Colorado (which paid for the car I just wrecked), I always manage to respond to crises in a manner consistent with a crazy person.
That’s because I am a crazy person.
As a kid, I was abused in just about every way possible; sexually, physically, and mentally. Asking for help from my school, Blanco ISD in Blanco, Texas, led only to being ostracized and ignored by faculty. This caused a lot of long term damage to my mental well being that follows me to this day. As an adult, I kept finding myself in various crazy scenarios, such as what I’ve explained briefly with my Klantown series. It wasn’t until a breakdown in 2011 where I had my hand forced into receiving some treatment for my problems.
Unfortunately, I could never receive the care I needed due to various reasons. At first, it was health insurance: conservative states don’t care if poor people can see the doctor. Then it was finding someone to take me seriously: behavioral health workers are in short supply, are often underpaid, thereby only recruiting those who typically turn out terrible at their job. Back to no insurance. And recently, finding a doctor or therapist who speaks English as a primary language (sorry, I don’t speak Vietnamese). As a result, my issues were basically brushed aside to deal with another day.
During this time, I would find myself in and out of psychiatric hospitals a few times, none of which were incredibly helpful. As a matter of fact, my experience with AnMed hospital in Anderson, South Carolina was the epitome of my struggles: they didn’t want to take me, then wouldn’t let me go, but wouldn’t do anything to help me. When I needed help, it was not available, simply put.
After a stupifying experience in South Carolina related to an employer knowingly selling me a lemon of a car and misrepresenting its origin, I decided that I would try one more attempt at a big move, this time to where I was born: California. The understanding I made with myself, as well as my friend, Holden, is that if California turned out to be a bust, that would be the end, and I would finally kill myself. After all, I would be going with roughly $10,000, the best chance I’d ever had of relocating somewhere.
Fast forward to now, and I’ve lost everything. All my money was tied into that car, as it was also my home. Then some jackass destroys it and takes off. Then, to make me feel significantly worse, the Fullerton PD were uncaring to an extreme, completely uncaring and even rude. Several people had explained to me that Fullerton PD were terrible, but until this experience, I had no reason to care that they killed a homeless man a few years ago and were nearly disbanded. Now, I got to see that even though I was the victim of a crime, I was going to get the worst treatment because I was homeless.
My car being smashed and virtually unable to be driven, I asked where I was supposed to go. The response: “I don’t see any reason you can’t still live in it.” It didn’t matter to them that I was the victim of a crime, and that they had to arrest the old lady involved in the accident for not having a driver license; it wasn’t their problem. In fact, it seemed they wanted to discourage me from sticking around.
That was it. I had decided that this was the tipping point. I was either going to kill myself, or I was going to make one last effort to get the help I needed. After all, part of my life issues can be correlated to my mental well being.
After a few days of dealing with insurance (who, by the way, is going to try and deny payment, thereby leaving me subject to a lawsuit for an accident I didn’t cause), finding a place to temporarily store my crashed car, and storing my belongings with my cousin until I could do better, I went to St. Jude’s in Fullerton, per the suggestion of my cousin.
St. Jude’s was a nightmare. At first, they were perfectly nice. I waited forever for a room, and roughly eight hours for a social worker to arrive to determine what should be done with me, but the nurse, Jay, was actually helpful. However, around 11:30, shift change happened, and some bitch decided to fuck with me over a gown.
I had refused to put on the gown, since, if what they explained to me were to be true, I wouldn’t be there long. Oddly, they wanted to perform an unneeded chest X-Ray on me, which I refused, as well. When the head nurse for the overnight shift arrived, she changed my status from voluntary to involuntary, or a 51-50. She then had me forcibly changed into a gown, and although I had stated “men only”, as was my right as a patient, women were present during my forced stripping. In protest, I threw off the gown and pissed all over it, instead opting to spend the night in my underwear. Not the most rational thing to do, but she was a bitch, and my patient rights were violated.
Eventually that morning, I was promised breakfast. Two hours later, instead of breakfast, I was strapped to a gurney and transported to another facility in Santa Ana, which I’ve been told is referred to as “CSU”. Basically, they determine where you go, and at a max, will spend twenty four hours there. I met with the doctor on duty, who was combative and was a complete asshole. Much like the woman from St. Jude’s, I opted to protest, but instead of pissing on my clothing, opted simply not to talk to him. I was then transferred to where I am now, Telecare, three hours later.
This is a temporary program, roughly 10-14 days, that is a crisis residential center. I am not optimistic that this service will provide me with the help I need, but it’s my last chance. The likelihood that after this period of time that I’m “all better” is more or less nonexistent, but it’s not a bad program from what I can tell. The doctor, albeit of Indian descent, spoke good enough English that I was able to relay important medical information related to my care. And although she wants to label me as bipolar, rather than Major Depressive Disorder as I had been diagnosed before, she has me listed currently as an “unspecified mood disorder” until she can get to know me better. In the meantime, I’m starting two new meds, including lithium. I suppose if I’m to have an adverse reaction to it, I’m in the right place.
So that’s basically it. I’m homeless, in a psych facility, and have no hope that my life will ever get better. There’s a very good possibility that I may still try to kill myself after I am released, whenever that may be. After all, I made a pact that I would if this went south (I use the term “went south”, because I attribute the south to everything bad in life, because they’re all fucked in the head. i.e. Klantown). However, while I’m here, I do intend to give it my best effort to get well. After all, what have I to lose?
Amazingly, the facility that I’m at now has a computer with internet access. Being a residential crisis center rather than a psych hospital, they are not as restrictive related to using technology, although Facebook is blocked. So I took the time to write this blog to let everyone know where I am.
As well as to tell all of you that the Fullerton Police Department are a bunch of dicks. See the play on words there?