My disaster & crisis prep

This started in my wearing tradition of a friend asking me something, and me responding by writing a million times too much, including multiple digressions and impractical tangents. However, a lot of my disaster-preparedness strategies are psychological. They developed out of survival of a variety of crises both acute and long-term. I cover things that most purely logistical advice for natural disaster prep don’t touch on—but I think at the core of responding to emergencies effectively people need, in advance, psychological skills and mental coping ahead.

In addition to the latest hurricane, many people face sudden and ongoing crises. Inspired by my friend Abbey’s masterful post sharing her coping strategies for chronic illness, here are my (always evolving) ways of dealing with disasters both natural and un.

Poverty and Loss Taught Me What I Need to Survive

My disaster planning reflects my survival of a lifetime of traumatic experiences, caring for dying relatives, an ever-evolving approach to emergencies of all kinds, and the experience of falling into poverty and letting go of almost all my belongings.

In selling off and getting rid of home, furniture, belongings (and through survival) I’ve learned what’s necessary to keep my life and keep it worth living. I live in a broken-down (and continually breaking) RV I don’t own. I have no insurance for my possessions, only my car—without which I can’t get food and treatment, so that is absolutely vital to my survival. It’s the prime thing I have to preserve.

I’ve considered ways to protect my car in storms, where I can store it that might afford more protection than parking outside surrounded by a choking cluster of tall slender easily snapped pine trees. The RV is in a custom-built sturdy shelter that has protected it from falling trees for years. Yet my car is vulnerable. If necessary I can ask someone I know with a garage if I can store it there.

I store in a small portable fire box my vital documents, like original birth certificates, marriage certificate and death certificate for my husband, Social Security Card, my name change documents, emergency cash, and a backup drive of my laptop. Since the fire box lock is broken, if necessary I lash it shut with cords/rope and store it enclosed as possible in case the RV is damaged.

My other vital necessities are my laptop plus an ancient back-up laptop, and my musical instruments. I’ve digital copies of my most treasured books. My writing is stored in the cloud using Dropbox, as well as scanned copies of aforementioned vital documents, tax returns, financial and health/legal records. If I ever evacuate the RV I would take the firebox, laptops and instruments in my car.

Psychological Preparedness in the Face of Disabling Mental Illness

For me, living with disabling mental illness challenges, the most important preparedness for me in any disaster or emergency is psychological.

These are things I’m always doing, especially since I’m running out of money from a four-year battle for Social Security Disability, in danger of dying of poverty, and continually facing crises and breakdowns I can’t afford to fix. I constantly must discern what I can control and prepare for, from what I can’t control—such as weather. Then I focus my limited resources and energy on what is within my power.

My most effective response to stress, frustration, powerlessness, helplessness and regular overwhelming psychological decompensation is identifying things that I can do to make ‘any positive change.’ (This is the motto of the Chicago Recovery Alliance, and at the core of harm reduction methods with which I’ve overcome multiple addictions.) Identifying things I can do centers around an ongoing practice of writing down what I struggle with. Besides putting in words what overwhelms me, I can search some of these words on Google and find others struggling similarly, read and hear how they cope. I save what resonates for me into a database of articles and reading notes with author names and website links, even if I can’t always manage to do what they do with my limitations at the time. Storing information offline preserves things that may vanish from the web, makes my notes more easily searchable, and guards against loss of internet access. I’ve decades of such files. I also keep notes from electronic books and borrowed library books.

Speaking of library books…

Sanity Through Writing & Dissociation, and the Perils of Hope

Since so much of the trauma I dealt with as a child involved isolation and captivity, I found validation and solace in Michael Scott Moore’s book ‘The Desert and the Sea: 977 Days Captive on the Somali Pirate Coast.’ He writes:

“The stress of captivity had turned my mind into a cauldron of contradictory ideas—frustration, self-hatred, surprising impulses to violence—and nothing but the discipline of composition could lead me out of the soup. When I thought about it like that, I could answer the criticisms, in his voice, that rose in my imagination while I sat alone under the mosquito tent, these nightmarish and unanswerable condemnations from beyond the grave. Writing is impractical, selfish, narcissistic, and soft. Maybe; but I had found pleasure in it as a young man because it could reframe a scrambled mind. Good writing could be a release from narcissism, a declaration of independence, a way to order and furnish the mental prison.”

