Why Suicide Is Illegal

AKA, Why we can't talk about suicide.

I recently had someone report one of my posts on Facebook because I mentioned I was depressed and wanted to kill myself. Sounds like the right thing to do, right? WRONG.

In case you missed what I posted here earlier, feel free to wade through the Google crap blogger on here and find the article where I wrote about my horrendous experience with the mental health system.

Since I have now been reported and Google and Facebook is now watching my every move, I may have been reported to the authorities that I'm suicidal and have to wait for the cops on my doorstep to take me away and lock me up forever--thus negating any free-will or life that I could've had. Sounds like death doesn't it?

Let me tell you--it's okay to feel depressed. It's okay to feel bad. I would consider it abnormal to not feel bad in this society. If society is blaming you for feeling depressed and bad, chances are, society is abusing you. Abusers tend to blame the victims of their abuse quite often.

Is suicide bad? Sure it is. I'm not going to say it's good. Sure, the pain will end and so will your life. That's it. That's all folks! That's all suicide does. Suicide does not help you find other options (even if you have to suffer some years to find it), suicide doesn't help extend your life (as miserable as it may be), suicide also hides the problem of...Society!

See if we all killed ourselves, we can't address the problem of society--which is the core of why we're sick. Society wants to bury our problems in: pills, useless doctors, drinking, drugs, hypocrisy and other lies. If we kill ourselves, society will keep on doing this to people and will continue to abuse us victims and blame the problems on us.

Common things Society tells us: If you're not happy you're a bad person. If you're depressed it's your fault. What is wrong with you? You're sick. You're not one of us. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc.

That alone is enough to make a lot of us feel bad and hopeless and depressed.

Is it up to you to change society? Maybe not. That's a lot to ask when you're already feeling like shit.

But think of yourself as a witness. The more you live, the more you see and if what you're seeing is bad--then it's pretty plain where the problems are. It's not you--it's them. You're the victim they're the abuser.

Now if you're always seeing bad stuff...that's a problem. You gotta see the good in things too. If you're always depressed...then yeah, that really sucks. I can't offer any cures or remedies. I don't have the answers. I'm not posting any stupid suicide hotline numbers or doctors etc. You can find help yourself. That's right. You have free-will. It's up to you--not doctors, cops, pills or whatever. You.

I gotta enough shit to deal with. I can't offer advice, sorry. What I can offer is true insight and REAL DISCUSSION about depression and suicide without the bullshit mumbo jumbo. We've all heard it--you need to try harder, get help, get help, get help--it's been hammered into us enough times that I don't need to repeat it.

If we don't talk about the abuse, it won't be recognized. The abuse will continue. If we all talk though, then we can share solutions or at least how we get through work all day every day for no reason than to pay our rent so we don't become homeless on the street. Cuz there's nothing worse than dealing with depression and suicide than when you're homeless and that's when people really won't help you--then they tell you you're better off dead.

You have a right to live. You're better than this. It's okay to feel bad. You're not alone.

Let's talk about it.

#suicide #depression #lifesucks #iwanttokillmyself #googlethisshit

It's October again...

Friday October 6th, 2017 11:36 AM

"Museums are for dead things

I would put all my stuff in them

They can look but no one can touch

I would be inside my museum

With all my stuff

So no one can take it away

and ruin it

It will all stay the same

Nothing will change"

--My Private Collection by Emerald A. Behrens (c) 2014 

It's October again. Soon it will be Halloween, my favorite time of year.

I'm still stuck in poverty here in Chinatown, San Francisco. But as I keep saying now, I'd rather be poor in San Francisco than anywhere else. Even Chico.

My Grandparents are dead. They died last year. It was a terrible ordeal that split our family apart. I'm no longer on speaking terms with the rest of the family. I've come to accept that this is what happens in life. All I have left are their things.

I currently pay $180 for three storages in Chico that I rarely visit because I have a full-time job. It's the first time in my life I have a job that pays the rent and bills. At 33-years-old (soon to be 34-years-old), I have finally become and adult. Better late than never, right? I know this journey has been hard. I could never have gotten this far if I hadn't made the decision not to rely on others.

I think of all I've been through and still can't believe I'm here. I narrowly missed having a life of my own and having everything taken from me. I know better now not to sacrifice freedom for so-called security. The life I had in Chico is not for me. My bills and rent were paid by my grandparents and after suffering three jobs at one time with not enough money, I soon realized I would never have a proper life in the small college town I had to grow up in.

I'm thankful for the good memories I've had in that town, when my grandparents were still alive, when I was allowed to go to college for over eight years and travel and be with friends. Never again.

I miss the nature and the easy-going lifestyle there of college kids who could waste their lives away, smoking pot in the park (I never smoked pot and still can't stand the smell). I miss being able to sit in cafes and write all day. I miss my car. I really miss my car. I miss driving around and listening to music. I miss the freedom of having my own car. Having my own car was also expensive.

I can never have a car in San Francisco. It's too damn expensive: gas, maintenance, insurance, parking, did I mention insurance? That alone would put me over $5,000 in the hole--which is what the IRS demands from me every year. You might say I sold my car to the IRS, every single year.

Taxes are terribly expensive. I pay over 20% of my paycheck and make less than $30,000 a year after Big Brother and their ilk snatch most of my paycheck away. Very little goes to CA disability or even Social Security. It takes about $40,000 to live in San Francisco. I pay more than 35% of my income on rent alone. Without my savings and money from my grandparents, I'd be screwed.

The lucky people can live out of their cars. I've seen them, parked along streets in San Francisco, usually near the closest 24-hour gym. But there are car break-ins every night and it's not safe here. I've already been attacked by a crazy homeless dude who wanted to pick a fight for no reason. Living in a tent is hard to imagine, though I've done so in the safety and security of someone's backyard. I was not a welcome guest there and people's patience wears thin.

San Francisco has no charity or patience for the homeless. Crimes against the homeless are rising. If I become homeless, I will no longer have a life.

I think of these things every day as I attempt to fit in with normal people and live a normal life. I wonder how much longer I can keep pretending. Life is so much harder without parents, without family and support. I feel like I'm the only one without parents.

