✨

Being unhoused is killing me. I am more on auto pilot than I have ever been. I was always free in my mind. I don't feel more free when I have nowhere to pee.

 

I want to talk about Hasan and they deserve to have you give a moment of your time for all the time they've spent working for human rights - but I feel like I have to fight about being kicked out of the grocery store instead - not because I'd rather talk about it - but because I have no where else to go and I think they know that. I am sick of being fucked with - worse - sick of feeling used so someone else can get power I didn't know was anybody's goal.

 

I have walked from Milwaukie to Northwest Portland. The "Loo" things suck and aren't always usable. I've been told I can't go in a dozen places with my cart, which I need for mobility assistance. Central Library, QFC in Sellwood, Safeway on Lovejoy, New Seasons in Northwest, Fred Meyer's on Burnside... the New Seasons has a microwave and hot water and ice and internet and a place to sit for two hours. They've over enforced rules on me they don't do to anybody else and it feels like the ACLU is just waiting to pretend they cared about me later.

 

I am just bait and the idiots who fuck with me are dumb, but those in control of the situation also don't care what happens to the bait.

 

That's a vibe. A really sad vibe. 

 

I don't want them to stick me in my old apartment without any of my stuff and just act like it's better now so there can be an argument about how demented genocide is - it's proven itself and it makes no sense adults waited around for the story to be polished while I fell into homelessness.

 

I want my home back. I think it should be somewhere I am used since exactly where I used to live is too difficult and in some conflict of interest. I think it's wrong I would have to leave Portland after everything that's happened. It would have been nice to just be with Hasan, protest with art, and design counter-CIA curriculum in self defense against psych ops for the all possible futures.

 

Even if the real Hasan didn't love me at all, there's a version in my head I'm spending the rest of my life with. We are used dolls in a haunted dollhouse we did not design, trying to keep it real.

 

Someone gave me a tent and the next day someone threw a firework inside. It exploded at my feet in front of me. My hearing went out. It could have killed me. I have burn holes in my shit. The tent was blown out from the bottom and unusable. 

 

A week or so ago I found a couch at a max station. Someone went out of their way to tell me it had been slept on for a week by someone else. Then some guy spent the night not leaving me alone to come back at like 4 or 5am with a whole gallon of rotten milk to pour on me. Fucking idiots think they're getting something out of this.

 

They took the couch away a little later in the morning.

 

They keep setting something out like I could sleep there and then destroying it. 

 

Everything feels like reverse psychology games. They'll push you into who they wanted you to be in this stupid play. 

 

If Hasan loves me for real and they don't let us be in love and live as long as we possibly could as well as we possibly could - if they don't allow real love on earth - if they're just going to hurt us - then fuck earth, this shit is cursed. 

 

The library closes at 8. I am nervous. 

I'm also so brave I can say when I'm vulnerable without giving a fuck what you'd think.

Anyway, I haven't eaten today. I didn't make it for a grocery delivery. I'm running super low on food stamps - $74 left - and it's only the 8th. They cut me $94 last month - again - I think - for the sake of using me in some supreme court soap opera for which I do not consent and I have been under duress since 2020. That means you can't use me for any bullshit. My half (and only) sister Linda said she'd give me $150 a month to survive and has chosen to use it as an excuse to play games and stress me out for fun, which is predictable. 

I need dinner. I need a bathroom. I need to not be fucked with by people who violate boundaries for shits and giggles. I just want Hasan.

They'll have your anxiety kick in until it kills you, until you are pissing yourself in the street, and then they'll get to ever have a reason to wake up in their own lives again - makes no sense to me.

Worse, the people who care might kill themselves and the people who don't stick around and laugh. So you lose the people you could have ever made amends with, who hadn't gotten so stupid they wasted other people's lives on how pathetically cruel they wanted to be to feel a shred of power. 

 

Waste of everyone's time, energy, memories, hearts.