“…hope had become a psychological risk, something worse than a frustrating cycle. It was a breaking wheel, an emotional indulgence with a treacherous downwards slope. It could fuck me up for days. I had to detach myself like a Buddhist from my own desire to be free, the way I had to detach myself during a hunger strike for my profound desire for food. I had to quiet my raging thoughts and quit hoping for any future at all. The discipline was monkish but not large hearted; I just learned to adjust to the shifting currents of indignity with as much quiet loathing as I needed to keep myself sane.”

“…mirth came and went on its own. Which told me that human creatures had the power to thrive in foul circumstances precisely because of the consciousness bubbling up from our limpid core.”

“…prayer did help me articulate my most self-destructive emotions, so it became a way to balance my brain and remind myself of the forces raging overhead. It let me sort out what was, and wasn’t, within my power.

Writing in notebooks had the same effect, and I remembered that the poet Derek Walcott had once compared composition to prayer. ‘Any serious attempt to try to do something worthwhile is ritualistic,’ he said in an interview. ‘If one thinks a poem is coming on—in spite of the noise of the typewriter, or the traffic outside the window, or whatever—you do to make a retreat, a withdrawal into some kind of silence that cuts out everything around you. What you’re taking on is not really a renewal of your identity but actually a renewal of your anonymity, so that what’s in front of you becomes more important than what you are.’

…‘Renewing my anonymity’ maintained my sanity. Epictetus meant nothing else when he wrote about removing your self from suffering. ‘If you regard yourself as a man and as part of some whole,’ Epictetus told his students, ‘it is fitting for you now to be sick and now to make a voyage and run risks, and now to be in want, and on occasion to die before your time. Why, then, are you vexed? Would you have someone else be sick of a fever now, someone else go on a voyage, someone else die?’’’

I used writing as a child to dissociate from a situation in which I had no agency. I created a Walter Mitty inner landscape. I could navigate and control my experiences in words, in self-exploration, in dreamlike fantasy fiction—and give myself my wishes in fantasy. (This was a strategy I read in ‘How to Talk So Kids Will Listen & Listen So Kids Will Talk’ during an “I need to reparent myself” phase.)

The dissociative and selective-attention states I developed during abuse, or providing in-home care for my dying husband for months, or during an accident where I had to haul the 300-pound driver out and administer CPR until the paramedics arrived—these states may have been responses to trauma, but I believe they’re skills that emergency workers must surely practice. I find myself automatically shutting off awareness of emotions.

When the crisis is over I must release them all (to the distress of those around me) with an intense emotional breakdown sometimes involving my punching bag or cutting off contact with everyone. I delay my flipping out until it is safe to do so. This becomes a problem when the emergency doesn’t end and it’s never safe—such as my current situation of fighting for Social Security Disability, living in an unsafe unhealthy unstable environment with deteriorating financial and psychological stability. Without surcease and expression, my feelings become septic and add to my psychological instability and overall high arousal state.

In neverending crises like this, writing and music have become necessary ongoing practices for me. They are my pressure release valves, helping dumping some of my gunked-up psychological tanks—much like the weekly maintenance on the RV’s wastewater tanks to limit buildup from completely filling them and rendering them unusable. As well as breaking irreplaceably expensive parts the system and causing sewer drain fly infestations. I’ve become desensitized both to human waste and the ferocity of my emotional buildup, made more intense by the symptoms of my mental illnesses. This is why my computers and musical instruments are as vital to my survival as my car.

Practical Needs: Fortunate Misfortunes

Concerning basic survival supplies, I am fortunate that, because of the age of the plumbing in the RV, I don’t have potable water and continually stock up on water, since the first thing everyone does in a crisis is clean out all the stores of water. I’m fortunate that I stock up on canned goods regularly with my food stamps and have a rice cooker donated by a friend.