I've seen many people here in San Francisco, many of them rich. A lot of the rich inherited from their rich parents, and continue to live their rich lifestyle without ever worrying about being homeless. I don't need to be rich; I only ask for enough to live. This is not the motto for the rich. I've seen the lucky youth who came here with techie jobs in hand from a good college paid by their parents and their part-time jobs. The lucky youth usually make $60,000 a year; double what I make without any college degree or techie job.

As a woman, I'm not sure it would make much difference in the techie industry. I've seen how things are for working women here. The rich girls in their high-heels who follow the men old enough to be their father's older brother, carrying their salad as they hobble along listening to the men do all the talking.

I've seen many things here in the city of San Francisco. I've seen pimps yelling at their girls and heard the girls crying, "Give me my money! It's my money!". I've seen women suffer abuse at the hands of their boyfriends because they have nowhere else to go. It happens a lot in my building. I've seen old people die alone here because they had no family to care for them. I've seen their things dumped outside for the trash people to take.

I know my things will end up in the trash when I die. No one will care about my things. I wonder what it's all for when I waste my life to pay for rent, only to be stuck with things I can't take care of: my grandparents belongings, their pictures, their writings, their furniture, their books, their photos. It's all in storage in Chico, plus taking up space in my closet, in my 8X10 room I pay over $850 for with rent control.

Also, my things are in there too. My pictures, my comics, my writings, my furniture--all the things I used to have in Chico, packed away and never seen again. All of my stuff here is a mess and packed away as well. Without my computer, I wouldn’t have anything.

The life that everyone else has is not my own. I realize how quickly those things can be taken away though: a house lost to fire, a city lost to a hurricane, a whole country in debt and destroyed with no help from the outside as with Puerto Rico. I know security is temporary.

The life I have now may change. It may be gone. All the things I do now won't matter. My stuff will be thrown away and destroyed. I know this and continue to write, to make music, to make movies and shorts, along with Grim Goblin Jack. 

What else would I do with my time?

When Life Becomes Hell

 Right now I'm suffering flashbacks of my life in Chico. I escaped homelessness, threats and abuse, thoughts of suicide, attempted attacks and assaults on my person only to suffer the same fate in the city of San Francisco.

Women have some rights here than in Chico or in the rest of the country but women are far from free in a world of Injustice.

After being attacked by a crazy black homeless person I realize the system is still against me.  It was useless calling the cops and it was useless going to the hospital where I now face a $600 bill because a doctor talked me into getting a shot to prevent tetanus from where the guy scratched me on my neck.

It is useless calling the cops when I see a pimp prostituting his girl's out of his car and out of my building, it is useless calling the landlord when anything needs to be done around here including a broken smoke detector which has been hanging from its live electrical wire since I moved in two years ago, it is useless trying to report any crime around here to the police who never show up, it is useless to defend myself when I am constantly under attack.

I hate being a victim because I'm a woman. I hate being threatened all the time and being attacked and I am always fearful when I go out because everyone is crazy.

There is no Freedom when I live in fear.

 there is no way to live my life and do what I want.

If I were a man would I have more freedom?

If I kill myself can I be reborn as a man?

I don't think I'm going to live much longer anyway because any time I get myself settled somewhere other people rip apart my life and I'm always threatened by others.

I may not live long enough to finish all that I want to do including my projects my movies and music and my writings that I've been working on.

 there is nothing else for me to do.

"The Circle (Der Kreis)" 2014

Pride Movies to Watch 

(or great films to check out otherwise)

The Circle (2014)
(Der Kreis) German
Drama, Directed by Stefan Haupt
102 minutes German with English subtitles
NR
Warnings: Nudity, graphic scenes of sexuality, profanity

This was one of the films I picked up at the library, seeing the beautiful cover of two men embracing. Turns out theirs is a real life love story, based in post WWII Switzerland, one of the few countries at the time to not criminalize gay people. In America at this time McCarthyism is running strong, fueling homophobic fear along with the fear of Communism. 

The Circle (Der Kreis), is named after the magazine founded in 1932, first focusing on lesbian issues before becoming exclusively gay in focus. It was run by Rolf (Karl Meier) an actor and gay man who also ran the club of the same name which hosted an international ball in Zürich, the epicenter of gay events in Europe. 

Röbi Rapp, a drag entertainer who is involved in The Circle, meets Ernst Ostertag, a school teacher whose closeted sexuality is kept hidden from his upper-class family. Ernst becomes a member of The Circle and eventually helps with the editing, with his knowledge of English, to publish the more risqué stories in the magazine. 

The film opens with the documentary part, showing the now elderly couple, Röbi and Ernst, based in their home in Switzerland. They first gay couple to be married in the country (although the laws aren't clear regarding if same-sex marriage is fully legal). 

The movie switches between documentary style narration and film, like a scenic flashback of events with commentary from those living. There is a lot of historical context with the romantic love story. 

Although homosexuality was not a crime in Switzerland at the time, there was growing homophobia and hate crimes against the gay members of The Circle. The members were suspected in murders committed by a "Rent Boy" (a person paid for sexual acts) who preyed upon gay men. The police raided The Circle and their club during these murders, as portrayed in the movie, assaulting Ernst and holding him as suspect. 

Attacked and blamed for these murders, members of The Circle/Der Kreis, were also blamed for attracting rent boys to Zürich, making it an international go-to for gays everywhere in Europe. Lesbians were also popular though less seen in the movie, as they were a part of the gay culture in Zürich. 

There was still censorship in Switzerland and the magazine, Der Kreis, was closely monitored. Overall, the atmosphere at the time was a cautious liberal attitude, quickly overturned by any upset or threat to the heterosexuals. Members of Der Kreis were mostly closeted to their families and outside society.

Through it all, Ernst and Röbi survive the tumult and their relationship thrives into their old age. Röbi's performance, singing the song from Ernst's youth, is a poignant part of the story which is sweet and endearing. Though Ernst didn't come out until age 70, his relationship with Röbi was finally realized at they were married, carriage and all.

Only recently have the rights of gay marriages been recognized as legal and binding. There are still places that do not recognize gay marriage, even in the U.S. where a conservative person in the White House threatens to undo all the progress made since the Stonewall riots in 1969. 

