First off, new years eve, I get hypothermia. I spent most of the time changing my clothes, taking hot showers, under blankets--with my heater on. I just could not feel warm for about two weeks. My apartment was a steaming sauna, that would choke most people at the time. However, for two weeks, I always felt damned cold. I had no energy. I could barely get up and walk around.
I try to get my ass together on the fifteenth. Try to start work on all that wonderful stuff I wanted to do this year. I did... every now and then. However for those first three months, I felt mostly like crap. No, wait, I have felt like crap--that felt like Nirvana compared to this. I wanted to get moving. I wanted to do stuff. I just did not have the energy to make it possible. I was, well, weak as a kitten for most of it.
To make things worse, on January 26th, I heard a woman screaming bloody murder outside my apartment about some man after her. Nobody was paying any attention to this. I ended up going outside, in my underwear, leggings and a jacket. Wielding a toy pair of nunchucks, hoping it would scare him--or at least have him laughing so hard at how ridiculous it looked, I could get the situation worked out.
I ended up walking around with these people. Doing my best to stay warm--but only barely succeeding. I did my best to resolve the situation... it never was resolved.
I mean, I continued to help people--even though, my Landlord said that he would evict me for wild drug parties after I offered a hungry man some food. He actually said that if I feed this person, it means that he will be evicting me for having wild drug parties.
It was also January, that I fired my mental health staff. As while I would have kept them on--they kind of were pushing to have me on medication, that was killing me. I do not mean in the usual way a mental health patient thinks being normal is death.. or something (I do not understand that thought really)... no, I was experiencing side effects and drug overdose symptoms that make most ER doctors cringe at their descriptions. I was on half my recommended dosage. The doctor said I should still be taking it.
I kind of questioned him. Tried to find out why I had the diagnosis of bipolar. I have been trying to figure that out all of 2009. As it seems each and every one of my more bipolar symptoms have been caused directly by the treatment I was getting for it. I had been off this medication since August 2009. I was not seeing any major mania or depression that was not somehow caused by some other force.
This also means, that I had the mental health worker who was controlling my funds let off as well.
Let us just summarise this persons ability to do their job: They are working for the Provincial Government.
Any time, I had to have a bill paid, food to eat--or general basic necessities. This worker has generally had issues coming through. Every thing I asked this person, would have some screw up made about it. I may as well have my funds to a crack dealer.
When she was fired, she had to transfer various account information, billing addresses and what not.
While I was also still recovering from nearly freezing to death on New Years Eve, I had to go out, and sort out this person's crap. As from my understanding, she really did nothing, except redirect my cheques and bills to an address I have not even lived at for two years, and ended a few programs... and I tended to spend the first half of the year, cleaning up after her big ass dump.
Which would not be as bad, if I had a working fridge. You see, my apartment had a wonderful fridge. It merely kept the food one degree below ambient temperature. Meaning, most of my food, I may as well have left out on the counter. I had tried telling my landlord, to get it fixed. Usually with him ignoring it... until it started to make a grinding noise even he could hear.
What was even better, I had bought a month's worth of groceries, put them into the fridge and freezer. Was told I could not get it fixed for three days. Great--I just wasted a load of money on stuff that goes bad a lot quicker now. Usually I could freeze it in the freezer, and have it rot in two days in the fridge. So between me fixing a lot of screw ups of my Provincial Government Hired financial advisor, and a loss of an entire months food, I am now really screwed up.
The fridge is fixed, and a few days later, I get a strange noise and the smell of burnt rubber. I flip the breaker and phone the landlord. The landlord comes over, I inform him of the strange noise, the burnt rubber smell, and that I flipped the breaker. He immediately goes to the fridge. Says he does not hear a noise. To which I point out the breaker has been flipped. I told him that as he entered.
He then, to dispute the rubber smell, walks over to a frying pan that I had burned something in, trying to claim THAT was the origin of the rubber smell.
"No, I can assure you, that is burned sugar. It smells nothing like burning rubber."
"There are all sorts of strange smells in this kitchen, how can you tell what smells are from where?"
I should have shouted, "IT IS A KITCHEN YOU FOOL! OF SOMEBODY WHO KNOWS HOW TO COOK REAL FOOD! OF COURSE THERE WILL BE ODD SMELLS! IF IS A FVCKING KITCHEN YOU OAF! THAT IS PART OF THE MAGIC THAT IS COOKING SOMETHING OTHER THAN CHEF BOI'R'DEE!"
Instead, I stayed quiet. I got a new fridge about a few days later.