I’m fortunate that the RV is connected to a back-up generator. I’m fortunate that my disabilities don’t leave me vulnerable to death if, say, refrigeration or power fails or I can’t get to a hospital because of downed trees all along the eleven-mile two-lane overwhelmingly rural drive to civilization.

Some Psychological Skills I Use

I’m fortunate that I know I have survived many emergencies and disasters and have explored how I did so, and how others have. I’m fortunate I practice coping skills (particularly Dialectical Behavioral Therapy) on an ongoing basis. I’m fortunate that I know for certain what I need to live and continually shore up those things as a way of dealing with the continual existential anxiety of struggling to survive year after year.

I know I can’t control nor predict what will hit me day to day (including mercurial weather), nor my ongoing legal battle for Social Security Disability (beyond everything I’ve done to educate myself, comply with all Social Security’s demands promptly, lawyer up until I found the right one for my case and complied equally promptly with him, and solicit the assistance and support of those treating me). So I use mindfulness to turn thoughts of any dreadful fantasies of what could happen toward, “What can I actually, practically do to prepare against that nightmare eventuality?” I assess my resources and limitations, research and ask trusted professionals, and then make any positive change, no matter how small. I cope ahead daily. If the answer is that there is nothing I can do, I turn to skills to help regulate overwhelming emotions and my psychological pressure release valves. I read, write, or play music to combat feelings of powerlessness that might otherwise throw me into paralyzing psychological chaos.

The Habits of Enduring Survival

I live on the edge of a metaphorical black hole. This means a daily striving to push myself beyond the event horizon and not be sucked in and crushed to death by inaction. My inadequately treated disabilities worsen each year. Medicaid rejects my repeated applications on the grounds that Social Security has not deemed me ‘disabled’ even though I meet the financial threshold for Medicaid eligibility. (One of the worst injustices I face is that benefits meant to support and sustain the disabled are denied to anyone to whom Social Security is currently denying benefits—making other benefit programs even more essential to survival.) It’s possible I could die of poverty, physically unable to reach food and necessary care. It gets harder as money and health dwindle in the absence of income, a safe healthy place to live, benefits or safety nets that won’t abuse my vulnerability and reveal conditions and expectations beyond my ability and safety.

Yet I persist. I can still write and read and listen to or play music. I can remove my self from suffering and ‘renew my anonymity’ in my own ritualistic ways. Art is my spiritual practice. It has always been there for me in the most acute as well as lengthy crises. Art is my form of prayer and meditation. Sometimes I can forge meaning and build identity from the smallest inspirations anywhere.

Prolonged Trauma Permanently Crippled as Well as Taught Me

I forged value as well as crisis survival techniques through decades of exhausting, overwhelming, time-consuming work and basic skill-building. These burdens can seem bewildering and unnecessary to those raised in an environment absent of inescapable varied traumatic abuse, control, neglect, invalidation, misuse, and indoctrination.

Despite how it may seem I’ve ‘made lemonade from lemons,’ it’s crucial to remember that while one can build shelter from rocks that have been hurled at one for years, it does not make a prolonged campaign of rock-throwing legal or acceptable. Also, being hit repeatedly with rocks can cause permanent damage and constant pain that may never heal, even if external signs of injury fade to invisibility.

My disabilities and crisis-coping are invisible—but like gravity and air and time, their reality is constant and their impact profound.

In ‘Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence—From Domestic Abuse to Political Terror,’ Judith Hermann writes:

“People in captivity become adept practitioners of the arts of altered consciousness. Through the practice of dissociation, voluntary thought suppression, minimization, and sometimes outright denial, they learn to alter an unbearable reality.”

“During prolonged confinement and isolation, some prisoners are able to develop trance capabilities ordinarily seen only in extremely hypnotizable people, including the ability to form positive and negative hallucinations and to dissociate parts of the personality. …Thinking of the future stirs up such intense yearning and hope that prisoners find it unbearable; they quickly learn that these emotions make them vulnerable to disappointment and that disappointment will make them desperate. They therefore consciously narrow their attention, focusing on extremely limited goals. The future is reduced to a matter of hours or days.”

“…recovery, like a marathon, is a test of endurance, requiring long preparation and repetitive practice.”