Finding a gay love story so eloquently told in movies is rare with most homosexual films and portrayals ending in tragedy or sacrifice. Only a few times does the audience witness a lasting bond between members of the same sex that isn't harmful or abusive in films. 

This story hit me on a personal level...

I remember my own experience at age 17, going through doubts about my sexuality but with no one to turn to for help. As I lived in a small college town in the 1990's, homosexuality was still closeted and the last gay bar there had closed years ago. Pride was celebrated almost secretly in a venue called Manzanita Place, although it was really the Elks Lodge--but you weren't supposed to say that. 

A center aptly called Stonewall was my only resource as a questioning teen, not yet an adult by law. Stonewall was hidden in an old building where the maze-like offices hid the center fairly well. I only found the place by browsing the internet, thankfully my faithful source of information at the time. 

I was too scared to tell anyone what I was going through, only having seen a preview of the film, Boys Don't Cry, as I wondered if I was transgendered, lesbian or simply a freak. I had no idea what I was going through and was only offered glimpses of this other life through secret meetings I arranged online with much older people (who didn't know I was only 17). 

It's hard to describe the feeling I felt as an outcast of society, where gay rights and an open Pride celebration wouldn't be recognized until 10 years later in the so-called liberal college town, set amidst red-necked farmers and Republicans who threatened to shoot any gay they saw on the street. 

Stonewall offered me a solace and safe place, much the same as Der Kreis offered Ernst and Röbi. I had secretly read all the Stonewall library books I could on lesbian sexuality, transgendered experiences, butch and dyke stories and quite a few erotica stories. I was on a quest to understand what I was going through and along with online exploration through chatrooms, found myself still confused with my sexuality. 

There weren't many positive examples of women lesbians, bisexuals or transgendered people for me to watch, as most films ended in murder, suicide, tragedy or strange obsession that bordered on mental illness. Most depictions of homosexuality resembled a text-book illustration of madness, depression and immorality--rather than a realistic portrayal of real people who happened to be non-heterosexuals. 

I attended the Pride event hosted by Stonewall secretly, dressing myself in butch attire whenever I could with a masculine attitude that came off strange at times with my friends, though I began making more open-minded friends as a result. 

I suffered the usual attacks at home-school (better than public school though), with slanders against me being a lesbian as I attended a school dance dressed as Zorro and had danced with a girl who thought I was a guy. Who was I to dissuade her from the fantasy? 

I bravely ventured to put a rainbow ribbon on my car, only to have my oldest brother tell my grandmother, it meant the whole family was gay. I was ordered to remove the ribbon as a result. 

My grandmother found out about my sexuality when I later introduced her to a much older woman (who I met online when I was 17), as my girlfriend. My grandmother cried and cried but told me she loved me no matter what. The older woman dumped me soon after when I wouldn't have sex with her. So much for that... 

I later learned that there was no simple answer to how I felt and that many people I met online were very flakey and wanted only to take advantage of me. The friendships at Stonewall helped me to accept myself, whoever I was, and that I didn't have to choose right away how to label myself. If I hadn't had this opportunity, it would've been a much harder lesson for me to learn with many more mistakes I could've made with people of questionable motives. 

Forty years later I went through what Ernst and Röbi had, in an age of technology still fraught with homophobia. Even now, the question of gay rights looms large in front of a conservative cabinet running the White House, voted in by rich Republicans who've never had their lives endangered by threats of rape, abuse, murder or suicide. 

Over fifty years later after WWII, Hitler and Der Kreis, gay people still live in fear through repression, assault, murder and suicide. Gay marriage still isn't recognized all over the world. Adoptions are a lengthly and complicated process for gay couples (when they are allowed to adopt). HIV and AIDS which has killed millions (35 million globally www.who.int/gho/hiv/en/, ) once thought of as the gay disease, has brought about a near-cure and prevention miracle for medicine and pharmaceutical companies to make billions of dollars, saving the lives of both gays and heterosexuals.

The obstacles faced by non-heterosexuals are still present with stories that continue to astound and fascinate. 

The Circle/Der Kreis, also features a short documentary of a transgendered pilot who faced a legal battle with Social Security after they decided her marriage to her husband wasn't valid and that she wasn't entitled to benefits after her husbands death. The short, "Flying Solo: A Transgender Widow Fights Discrimination" is presented by Lambda legal (https://www.lambdalegal.org/):

Lambda Legal, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit, is a national organization committed to achieving full recognition of the civil rights of lesbians, gay men, bisexuals, transgender people and everyone living with HIV through impact litigation, education and public policy work.

In Der Kreis, it is asked by one character, "Why can't we live how we want? Love how we want?" Why do we still face this fear? Perhaps it is one question that holds no answer but the story continues, as we carry on.  

* * * 

Happy Pride 2017!

Be Safe, Be Proud! 

----
Resources
Wikipedia: 
Der Kreis - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Der_Kreis
The Circle - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Circle_(2014_film)
Stonewall Riots - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stonewall_riots
LGBT rights in Switzerland - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LGBT_rights_in_Switzerland#Recognition_of_same-sex_relationships
"Flying Solo" on Lambda Legal -https://www.lambdalegal.org/flyingsolo

Stuck in an SRO

For the past year I've been living in an SRO in Chinatown which I found off Craigslist. 

At the time I was homeless and staying with my grandparents who were in a residential living facility but I had overstayed my welcome on the 14 day limit and was desperate to find a place after my other relative told me to leave due to their household problems so I had no place to go.

I was debating between finding a room with a roommate who could be potentially dangerous... because of past problems I had I was very mistrustful of living with a stranger. But then I found a place on Craigslist in Chinatown and decided to check it out. 

In the end it was a good decision. Being in the downtown area helped my chances of employment and soon after I got a well-paying job, something I was never allowed to have as a single unmarried woman without rich parents in a small rural college town. San Francisco held many opportunities for me as a woman though still much less than a man. 

To my surprise I was accepted in the SRO via many emails frantically sent over the smartphone. 

But this new place held many challenges.

It would be the first time living in the city on my own amd with so many strange people around me. It wasn't the language that challenged me, it was the culture of generations of people, of immigrants living on the margins. 

There is poverty everywhere. Not just homeless but residents struggling to get by. There are many societies here, Christian and Chinese to help people with food and housing. 

