Breaking the Backs of Bones

Shit.

I've got the shakes.

I've let my calories drop too low for the day. I get them whenever I do stupid shit like that. I just...honestly...forget to eat. My therapist notices it as I take off my jackets. God do I look rugged today in denim from jeans to shirt. But I'm proud of this denim shirt, because a month ago I couldn't button it closed.

"You're trembling." Yeah, I get that way sometimes. My father used to call them the deposits.
"The deposits?"
You know, the shakes that old people get.
She looks at me quizzically. I must appear stupid to her. Maybe I am. "How is your benefits situation going? Did you get all that straightened out?"
No, not exactly. I tell her about the help that I didn't get from CID-NY and my Social Worker. In the long run, what I can expect is that the bomb will drop. My benefits will be cut on Saturday. The only thing to conduct at this point is damage control. Restart the benefits as soon as I can. They'll probably put me on sanction for a month, which means I'm supposed to be without medicines, or food for 30days. Imagine that. And probably rent. Are these people supposed to be caring? What if I had a wife and kids and I was struggling to get through this downturn in my life? What are we going to now?? These people at Social Services are just that heartless and punitive. It's not funny. They're downright creepy.

But the good news is, I can always return to the streets if need be. I can eat from the streets too. I have learned skills now, and I can survive 30days without my meds. And if push comes to shove, I can go to Bellevue Hospital and go through the emergency room as a charity case, and they'll give me a month's supply of meds for free. A lot of people don't know that. Probably not even fucking Social Services.

Still, things don't look that bleak. I've been saving my nickels and dimes while I've been here. I can cover rent for a month if it's $215.00. I can even buy food for a week or two because, like I said before, I'm at a 1,700 calorie diet. This means quite a little food than I was once accustomed to eating. But that shit's do-able. And my meds, I'm going to stock up on them all Friday. And if push comes to shove....there's Bellevue.

Fuck 'em. Social Services can kiss my glittering shiny Black ass. Yeah, they really can. I did not come all this way to be cut low from some dolt behind a desk in a lifeless room. I lived two years sleeping on park benches out in the open. Can they say that? I've eaten food that people gave me and hand me down, throw away clothes. Can they say that? I've survived a personal Depression, can they claim to have done something like that? No, they can't. Their only claim to fame is that they're capable of depriving honest, hard working people of basic Social Services that their tax paying dollars over the years made possible.

That's the fucking way I see it. The System is just paying me back for the twenty or more years that I've invested in it. What's three years compared to over twenty?

My therapist is concerned. "They will not cut your services here right away though. They'll try to work with you. Sometimes Medicaid covers back charges and they can recover from your sessions months later."

I'm sorry to tell her that they don't. I've gone through this before with the agency and Social Services. Her agency gave me a bill for over a thousand dollars, if I can recall correctly. I know it's in the Blog. But Medicaid wouldn't cover shit. Basically they told me that when you are cut, you can go off and suck your own dick. You'll get nothing from them going or coming. I don't tell her this though. I'll just be without my sessions. The least of my problems.

We really didn't touch on my bent thinking today. We touch on how I'm going to pay for services rendered, and that I should go to the Neurologist in the building to see about the shakes. I tell her I will. I need to go upstairs and talk to Appointments about if I'm going to have a session tomorrow. My beloved therapist, Nurse G., has left the company. Wheeee! So I'm supposed to get a new therapist. Is that going to be tomorrow? And if not, I still need my medications filled on Friday, because by Saturday, that's it.

I go upstairs, resigned that I will end up doing the one thing that I don't want to. And that's talk to Dr. D. whose sessions I have been ducking for some time. And sure enough I bump into him in the hall. Honestly, the man does not stay in his office whenever I'm up there. He makes a Bee-line over to me. "What are we going to do about our sessions, Mr. Hobobob?"
I don't know Dr. D. I just don't know.
"We can't keep going on like this. You've missed about a month of sessions, I can't carry you any more. I'll have to drop you."
Is that a definite?
"It depends if you're coming back."
I explain my benefits situation to him. He nods.
"Alright, keep me in the loop and I'll keep your seat open."
Thanks doc.

I dont' get to talk to Appointments. There's no one there. I'll have to find out by email.

I'm in a hurry to get home.

I want to get online.

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