Even before the fourth edition of the Diagnostic Statistical Manual, Hermann advocated for and outlined the criteria of a new diagnosis labeled ‘Complex PTSD.’ Survivors of long-term captivity and abuse they were powerless to stop, particularly children raised in such environments and subsequently maladapting at crucial developmental stages, display persistent treatment-resistant symptoms far above and beyond those with a PTSD diagnosis whose traumas were more singular or short-term. Complex PTSD sufferers display observable profound personality alterations, disordered social functioning and/or avoidance of human contact, failures to adapt to ordinary stress or new situations, numerous physical and psychological dysfunctions such as overproduction of the stress hormone cortisol and malfunctions in the measurable sympathetic nervous system that controls the ‘fight or flight’ response.

Hermann’s proposal, though advocated for and and endorsed by many therapists struggling to treat such patients, failed to be included in the DSM-IV or the more recent DSM-V edition. Why is this important? The DSM is the ‘bible’ of standard criteria for diagnosing mental disorders. It’s relied upon by everyone from clinicians to health insurance and pharmaceutical companies and Social Security. This single book has profound medical, financial, and legal consequences for the enormous percentage of the population living along the spectrum of varying degrees of psychological distress and mental disorders. Adequate research, treatment, support, benefits and rights for the most severe and disabled suffering can fail in large part because of how much this book influences individuals and systems with power.

Though it’s not ‘canon’ as far as the DSM, health care industry, and justice system are concerned, people write about it, make videos about it, and even refer to it by name in conversation.

One of Judith Hermann’s final notes on the subject stayed with me the most, and came to mind often as I read Michael Scott Moore’s book about his years of captivity. Hermann wrote that naming the syndrome of Complex PTSD

“…is an attempt to learn from survivors, who understand, more profoundly than any investigator, the effects of captivity.”

More health struggles & things I’m selling to survive

Thanks enormously to my friend for helping me buy the chemicals I need to try to eliminate the drain fly infestation in my RV. I have a clinic appointment on Thursday to try again to cure this persistent upper respiratory illness.
My friend Amanda has posted the following vintage Coach leather goods I’m selling on eBay:
Please pass on these auctions to anyone you know who might be interested. I’m still laboring to complete listings for the rest of the vintage Coach leather goods I have, including some purses and a large weekender travel duffel. I’ll post them as they’re listed.
Everything I sell helps me continue surviving during my ongoing fight for Social Security Disability benefits.

I’ve been battling for Social Security Disability Income for over 4 years now. I’ve had to sell my house and everything I can live without to pay my bills—mainly for my car, without which I can’t get food or treatment. I’m asking for any help you can give. Please note that legally if I use some kind of fundraiser (or sell anything for more than I paid), that counts as income/support from other people, which could take away my food stamps and torpedo my SSDI claim. It’s also not sustainable for the rest of my life. My disabilities and struggles to survive preclude me from the work of continually applying for grants (which might also jeopardize my food & disability claim). This is the best I can do, and only with enormous help and support from my friend Amanda.

Below I’ve linked collectibles I’m selling. I priced them based on successful eBay sales of the same things. These could make excellent gifts if you know anyone who’d love them (maybe even you!). If you’d be so kind, please pass these listings along to anyone you know who might like them. (I’m planning on listing things on my local FB marketplace if they don’t sell.) Shipping can be combined.

Tiffany & Co porcelain 2″ Signature Tiffany ‘Blue Box’ trinket box:

Three beautiful (and functional) velvet masks ​by Judith Rauchfuss, in blue:


…and green:

Beautify large black leather jewelry travel case with lock & mirror:

2002 Audrey Hepburn mint pane of 20 US 37¢ stamps, + Audrey Hepburn photo print:

2002 Cary Grant mint pane of 20 US 37¢ stamps:

5 beautiful blank book journals, cover art by Kinuko Y. Craft, M.C. Escher, Edward Robert Hughes, + more:

3 blank black paper notepads with blue and purple velvet covers:

4 blank book journals, themed with Alice in Wonderland and Winnie the Pooh:

Ral Partha Richard Kerr Rawcliffe pewter dragon statue ‘Check Mate’:

3 pewter unicorn figurines:

6 figurines (dragons, wizards, swords), pewter + more:

Small lot of science fiction TV memorabilia (Doctor Who, Mystery Science Theater 3000, seaQuest):

Final Fantasy X Rikku wall scroll (31″ wide):

Final Fantasy VII Advent Children ‘Cloudy Wolf’ ring with original box:

Final Fantasy VII Advent Children 13″ x 13″ square throw pillow:

6 Fraggle Rock 1988 McDonald’s Happy Meal Toys + Fraggle Rock UNO:

1981 Kermit the Frog plush doll & two 1983 Fraggle Rock plush dolls:

7 Fraggle Rock 11″ stuffed plush dolls (2003):

1970s 14″ Eden Peter Rabbit plush stuffed animal:

Lot of Sanrio ‘Little Twin Stars’ stationery, memorabilia, soft blanket:

Lot of Sanrio stationery and office supplies (Hello Kitty + My Melody + more):

‘House Mouse’ blank mint condition 25 gift cards + 14 envelopes by Ellen Jareckie:

5 Monster & Radio Shack cables, RCA stereo sets + S-Video:

I’m still working on auctions for some authenticated Coach leather bags and accessories, as well as some semiprecious & precious gems. I’ll post those auctions when they’re up.

If you’d like to support me in other ways, I have a wishlist for daily necessities that I run out of: . Amazon gift cards are also always MUCH appreciated. I want to especially thank with all my heart the friends who have helped me out here. I didn’t know if it was okay to thank you by name, but you know who you are. You are literal lifesavers! ❤

SSDI, food stamps, & medication

My Social Security Disability lawyer Michael Bertics met with me about my case. He’s confident we will have a new SSDI hearing before the end of the year, following his win with the district court judge. It’s unknown whether it will be with the same judge who screwed up the first time, Joseph Brinkley.

I’ve gotten my food stamps. It was a battle to get this done, and they were prorated to only half my benefits because I ‘didn’t get the information in on time.’ I decided it wasn’t worth the battle to argue that yes, I absolutely did, but as happened many times before, what I sent in was somehow lost. I was given food and a rice cooker to help me last, for which I’m profoundly grateful.

The local food bank is bullshit. My experiences with it have shown me all I can get from there is rotting food, food I explicitly stated I was allergic to, food I can’t cook, and food I can’t eat because I don’t have other needed ingredients to make it. And that only after I have gotten a written referral from my therapist, driven the hour to get there, and waited an hour for a pathetic offering I can only get once per month. It’s a great concept, but my local food bank doesn’t actually feed me. I’m glad I qualify for food stamps so I have been able to eat and survive these past several years. It’s the only option and quite often it sucks but at least I can eat.

I’ve had mental health issues my entire life. I was abused from birth in myriad ways that crippled my development and showed up as myriad symptoms that confounded everyone, especially myself. I’ve seen an endless stream of different kinds of therapists from my tween years on. I’ve been put on all the medications, even some not prescribed for nightmares, sleep disturbances, persistent (and arguably valid) depression and trauma stemming from an inescapable and twisted life. Nothing worked, in part because it didn’t fix my living situation or make survival sustainable.

Each year as my situation has deteriorated and demanded more of me. My symptoms have worsened and paralyzed my capacity to take care of myself. Within this last year I grew so desperate I sought radical solutions. I felt sluggish and fogged by stress and constant flashbacks and physical pain. The medications prescribed for my conditions only served to compound the fog and inability to focus or do anything. Tranquilizers, sleep and pain medications slowed me more and more until I couldn’t shower, feed myself, get out of bed. SSRIs make me suicidal. SNRIs do nothing for me. Tricyclics either do nothing or put me in the hospital from adverse reactions. I’ve become increasingly unable to be around other people, partly due to my situation and partly from past trauma and social maladjustment during development from living with ongoing abuse.

I found some literature and articles that showed that in some cases, Adderall could potentially alleviate the most crippling of my symptoms, enough to enable me to function and have energy and focus to fight for survival. I took the information in to the nurse practitioner handling my medication, who I was able to see along with my therapist since North Carolina has a free mental health care program I qualified for. My NP was familiar with everything I brought in, so it was thankfully easy to make my case with her. For the first time I had medication that actually helped me.