At this SRO though it was cheap for me, there is no private bathroom but a shared Woman's and Men's bathroom (which isn't always clean). There is a communal kitched but only has a stove, no fridge or other appliances.

It was a huge shock to me. I was used to the good life, having my own apartment with private bath and at the time, a car that I had to give up to move to SF. Only the threat of being homeless scared me into accepting this new situation. I could not afford anything else. 

All my stuff is in storage along with my grandparent's stuff. I got stuck with everything. There is no room in my 10 x 10 room with small closet. I will never again have room for a bed as I've been sleeping on an air mattress for close to two years now. I will never again have room for my rocking chair which I used to sit in for hours while listening to music or watching movies. 

Eating is a major challenge. Eight months later after moving in I finally bought a fridge from Target, having to take a cab to deliver it to my place. I also have Celiac Disease and Safeway got rid of all the gluten-free food I used to eat: chocolate muffins, soup, bread, sweet loaf cake. Gluten-free food is terribly expensive and costs five times more than regular food. For a small loaf of bread I pay $5.99. I do not cook food in my room but use a hot water pot and rareley a rice cooker. I have lived like this for over a year. My weight went down ten pounds at one time. 

Getting sick is also a problem. Though there are plenty of markets and drug-stores open I hardly feel like going out. Climbing two flights of stairs every time for the bathroom wears me out as does climbing three flights of stairs to get to my room as the elevator is just as difficult and breaks all the time. Many old people were stranded in my building when it took two weeks to repair it. 

Noise is a bad factor here. The neighbors make a ruckus with their yelling, banging on walls and ceiling until 3 am. The alleyway cleaners come around past midnight to spray and their machine is horribly loud. Then comes the street cleaner at 2 am. It's a miracle I get to sleep at all.

Also... bad smells. I have no idea what people cook here or what goes on but there is a terrible stench at times along with the pot smokers off the fire escape and the guy below me who is always smoking pot. Everyone ignores the non-smoking law here.

Bathing is hard. The showers are dirty and the old people wash their piss buckets in them. I had to use the Men's shower because there are two stalls to shower in and all the doors are papered for privacy. I also had to use their toilets when the Woman's stall was full. You get used to not having any modesty pretty quickly. Though lateley this has been a depressing experience for me and I opt to go to the YMCA instead. There is one in Chinatown and another at Embarcadero which I take the bus to. I got a membership as soon as I moved at the SRO and it has been a lifesaver. The only problem is that it's not open late.

Keeping up appearances. I don't like telling people where I live because it reeks of poverty. I am sure many second dates were canceled because I had told them where I lived. It's a fact of life that you will be hated because you are poor. I have a good job but I must keep up appearences so that no one knows I'm poor. It's hard when everyone is buying new clothes everyday and shopping all the time. I am the only one who can't afford anything. I prefer to spend money on food which is a luxury for me. I have no support other than the money I had saved since childhood. Since my grandparent's died, I haven't had any outside support. I have to rely on myself to survive.

I don't hear of many single woman like myself living in an SRO without kids. Mostly there are men who move here. It's hard to explain how much this hurts me to lose almost everything in my life and be threatened with homelessness. I can never tell people how little I have or why it's so hard for me to do normal things like: eat, shower, get to work on time. People who have everything never understand what it's like to have nothing. I try not to be bitter.

A lot of my friends have been homeless. Couch surfing is the new norm. Living in a trailer or car on someone's property is the American Way now... so is struggling. No matter how hard you work you will never get by.

I am stuck in an SRO. I am afraid to move because I just paid off my lease and there is rent control here. Even Oakland is too expensive and I have no car to move to the East Bay. With my job, I don't want to lose the convenient location and it's close to many activities I love in the city where I don't need a car.

My quality of living has been drastically altered and I have to accept this. It's only when I compare myself to others that I feel pain because I don't have what they have. Though at times I feel I have much more freedom than they ever could. Somehow I have to be okay with this.

So I Voted, So What?

Well, today I voted and I have to say it wasn't very eventful though I'm glad I remembered to vote because I almost missed it.

There was very little advertising on where to vote and onlt a tiny little sign with a tiny little arrow pointing to where I voted last year was the only sign around which showed me where to vote.

There had been a mix-up previously due to my semi-homeless status on whether or not I could vote so I went online and accidentally clicked permanent vote-by-mail status and was not able to correct it though I had called the voter Elections office many times in San Francisco I was unable to go there in person because I work full time.

I was really looking forward to this election since it would be my first time voting in the primaries as a no party preference.

There was tons of media coverage about Hillary vs Bernie vs. Trump but very little coverage about the San Francisco elections or even the state elections concerning proposition 50 which threatens to suspend state senators without pay. I have to admit I didn't even know about this proposition until I heard it on National Public Radio with the NPR app on my new phone.

So when I got to the polling place today I knew next to nothing about what would be on the ballot besides a brief encounter online with a sample ballot, that was all I knew about what would be on there. I was woefully unprepared for the slew of measures that San Francisco is trying to pass. One which included a measure to investigate police officers in any police officer shooting that occurred. Again, I didn't know this until I listened to it on NPR.

Also due to my voting mishap with the vote by mail ballot, I had to fill out a provisional ballot which had to go in a separate box which is supposedly counted but they have to double-check to make sure I'm not committing voter fraud.

I was standing at my little voting booth trying to figure out what the heck I was voting on while listening to old ladies chattering and chattering on and making fun of the younger volunteer, while I was trying to figure out who's running for what and what's doing what on the voting ballot.

Needless to say it was a miserable experience and I declined the voting sticker you get after you vote. I felt dejected and useless and wondered what the heck I was voting for in this country.

I do wonder about the presidential elections and what's going to happen since the Democrat vote is split by Bernie and Hillary as I would hate to see another rehash of the Nader vs. Gore scenario which led George "Dubbya" Bush to the presidential office. I've seen enough potential destruction already to know what happens when a rich guy hits the presidential office with no regard to the people or the media. I am very suspicious of any presidential candidate who hates the media as much as Trump does.

If worst comes to worst as it did with Bush, I will have to move to Canada, possibly British Columbia or perhaps Denmark where at least there, they are content.

Loss

"Loss"

My grandmother passed away Monday evening.

