“It really seems to me that in the midst of great tragedy, there is always the horrible possibility that something terribly funny will happen.”
― Philip K. Dick
Well, yesterday was interesting.
I suddenly found out that I owed $10,000 in back taxes for a year (2013) in which I thought I *had* filed…but the year I actually was supposed to make the filing (2014), I had a massive head injury. So somehow, because my brain was so messed up, I honestly believed that year had been filed. I honestly believed it to this day.
I was so upset when I found I owed such a large amount of money, that my husband then decided to call an ambulance to have me committed.
Then I had to talk my way out of being committed with two cops and two EMT workers, on my front porch. How does that PKD comment from VALIS go? They commit you for being depressed, then send you a GIANT bill at the end for your trouble—which then adds to your depression. But hey—Phil at least got a good book out of it!
(They assured me they were not going to charge me for the ambulance coming to the house, but at this point I will have ZERO surprise at all if that bill does show up in my mailbox.)
This is on top of being in chronic pain for health issues that I can’t really address until my new insurance kicks in Jan 1. So I’ve been going to work with chronic pain. I have been walking with chronic pain. So then when I come home, I drink whiskey or whatnot to help with the pain. But of course, I must be “bad” for drinking the whiskey. I should be on respectable prescription opioids like a sensible person; because they seem to be working so well for the American collective at the moment.
My bank account is wiped out by the IRS. As I told them on the phone—I have no other assets.
So most likely my 2019 is going to look like this: I’m going to be working a lot, paying off my debt, going to a lot of doctor’s appointments, and maybe even having a few medical procedures along the way. I don’t live a very expensive lifestyle, so my pleasures are largely cheap (OK, that could have been worded better): reading, writing, listening to music.
Oh yeah…I should probably get that official diagnosis for being somewhere on the high-functioning autism spectrum (runs in my family) too. So one less thing people can tell me I need to “try harder” to overcome; trying harder to overcome wiring in my own brain. Did you know that studies show female autistics have brains that are wired more “male?” It’s true. I researched all this. This all would have been great to know decades ago, even five years ago, even two years ago.
When I went to my first therapist who specialized in gender identity issues—literally, for high comedic effect, an MRA guy—he told me that I had might as well transition to a man at my age, because as a middle-aged woman society would find no more value in me. Whereas, he continued, if I transitioned in my 40s or even 50s I could be a total baller like George Clooney.
To which I responded,
But then of course I got another therapist.
But seriously, folks.
I’m not saying this for you to feel sorry for me. I know that many of you are going through, or have recently gone through, your own troubles. I’m just blowing off steam here.
I did wonder if I had told the (all male) group of cops and EMT workers that I had been dealing with gender identity issues, would that have been the crucial thing that would have gotten me committed? As PKD points out in VALIS, these people sort of have your life in their hands at that point; you musn’t be controversial.
My mom tried to get me committed at the age of 18 because I said I was depressed; she later admitted she did it to “scare” me into not saying anything “crazy” ever again. I was put in a filthy locked waiting room in Bellevue with mostly all men, one of whom was handcuffed to a pole and told me he’d like to rape me. When they finally did an interview with me, it was determined I was not “crazy” (whatever that means), and I was free to go. The trauma from the waiting room experience was a bonus that stayed with me for the rest of my life—and of course the bills were sent.
Any belief in an invisible entity other than Christ and an assorted group of “approved” patriarchal spirits can also get you committed, I suppose, if someone had an interest in doing so. The key is picking the right invisible entities.
If I say I’m praying to God, or “talking” to God, or getting insights from God—that’s OK.
So that’s exactly what I’m doing, folks: I’m accepting Jesus into my life.
Have a good Thursday.