At the end of May the entire medication management team left my place of treatment. Since then they have been unable to hire new NPs. I’m told that part of the reason for this is that last year there were no NP graduates qualified to administer mental health prescriptions from the sole local program. Their solution has been to use video conferencing to have patients be seen by NPs in western NC.

Everyone receiving treatment there has suffered as a result. We’re no longer seeing the same NP from visit to visit. Many of us with prescriptions for controlled substances have had trouble physically getting the prescriptions to our pharmacies to be filled before we run out. Some with us severe mental illnesses have had significant gaps and problems with medication and were unable to be seen for emergencies related to medication. The appointments, which used to be 15 minutes, now last up to an hour. Every new NP is having to get to know every patient every time. There aren’t any appointment times open until October even for those who have to get new prescriptions written each month. Many of us wait an hour to be seen at all. Everything takes more time and effort for us clients that we may not have.

Even though I have been prescribed Adderall by multiple NPs and taken it for eight months, every time since the beginning of June I was having to argue my case again and NPs have ranged from skeptical to the latest, unwilling to write a prescription out of a professed fear of being audited and having the prescription called into question since I don’t currently have an ADHD diagnosis. I have been given one final month of medication and in that time I’m going to have to submit to a psychological evaluation no one is qualified to give where I’m getting treatment, necessitating a referral and appointment. I don’t know how long that will take or if it will come at a cost I can’t afford, or even if it will result in a diagnosis that enables me to easily get the only medication that has ever helped me in 25 years. Additionally it demands even more from me that I don’t always have, because I’m struggling with so much else to get my basic needs met and survive day-to-day.

It’s terrifying to think of being crippled even further by no longer having any medication that works to help me meet these challenges. I can’t function anymore without the medication, and even with it I’m worse off symptomatically than I was this time last year.

What’s especially traumatizing about this is my powerlessness to do anything about it. Very few places in this area see people in the state-funded mental health program, and the others are all much worse. I’m exploring every option I have from under a cloud of terror and helplessness.

I’m talking with people in the system who are familiar with everything. Though you may be tempted to offer advice, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t unless you have extensive knowledge about this area and actually know of a way for me to get this medication consistently without sacrificing more than I have to give. Especially my dwindling money and energy.

At the very least I can write about this situation, not to ask for help, but to raise awareness about what’s going on. That’s really all I’m doing here. That and venting about this bullshit. One of the things in my life that has consistently made everything worse is not talking about it, or allowing the fear of aggressive bad-advice-giving from people ill-informed about the actual realities of my situation to shut me up.

I appreciate that in people’s frustration and desire to help, they rush to ‘fix’ it by telling me what to do and put me in the position of having to manage my anger and despair and educate people as to why their advice is impractical. Which is absolutely exhausting and why I often don’t even talk about what’s happening. I can’t shoulder both the burdens of (1) these crises and (2) taking time and energy to try to politely explain myself to others who may be offended that I’m not taking their advice.

Advice itself is often triggering to me because I’m really sick of being told what to do instead of having someone help me do something productive. Even words attempting to cheer me up anger me because I don’t like being told what to feel, or to not be upset and use that anger to do something to try to fix things. All my life, my anger has been stigmatized, my complaints trivialized, and I’ve been treated as if I don’t know my own reality best. Or that I just haven’t thought of or tried every workable alternative. Like I’m not already redlining past my limits every day doing everything I can.

I know I’m not alone in this. A lot of us struggling to survive are exhausted by it, disillusioned, angry that systems near-universally believed to be solutions don’t actually work (or consistently work) for those of us depending on them. I think it invisiblizes the poor and disabled even more when we don’t have the time and energy to talk about these things and deal with both the violent hateful backlash and well-intentioned but uninformed allies and loved ones we cherish and want in our lives.

Obviously I have a lot of pent-up feelings and words about this.  I want you to know I appreciate you taking the time to read this. I know it can be uncomfortable to read about and frustrating to feel powerless to help. I know it can be frustrating if well-intentioned advice is offered but not apparently taken or responded to, because I don’t have the spoons to take care of the feelings of people I love who want to help. Please understand: I feel even more uncomfortable, frustrated, and powerless to live this way.