I was at work when I got the call, from the hospice nurse. My grandmother had been on hospice since May 2015. My grandfather passed away in March 2016, also on hospice. They were in a care home I selected after my grandmother was unable to live in independent living in October. She had been too weak to walk and eventually stopped walking, losing the ability in her legs.

I won't go into too much detail about the nightmare of worry I went through during this time. My family and I have been dealing with this together and I am finally coming face to face with this reality.

* * *

I stood in the sunlight with book in hand, moving every so often when the sun's light dimmed behind a building. In San Francisco, sunlight is scarce in the afternoon.

I wondered suddenly about the purpose of my life.

* * *

For years, my grandparents have been the center of my life, as if they were my parents. They raised me and took care of me when no one else could. My grandmother fought for guardianship of me when my abusive mother's actions led me to be taken away into state custody. My grandfather was always there for my grandmother during this time. I knew no one else.

As I got older, so did they, and they suffered the terrible ailments of age: broken bones, pain, multiple hospital trips, medication for high-blood pressure, loss of body functions, etc. The burden of caregiver was put upon me and I learned to manage a household at age 17. I was already signing checks, was made Power of Attorney, and paying bills from their account by age 21. When I had been 16 my grandmother wanted desperately for me to get my license, because not only did this free her of being my school activity chauffeur, it also provided emergency transportation for when she needed to go to the hospital, which was very frequent. The hospital people knew my grandmother and I by name.

My grandfather also had problems and I was there for him too.

The sense of "life coming to an end" for my grandparents was always close to my thoughts. "What if they die?" was the frequent question and grandma always assured me there was money and family to handle it all.

Eventually, I moved out (multiple times) and tried, unsuccessfully, to start my own life as an adult. I never had a full time job at this time, though I often was a full-time college student. After age 23 though, I had to get my own life insurance and was no longer a dependent status. I was still paying my bills with their money.

Never having a full time job made things difficult for me and made things next to impossible for rent, which also contributed to my homeless situation. I never had a steady relationship with anyone and never moved in with a boyfriend/significant other. I did not learn the early lessons people my age learned: moving out, paying your own bills, starting a family, etc. I promised my grandmother at age 12 I would never get pregnant as a teen and this led to me renewing my own vow never to have children.

There were always emergencies. When I wasn't there to help grandma, she had to rely on a kindly neighbor to take her to the hospital. This made me feel very guilty. Grandma assured me I could have my own life but I was never convinced.

Then Kaiser, their HMO health insurance given to them by grandpa's county retirement (which grandma helped write up 50 years ago), threatened to kick them off permanently if they did not move back into the area. We had already sold the house but the letter came all of a sudden, as I had just recently picked out a house for us to rent. I helped move them again to an apartment in the bay area while I stayed to finish the pro-longed rent that the property manager had tricked my grandmother into.

When it came time for me, a single unemployed female, to find a place to live, it was nearly impossible. I suffered greatly as a result.

There came the recent time I had to live with grandma and grandpa in their independent living residence (a 14 day limit) while I was homeless, after a relative told me to leave. This was right before grandma went on hospice.

I have faced many trials since then.

* * *

I imagine this must be what caregivers for family feel, when their loved one has finally passed away. That sense of loss, loss of purpose, loss of meaning, when you feel as though you have lived solely for the purpose of taking care of the person who has just died.

Grandma always told me, "What would I do without you?", "You're the only one I live for.", etc. Words like these have a powerful effect on a person who has had no purpose in life besides feeling responsible for the grandparents who rescued them from abuse.

I felt always that I never had my own life.

When I finally got a foothold of some independent existence: getting a job, being homeless, moving to San Francisco, quitting that job, wandering aimlessly until the next job, breaking up with a long-term boyfriend...

disaster struck.

In October, on the 17th, I found out grandma could not stay at her residence alone. That she needed care. We eventually paid about $20,000 for private care through an agency related to hospice. My concerns with those people shall not be mentioned here, other than that, I had to quit the care due to financial constraints and that I worked as hard as I could to give my grandmother the care she needed.

I had considered moving in with them, as a full-time caregiver. This meant I would give up my place in San Francisco that I had worked to hard to find. That I would quit my job, the only job that was giving me full-time work hours and lose any future money. It meant giving up my entire life with the great possibility of being homeless again.

I cried and cried at the loss of my freedom, at the loss of my life. What could I do?

After talking to family, it occurred to me that I could pay myself from my grandparent's money (we had more money at that time). It also dawned on me that I was alone, that no one else could really help me. This was a lot for me to face.

Reality and a sort of selfishness brought me to my senses. There was no way I could take care of my grandmother and if my grandfather got worse (which was more than likely), I could not do it on my own. Even with the hired help that cost over $500 a day, it was a struggle. Grandma needed round-the-clock care, diaper changing and was pretty much bed-ridden, not being able to get out of bed by this time. It was too much for me.

I had to move grandma. Now there was a deadline, as we had given the independent living residence 30 day notice. Problem was, there was no vacancy in a care home for grandma. I frantically searched the internet and called over a dozen places to no avail... finally settling for a referral agency (which the care homes pay). Grandma made me swear never to put them in a nursing home. I would find out later what horrible places these were.

Finally, we managed to find a place. But the problems continued...

* * *

Even now, I have trouble using the singular "I". I have always said, "we", my grandparents and I, as if we were one unit. My boss asked me when I told him my troubles, "Who's this 'we' you're talking about? I thought you were on your own?" Even now I say, my grandparents and I, the only family I've known.

I have other family members but I am not close with them. It's my own fault, I suppose. I am not one who communicates well with others who can't understand how I feel. It's been this way since I was a child.

There is also the matter of being stuck with their problems. Since I was a teenager, I have been aware of other people's problems. My grandmother always had to deal with their drama, and later, so did I. I had enough of my own problems at this time and was reluctant to take on anyone else's. I also felt isolated and betrayed after being homeless, since oddly enough when people offered to help, they did not. When things were going well I had to deal with other's problems. When things weren't going well for me, no one was there.

I have now learned not to rely on others. I have learned never to expect anything from anyone else.

I am now empty.

* * *

I stood there with my book in hand, sunlight warming my back, wondering about my life.

