Being like Mike
This question plagues my mind daily.
Why must I die with no help from the “system” that was founded by my forefathers to care for people like me?
Granted, I was diagnosed and given my label and permanent disability a long time ago, tho because of my compulsive behaviour and inability to function in what people call a normal fashion, I lost it some almost ten years ago because I moved and did not notify them of my address.
I have been struggling for all most five years now to get back what was told me was mine. Seems simple to me, put my social security number in the beast and it will spit out my history. My disability, my qualifications.
Not so, it seems. I am in the process now of simply trying to get something, anything to help in some way as to let me see a doctor. If not to simply keep me medicated so as I don’t offend you with my psychosis, but to prolong my life just a bit longer as to stay with those I love (hepatitis c, end stage, liver cirrhosis).
I checked, the social security administration was founded in 1935. Looking at the facts of my “family” its easy for me to see that I have had generations of my family alone paying into this corrupt system, that have never collected one red cent. Why aren’t I entitled to a share of what these people have paid in if, I have not paid in enough because my disability wont let me interact with you? (school, jobs).
I simply do not understand, Nor do I believe that if any one member of my “family” had of thought for one moment that one of their heirs, would never benefit from this system would they have paid in a cent.
I don’t understand how many “strangers” I must go tell my life story of abuse and neglect to, that sit there making over a hundred thousand dollars a year out of this same corrupt system, to later tell me I may be disabled, but I should still be able to make $800. per month. How my mind screams, everything I have ever tried from school to relationships fail in a most peculiar way. How please tell me.
With the facts in hand, I am guessing I should try “day labor”, with a diaper as whenever I stand, bend or pick things up, i tend to loose control, because of my severe degenerative disc disease. Crazy or not I can see only one outcome there, I loose control, my psychosis kicks, in everyone is laughing at me, I go crazy, and end up on the evening news.
Is that what you, reading this now consider just good entertainment? Is this the world my son will grow up in tomorrow? Just why the hell is it no one cares less the doctor that thinks he may be able to work me for another office visit to make another payment on his “Bayerische Motoren Werke” (BMW ), is this then truly again Nazi Germany revisited as my mind screams daily when I watch the news.
I simply do not understand. I feel that if I were today to add up all the office visits, emergency room visits, being hospitalized for my “schizoaffective disorder”, all the people and doctors that have made good money seeing me just to say no ,would be far greater than what I would of ever received in ssi sdi whatever the hell it is payments.
Its just hard to get out of my head this morning, as I was off again yesterday to tell another “stranger”,
Robert G. Urie, PhD
Urie & Associates
2029 Buchanan St.
Kansas City MO 64116
816/474-7322
To pull in the driveway, see all the shinny new bmws, and leave knowing he to will just say no. Maybe its the new America I see around me now?
The new America where, compulsive spending is mandatory to keep the economy in check, where you turn on the news to see them wearing tee shirts, and looking as if they haven’t shaved in a week. The new America where people spend thousands to get their hair to look the same as mine when I simply don’t think to comb my hair for a few days.
Could it be that I am really normal and the rest of you are just trying to ,as the lyrics say, be like mike? If so, I say to that, climb a flight of stairs, then try to find a convenient place to clean the mess from your underwear, only then you can you truly be like mike. Take a walk around a store, while stabbing your hip with a knife, in order to experience the true joy of nerves being pinched as you walk.
Go out back and spend three minutes playing with your son, and leave abruptly, saying daddy doesnt feel good, as you hobble your way back indoors, to hide from the voices laughing at you, and calling you names. enjoy