This is the best I can do.

Updates on my fight for survival

I came home from ROOTS Week 2018 to a lot of unpleasantness. I’d been having some struggle getting my food stamps recertified before I left. The information I sent in got ‘lost in the mail’ so I haven’t gotten my food stamps benefits for this month. No food. This happens a lot. I’m glad I scan stuff before I mail it, so I could call, get an email address, and send in my scanned copy. Unfortunately I usually have to call my caseworker several times a day for a week to reach her and get things moving.
I also got a denial for the SSI (Supplemental Security Income) benefits I applied for since I’m now so low on the money I’m living off of I qualify. I was denied largely on the decision of the biased judge who ruled on my SSDI (Social Security Disability Income) hearing two years ago after ROOTS Week that sent me into a deep dark hole. I was denied my recent Medicaid application as well based on the denial of SSI which was based on that judge’s asshaberdashery. I really hate Joseph Brinkley, especially that his one-time decision continues to hold ultimate power over what I need to survive. But read on, there’s news about that…
I have to use that Medicaid denial letter to try to get back into a program that will pay for my monthly meds and will probably need lots of phone calls or even a fresh reapplication for medication assistance. This is doubly hard since the entire med management staff at the place where I get treatment left at the end of June and their stopgap measures are contracting outside providers to meet with clients via FaceTime, all of whom are bewildered by the complexities of my situation, and the fact that the only medication that works for me isn’t typically prescribed for what I have.
I emailed my disability lawyer begging him to help me write the SSI appeal. He called me immediately. Yes, they will write my appeal. He also told me that he argued my case before a federal judge and won: the judge ruled that the Administrative Law Judge (ALJ) at my SSDI hearing two years ago fucked up royally. (Yay validation!)
What this means is that the case will be sent back down for another hearing with specific guidelines mandated by the federal judge over what the hearing ALJ is not allowed to do. We’ll apply for Dire Need to try to get my case fast-tracked to a hearing date. If the ALJ who hears the case makes those mistakes again to deny my claim, the federal judge will overrule and award me benefits.
My fears are: (1) all this will take more time than I have left to survive on the money I have, (2) I will be denied using different grounds and have to go again to a federal judge, or (3) the case will fail entirely and we’ll have to start over with a new claim. It took more than six months to get through the first two appeals after my initial application, a year and a half to get the hearing date, and then two more years to get the federal court date. I’ll know more after I meet with my lawyer next Wednesday.
In the meantime all my stress is focused on relentlessly calling to get my day-to-day needs of food and medication met. I’m so grateful to my disability lawyer Michael Bertics to know what to do and handle the bigger picture stuff while I flip out and obsess over and fight for food and meds.
To me the timing of all this highlights a keen ongoing need to address classism and economic justice with Alternate ROOTS. I will contribute when and as I’m able with the document Wendy Shenefelt created for us during the spontaneous conversation we had at Mission after the closing UpROOTing Oppression session. The crappy thing about being poor and disabled is that survival sucks up all the time and energy I need to even talk about what’s happening.
Thank you to everyone at ROOTS Week for creating and holding space for that conversation to start. I was able to use the energy I reserve every year for the meeting to actually speak from a place of feeling safe and held and having my basic needs met.

#PunkCuts Fundraiser


Hi all! I’m doing a special challenge fundraiser for NC’s Orange County Rape Crisis Center. This amazing place does so much year round, both in community education/awareness-raising and support for survivors and friends & family. Their programs got me started on my arts-activism journey. Now I get to give back with my art.

Won’t you please donate and help me reach my goal? I’m a tenth of the way there!

Donate to my fundraiser page no later than August 17th and if I reach my goal of $100, I’ll cover Patti Smith’s ‘Dancing Barefoot’ on banjolele while hula hooping AT THE SAME TIME! This ludicrous video will be shown at the #PunkCuts event in Carrboro on August 17th & also on my YouTube channel for awesome out-of-town donors!

(Also check out my awesome punk cut & dye job!)