I had the strangest superstition that as long as I had to care for my grandparents, nothing would happen to me. Perhaps God only allowed me to live because I was taking care of my grandparents. Surely, I thought in my selfishness, God won't punish me as long as I take care of my grandparents. I always thought this when in a plane, going across the oceans to the other continents.

Now it seems I may die at any time.

I came close to killing myself before. The trials I faced before becoming homeless were great. The only thing that kept me from taking my own life, was the thought of my grandmother. I was the only one she had.

Now I have nothing left to live for, besides myself.

All that time of worry (making me want to end my own life), is gone. Now I don't care.

* * *

What am I now?

Sacrifice

Right now I'm having to give up my life to take care of my dying grandmother and grandfather who are on hospice. For some reason, my grandmother decided to die before grandpa, so she wouldn't have that responsibility but maybe that's a good thing since grandpa makes more money on retirement than she does.

For two years they've been in an independent living facility but now they must move because they need additional care that can't be provided where they're at. Where to? I have no idea. I signed up for CalRegistry with a list of boarding houses and dubious results. Most are for-profit and range $4,000+ for two people (plus extra costs of deposits, etc.).

As of now my grandmother receives 24-hour care that will cost $15,000+ a month. We signed up for this on Saturday, October 17th, 2015. There's also a $1,584 deposit and a clause that states if you hire one of the workers outside the company, you're liable for $5,000. I put this on my credit card and had to rent a car for about a week, since taking public transportation would be a 6 hour commute from San Francisco to Antioch.

There's not much I can do in this situation that keeps getting worse everyday. I've never seen my grandmother this bad. For most of my life, she's taken care of me. She got guardianship of me when I was 11-years-old after a several year battle with courts who wouldn't let her take care of me after my drunk mother abused me. My father was never in the picture.

As a teenager, I've seen her health failing and went through her ordeal of a broken leg, and a broken hip, which woke me up to the realization that she was an old woman and that I had to take on more responsibility. Later on, I had to manage the household bills, finances and more responsibilities.

I was made Power of Attorney when it was obvious my uncle didn't want any responsibility for his mother. My aunt got Alzheimers and couldn't be in this role and was later removed as Trustee for the living trust. Another distant relative had helped us but was removed when they started arguing about money and how my grandmother was spending it. Before I knew it, I was made Trustee. I was the only one helping them at this point.

I never had any long term goals in life because I always had to prepare for the moment when I would have to take over when grandma and grandpa got ill. I never married, never had children and only briefly got a place of my own before I had to give it up again. I was never truly independent from my grandma.

The family was only sparsely involved and they have problems of their own. I can't rely on them, as it has been proven time and time again that they're not reliable.

I had a nervous breakdown and tried to commit an act that would be considered suicide. Because of the actions of others, I had to suffer an ordeal that took away my housing and ultimately my freedom. My father helped me through this briefly, after having surgery for a heart attack he suffered while under stress from his job and his girlfriend and her problems. He wasn't prepared to help me and didn't know how to handle the situation, thus leaving me in the hospital until I threatened to call a lawyer to get out. I stayed with him and his girlfriend briefly, along with the girlfriend's granddaughter, but it was obvious I wasn't wanted there. As a result, my father and I don't speak to each other.

I stayed with another family member for several months while I tried to recover and eventually got a job that I would have to quit because of their bad temporary management. What I did not know was that this family member, (husband of aunt with Alzheimers) was also suffering from dementia. Nobody had bothered to tell me this. One day he said to me, "I'd like my room back" and then I had to scramble to find a place to stay so I wouldn't be on the street. I ended up staying with my grandma and grandpa at their place until I luckily found a place to live in an SRO (Single Resident Occupancy) hotel in San Francisco.

I have savings from when grandma and grandpa told me to save money, "for when you're on your own". Well, this was it, I was finally having to survive on my own, without help from anyone.

I kept my job for a few more weeks but then had to quit due to the stress of "psychological bullying" and sabotage. I didn't know how hard it would be to find another job. I hunted Craig's List for a month or more and interviewed for jobs as a night-shift worker at a hostel and hotel since I had no Master's Degree and no "work experience". I did one stint for one day delivering some drinks around a neighborhood but this didn't work out. It was only by luck that I found another job.

Currently, I have had to take leave from my job and I don't know when this will be sorted out.

It's up to me to do everything. No one has been helping me. My family, for the most part don't want to be involved. My brother has a problem with his father that he's dealing with and his own drama. My aunt is oblivious and just managed to set up the accounts online.

When I told my aunt about my situation, she immediately cried out, "You can't stay here! I can't do that!". I never asked to stay at her place, she just assumed that's what I wanted. I told her I was giving up my life to help grandma and that I couldn't live in San Francisco anymore but would have to move in with grandma and grandpa to take care of them. I asked only if she could help with arranging the Trust.

I know now to never rely on anyone.

My other uncle is... unreliable. He is still in care of the house his mother died in, from 2009. He never sold it but kept everything the way it was and nothing has been moved. Getting him involved would be a mistake. No one else seems to understand this. He and my aunt don't speak to each other.

I'm now in charge of where grandma and grandpa have to move to, if we can afford it. I have kept track of the finances and must pay the bills now. I estimate we have barely enough to manage for six months. I don't know anything about loans and I don't want my credit to suffer but I have no choice. Oddly enough, the woman at Bank of America, who is taking advantage of my grandma, signed her up for a credit card for $5,000. We had to pay a $50 fee on the card. She claims she doesn't have my Power of Attorney on file at the bank, so I can't remove this credit card that's in my grandma's name.

Everyone has lost the Power of Attorney papers that we gave to them. Even the hospital doesn't have it. I have to update everything on my own.

I'm trying to work with hospice and several different workers, along with a social worker who is too busy to deal with us much. The hospice people tell me, "Your grandma needs 24-hour care, they should just have two people for her rather than 5 different people coming over." I call the 24-hour care people and they send a bunch of women who can't lift grandma because she can't move at all. As a result, her rib is broken by them. We got the x-ray this weekend, a week after it happened. I'm not in charge of staffing these people who often don't show up when they're scheduled. I may have to pay them over-time as they call workers to fill in.