BTW, while I did not have money to get food, I now have a fridge that works. Woohoo! A step fvcking up!
The thing is, I get somebody in to inspect my apartment. I clean it up. I however, get knocked as not up to standards due to three things wrong:
- I am unable to pull out the fridge and stove, and thus behind them was dirty. I was told they just slide out, even though empirical evidence shows trying to do so, just make me look like an idiot.
- There was a horrible smell coming from my sink... which I pointed out, had the Landlord did something to fix the plumbing, it would have stopped.
- I have a fire hazard that is composed of cardboard and old clothing.
- Never sleeping (I do not understand why people do not understand that I do sleep)
- Running up and down the halls screaming
- Odd noises coming from my apartment at all times
- Odd chemical smells from my kitchen stove.
- Stinks coming from my kitchen sink.
- Wild drug parties
- Poor personal hygiene
- Eradicate behaviour
- Stuff arranged in a fire hazard type way
There was likely why they thought I was smoking meth, when I showed up at the mental hospital. I spent all of two weeks there, as the staff kind of started wondering why I was there. As I was nothing like what I was getting reported on.
GAH! Maybe it is because my landlord makes crap up.
Never mind he spent a large amount of money to gas my apartment for bugs, and REFUSED TO BELIEVE THE PEST CONTROL WORKER WHO SAID THERE WAS NO SIGN OF BUGS EVER IN THE APARTMENT!
It gets better. Because I was committed on the time my rent was to be paid, by his own faulty reports. This past August I was asked to appear at some odd place to do a settlement out of court for my inability to pay my rent. The evidence on the charges was poor constructed shullbit. I was also unable to make it there. Which would be fine, if there was some line I could mention that I could not make it.
Nope, no such line existed. I tried phoning the only number they gave. It linked me to a machine, on information on their group.
I mean, now I have to pay for the costs of that being set up (I would have had to anyways), and I have to pay my rent on time, or face immediate eviction. Why?
Well, my apartment is unsanitary. The only reason listed is that it smells bad. Which again, is the landlord's fault, due to a broken fridge that was never fixed. And my plumbing that he refuses to look at. Kindly saying to just clean up my sink, and it will stop spewing up stuff from the drain.
The beautiful thing is: I am the crazy person here. This landlord is somebody that everybody in the building knows he is nuts. He is completely mental. Yet, we are the crazy ones here.
However, when I point out, that I have my own under wear go missing, and woke up in May with a large cum shot on my face... left shoulder and left elbow. And that my building manager is the only other person with keys, and is known to make often emergency entrances for what amounts to really poor excuses. Usually only to have me wake up, to him looking through my laundry pile... well, I am obviously going through a manic episode and should take medication to remove my thoughts of grandiose.
I have a large muscle man, who lives next door, making poor excuses to go through my laundry pile. And I am being told be medicated, because it bothers me!
This is the same person, who sees bugs everywhere, that really do not exist outside his head. Kind of on the level of a recovering heroin addict I know for his reactions to these invisible terror. Hears noises that are not being made. Hears people running up and down the halls screaming. Assumes that if young people are causing issues, that I am, somehow, associated with them, if not the ring leader.
And everybody in the building knows he is fvcking nuts. However, most of these people are also being treated for mental illnesses themselves. So, I am certain, that if they were to complain, they'd get the same results I would. That I am just crazy and hallucinating this crap--and perhaps I should start taking meds for my bipolar.
Essentially, I have learned, that if a girl, complains that a large man is taking underwear from her laundry pile and is worried that the one morning she woke up with a cum shot on her face, this means she needs to medicated for being bipolar.
I mean, I also had to deal with a break up with a rather psychotic girl this year as well. As well as the fact my Mom is so psychotic she is now useless as a resource, as well, I have no idea which person I am talking to with Mom. And only some of them remember what I said, or the issues I have had. I have however managed to clear things up with my Dad.
I also got a bed this July. As all of this year, I spent sleeping on the floor.
The thing is: this is the best and least screwed up year I have had in nearly two decades. I mean, the last time I had a year with this little issue I would have had to been ten years old. I mean--seventeen years of screwed up crap--and this one is probably the easiest.
I dunno--I am not looking forward to the Fall. As either things are getting better... or I got a lot of catching up to do, for my relatively easy year.
Either way, I am really wanting to move out, and would love to find a roommate, that I could split the rent on another place I would get.
I mean--I really do not care how psychotic my room mate is anymore. I am certain that as long as he or she is honest in what they are doing, I should have less of an issue with it.