I'm in charge of everything, including the pills. Grandma isn't aware of things much and the care people can't administer the drugs since they're not nurses. Hospice manages the prescriptions. I have to write all the pills down, their dosage and arrange them. I've had to help grandma change her diapers and clean her up since there's only one worker to lift her and some women can't lift her at all. Since grandma's rib got broken, she doesn't trust women to lift her (we think it was one of the women, we don't know who, that had broken her rib). Sometimes she won't allow a man to lift her either. Sometimes she doesn't want to be changed at all. It took over an hour for me and another woman worker to change her in bed. Grandma refused to have a hospital bed. Grandma refused to be changed.

Grandma made me swear not to let this happen to her but it's already happening and there's nothing I can do about it. We think we can have control of our lives, but we are wrong. We are nothing but slaves. Slaves to society and the stupid law that we cannot take our own lives when we are past the point of living. If we lived in Oregon, we could arrange it with doctors that when grandma decides she is too miserable to live, when she doesn't eat anymore (as she had done), that it can be arranged for her to die on a specified time with doctors and witnesses present. It would be easier on the family and not a terrible shock, to have all this arranged beforehand.

But no, we cannot control our own lives. We must suffer until the bitter end.

"I waited too long..." My grandma said to me. "Just like my sister, she waited too long..."

Grandpa doesn't want to live without her. He won't know what to do.

I don't know what to do either. No one prepared me for this. For years grandma told me what to do in case something happens but at that time I thought I could call on family for help. Now I know better. Now I can only rely on myself. Anything I do, any choice I do, could and will be the wrong one. I will be blamed no matter what.

They told me, "You don't have to sacrifice yourself, they have help." They told me, "Your grandma needs more care than we can provide, you have to arrange something." I thought I could take care of her, I said, "I'll move in with her. I'll give up my life to take care of them" and no one said otherwise. "Oh you're a good granddaughter!" they said after that. But when I arrived on Wednesday, I found out I couldn't even lift her or manage everything that I had to do. "Well, you can't do it yourself" they said after they expected me to do everything. Everyone looks to me to solve the problem they don't want to deal with. No one ever thought of me needing help. Whenever I asked for help they quickly left town or made arrangements. "I'm too busy! I won't be here!". They said, "Sorry!". Yeah, sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

What about me? What's going to happen to me? When the money runs out after I paid for grandma and grandpa's care? When I'm left with nothing? What about me? I have no other family except grandma and grandpa. I'm all alone. I don't have a husband or a wife or children to help me. I don't live in an apartment but in a slum-house in the poorest neighborhood of San Francisco. I don't have a car. I only have what grandma and grandpa gave to me. What am I going to do?

I have to make the ultimate sacrifice. Grandma sacrificed plenty for me, but at that time her children were grown, she had a husband and his income to support her. At the time she had her own house with him.

I have nothing.

I'm sacrificing my life for my dying grandparents. No one is helping me.

I'm not sure I'll have a life after this. Right now I'm reading about all the homeless people of San Francisco, "Life on the Streets" by SF Weekly Staff, and how "they got that way". Many had a rough start and had to rely on themselves to survive. I'm not much different from them. I will also be homeless soon.

If I choose to live that way.

If I choose to live at all...

Living the Bohemian lifestyle...

I ventured onto Wikipedia for a more exact phrase and use of the term "Bohemian", since that is my moniker online.

I picture myself as a gypsy (and now a vagabond), with hardly any family or social ties save that of work and rent. I am a tragic Romantic at heart and therefore immediately felt a bond with the term Bohemian.

However, as with the case of Wikipedia, I only found references to male Bohemians and not a single woman listed, except as a painting subject who stares dully and placidly out to the public, showing her tits in Renior's The Bohemian (or Lise the Bohemian). Even her name has been forgotten.

Why is it, that even in the art world, a place where women excel naturally, they are erased by men?

Camille Claudel, a famous sculptor (whose works barely survived), was committed to an insane asylum by her idiot brother where her bodily remains are left there today. She never got the recognition she deserved and had even destroyed her own works, possibly in despair. And oh yeah, she had an affair with Rodin... otherwise she probably wouldn't be remembered at all.

On Listverse.com, a blogger known only by the word FLO, made a list of women artists who were institutionalized (most of whom died or committed suicide in the hospitals). The Top 10 Female Artists Who Were Institutionalized - October 25, 2012 (http://listverse.com/2012/10/25/top-10-female-artists-who-were-institutionalized/). Listed is, Sylvia Plath, Camille Claudel, Zelda Fitzgerald, Suzanna Kaysen, Emma Santos, Valerie Valere, Janet Frame, Mary Barnes, Unica Zurn, and Aloize Corbaz.

What's interesting to note about these women is that most of them are diagnosed with schizophrenia, yet only a few managed to overcome their "mental illness" as diagnosed by doctors and gain the recognition they deserved.

I can't help but think mental illness and art go hand in hand, yet for these women they definitely suffered and expressed their feelings through art, even though the public shunned them for it. Some gained recognition, which in a few cases granted them their freedom from the institution or in the case of Janet Frame, allowed her to escape the tragic fate of lobotomy.

Lobotomy was a cure-all for any mental illness at the time, a horrible fate that John F. Kennedy's own sister didn't escape from. Chopping pieces of brain out to cure a so-called mental illness or defect in the brain is crazy in itself. I'm surprised such medieval nonsense survived in a time just prior to a man landing on the moon. It just tells you how crazy and uneducated doctors are even by today's standards.

Women have always been condemned in this country for acting out-of-the-ordinary. Look at the Salem Witch trials. Need I say more? Burning women to death because of a stupid accusation.

Even today, I can't guarantee these women would be safe with their art or from being locked up. I take a terrible risk by writing everyday and by leading an unconventional life that is very different from most women on the planet. I am a female Bohemian, the likes of which very few survive.

Marta Becket, a woman ballet dancer, went to the desert to fulfill her dream of opening her own theatre and left the rest of the glamorous world in New York behind. In the film, Amargosa, her life is portrayed and shown as it is in the movie, where she is still dancing close to the age of ninety. She is a true bohemian. (http://www.amazon.com/Amargosa-Marta-Becket/dp/B000JLTSBW)

In my quest to find more Bohemian women, I resorted to entering "Women Bohemians" into Google and low and behold another great blog piece popped up. Black Women and Bohemianism by Stacia L. Brown - Clutchmagonline.com (http://www.clutchmagonline.com/2012/07/black-women-and-bohemianism/). Granted, I don't know who any of these women are but it brings about another subject of the Bohemian lifestyle that is often ignored, race.

Plenty of women, Maya Angelou, Ntozske Shange, Josephine Baker, Billie Holiday (to name only a small few), extraordinary women of their time and today leave a lasting impression fit for the title Artist and Bohème. The fact that I can't name a whole bunch off the top of my head though, shows a terrible lack of attention to the Black Women in America, to the Latin and Hispanic Women of America (Frida Kahlo), to the Asian Women in America, to the Native Women of America and so forth. I want to give credit to everyone but history and the realm of men place little value on these women.

I struggle myself as: a white woman with some money in her pocket, who at age 31-years-old, is finally paying rent by her own earnings for the first time in her whole life.

My own mother never paid her own rent in her entire life. My grandmother had my mother at my age and was married to my grandfather (they celebrated their 75th wedding anniversary!). My grandmother never made enough of her own money to pay rent or buy a house and her social security is way less than my grandfather's, whose income from his county job supports her and the place they live in.

The fact that I recognize myself as a Bohemian does not help matters. I don't believe in marriage or in my case, having children. I strive to be fully independent in all things and hate anyone who tries to take away my freedom.

This of course means I'll never have a house, the support of an additional (and much higher) income than my own, no social status or security as a House Wife, I will pay more taxes than anyone else (I pay 37% on taxes a month out of my meager paycheck), I will be less likely to go back to school and get a higher education (No Bachelor's or Master's degree), I will have no household support from anyone else (I do my own laundry, limited cooking, take the bus with no car, etc.), and will have to rely on myself for everything.

That's a lot to give up if you're a woman in this world. I don't like relying on men for money, except for my boss of course, so that means I'm on my own.

Is it worth it?

I don't have children. I'll never have to take them to the hospital or suffer their crying and screaming as babies. I'm not responsible for anyone but myself. I'm not married, so I'm not the property of a husband. I can do what I please without having to ask for permission. I manage my own money and no one save the government can take it away from me. I make my own money with my job. I don't have to clean, cook, sew, iron, do chores for anyone else but myself. I have no pets. I can go out at night and dance for hours, walking back by myself alone without having a man to babysit me. I can flirt or talk to whoever I want without a problem.

Most of all, my time is my own. I can create art, work on my musical, write articles for my blog, go to a museum, write at a café or bar at all hours of the night. I have my freedom as long as I have my own money.

Virginia Wolf described it as, A Room of One's Own, where a woman needed her own money and a room of her own in order to create art, to work in peace without distractions.

I have many distractions... Living in Chinatown carries the noise and hustle and bustle of city life and its many varied dwellers (most of whom are not in their right minds). It provides much fodder for filling pages as I observe the lives and actions of others.

I barely have time for laundry, showering or eating and as I write these words I neglect other work. My late night habits have disrupted any routine I may have had but I realize life happens at its own pace and I cannot do much more than I am already doing. Library books accumulate with their fines, piles of paper stack themselves up with piles of clothes all mixed together which creates a chaos that wastes more time in the hours before I get ready for work.

I barely have time to write. I proposed an experiment where I would use Google to translate my spoken words to text but this hardly brings them to life with so many errors that need correcting, I may as well type the words myself on a computer.

Oh but the time! Where has the time gone? I miss the bus and must walk to work. I miss the bus again and must walk all the way home, though this pleases me more. I must be at work by 3 p.m., do I have time for laundry? No, it takes 25 minutes to wash and an hour to dry... I have waited too long. Do I have time to shower at the gym? Maybe... if I hurry. But do I feel like hurrying? Must I hurry all the time?

Living in the city, you learn to lower your standards by a lot. For $800 in Chico I had my own apartment with walk-in closet, a roomy living room, another hallway closet, a dining room, a dining room closet, a big kitchen and most of all: my own bathroom. Here, I get a 10x10 room with a walk-in closet, a sink and that's it. No kitchen but a hot water pot, rice cooker and metal shelves that serve as my food cabinet. All my food is dry and packaged. If I want fruit, dairy or salad, I go to 7-Eleven. I share a bathroom with 50+ people and it's not very clean. I have a gym membership which I take full advantage of. Still... it's better than being homeless. I have a lot of bills too.

I looked up Dandy on the list of Bohemian traits. It's a terrible likeness that I resemble but I know of no other trait that describes me so well. On the site: mtholyoke.edu (https://www.mtholyoke.edu/courses/rschwart/hist255-s01/boheme/dandyism.html), there is a description of The Dandy:

Aristocratic imitation: Dandies lacked noble blood, connections, and any innate characteristics of aristocracy. They were like actors living out fantasies that could never come true, adopting outward characteristics that aided in this public and personal deception.
Fashion:Appearance and the latest fashion was everything to a Dandy. They delighted in elegance and accessories such as white gloves, etc. A significant part of their day was spent grooming; Baudelaire claimed that he always spent at least two hours at his toilette. They also believed strongly in cleanliness; most probably bathed regularly.

Unfortunately, I have yet to see a female dandy. Perhaps Virginia Wolf's Orlando would more closely fit the bill. Orlando has the luxury of changing from male to female and female to male. I can only do this with clothes, though I definitely have the figure for both.

Where is the female dandy Bohemian that I resemble? Where is my mirror image in the world? I think I must create my own.

While going through a Lesbian phase (yes, it was a phase after all), I had to create the images that the mainstream media lacked: women embracing each other in ads that were always male/female. I took magazine ads, used Photoshop and made strong women, daring women, sexy women with other women in poses that were never seen before. I created another world because the real world lacked what I wanted. I brought these images to life and published them on a webpage. Alas, these images are no more... the internet is a temporary place and nothing is permanent.

I must create my own world and re-define the meaning of Bohème.

I'll start with Specs' Twelve Adler Museum Cafe (bar). I was there just last night and shall go again. It reminds me of the Chico bar staple, Duffy's though with much less sports (I don't remember seeing a TV there). I have found my place, I think.