Diary of a Marked Woman

Diary of a Marked Woman

Paris, November 2005


Fri. the 4th: Go out shopping around 4PM. Find letter from Mom in mailbox and RMI quarterly allowance renewal form. Go to post office to check account balance. Decide to fill out form and mail it but have no pen so borrow one from an old man who is sitting next to me, waiting for his appointment with banking official. He hands me a ballpoint saying he's not sure if it's working. It's a heavy, expensive ballpoint, not the type you buy in supermarkets but indeed it doesn't work well. He offers to lend me his briefcase so I have a support to write on but I decline. I fill out my form as well as possible, then mail it and go to Monoprix for shopping. No trouble this time. I ask for the delivery to be made after 7:30 PM because I have to go to the yarn store and take the bus to go there. So I go and stock up on very fine white cotton for filet lace (I crocheted approx. a thousand yards in two months) and some thicker color cotton to experiment with, as well as two crochet magazines. I also return a black cotton ball which I find impossible to work with because I can't see my stitches, and two white cotton balls that were good for the beginner stage of filet-making but which I find too coarse now after working with the finer thread.

Like last time I shopped there two months ago, the bus comes and stops right in front of the door instead of the bus stop a little to the left just as I leave the store, and this time I climb in because I don't feel like having a beer at the café that offered me a broken chair to sit on last time. Traffic is heavy on the avenue d'Italie and I reach the restaurant next door to my apartment building just in time to get my take-out order ready before the delivery of my groceries. But since I am tired and it's too early for the dinner rush, I ask the woman to bring the food upstairs because last time I carried it in my back pack the sauce of the beef-and-basil had leaked into the plastic bag. She accepts and then I ask her to carry my back-pack too which is quite heavy, and she accepts. I find it much, much easier to climb the stairs without a load on my back. When I arrive at the last step before reaching my apartment I trip and fall and let out a discreet scream. In a heart beat I realize I'm going to fall on my left knee so to avoid this I make a move and fall on my butt instead. Just at this instant my next door neighbor arrives. He was talking with the other next door neighbor downstairs when I walked in. He asks how I'm doing. Good question to ask a handicapped woman who is on her butt on the floor, her crutches laying about. I answer that obviously I'm not doing well since I still can't walk without crutches. "But have you seen a doctor?" he asks in a concerned tone. "Oh! Leave me the fuck alone with your doctors!" I answer in exasperation. Last week Regine "Tina" Feller, mommy's little helper, had asked me the same question as I was getting into my apartment and I had answered that it was "une histoire de fous" -a nutty story- that I didn't want to talk about. But she had insisted -because she already knew the situation- "But why don't you see a doctor?" So I replied to her, "Well, as I told you, it's a nutty story and I don't want to talk about it."

No wonder I was pissed off. They were both acting as if I was crazy not to see a doctor, as if I had not already seen three different ones after leaving the hospital, plus gone to the hospital once and been refused admission under outrageous pretexts. Since the definition of insanity is to keep doing the same thing while expecting a different result and I'm not insane, I just quit trying to find a doctor who would help me. First I have to solve the problem of why the docs don't want to help, in violation of the basic rules of ethics of their profession. But I don't see why I should explain this to these people. Medical matters are private, protected by the doctor-patient privilege and it's none of their beeswax.

So my neighbor, upon hearing the shocking word "fuck" and after stepping around me to unlock his door, says: "You could at least be polite," or something to that effect. I had a feeling of unreality. Here I am, unable to get up because both my knees are shot, and instead of helping me this asshole gives me a lesson in manners. If he cared so much about my health, how come he didn't help me to my feet instead of stepping around me while asking how I was doing?

What happened was, his intervention was fore-ordained. When I saw him speaking with the other man in the building entrance it was because he was waiting for me, and his question about seeing a doctor, like Tina's a few days earlier, was prepared. But my falling on my butt was not part of the script, that's why he could put a tone of concern in his voice but could not help me to my feet, which was not part of the script either, though it would have been consistent with his words and the humanely decent thing to do.

I saw that the restaurant woman wanted to come in though I would have been satisfied if she had just left the food at the door. She showed some surprise when I took out my big pliers to hold the key while turning it in the keyhole. But she was not finished with the surprises. There is the peeling paint in the entrance way, and she could find no table in the kitchen to put the bags on so she put the food on the draining board next to the sink and my back pack on a chair. No table in a kitchen. This really is not normal, I have to admit.

I gave her a 2 euro coin and thanked her. She refused but I insisted because I want her to come again next time. So she took it but she said that I could also phone my orders in. But when I did that the first time it took more than thirty minutes to deliver my food and I had to phone to ask why it was not ready yet, and they asked me to watch the delivery man and when I saw him in the stairwell he turned around half way up the third flight of stairs and started down again until I called him, and when I put the first mouthful to my mouth it was almost cold. So since then I order food to take out when I return from a shopping expedition.

The previous time the restaurant manager was sitting at the big round table near the kitchen and I sat there too while I waited, and he asked me how I was doing. I replied with a wry face because I was exhausted so he said "Oh! I know! The weather!" so I said "What's wrong with the weather? I find it's quite fine." It had been balmy for the past two weeks. So he said that he knew a lot of people who got sick because they expected the weather to be bad and it was not!

So in her letter dated Oct. 28 Mom berates me because I had not let in her handy man Hakim to do some work in my apartment on Sun. the 20th, and she also berates me for not seeing a doctor. She says it's inadmissible that I can tolerate this situation, and she chides me for my lack of dignity in hobbling around on crutches. (Since when is being the victim of violence a lack of dignity?) So she proposes, or rather she mandates that we go together in a cab to see a doctor, and she closes off by saying that she cuts her measly 150 euro montly allowance as long as I do not comply! If extorsion had not already existed she would have invented it.

I called her in the evening to discuss her letter.

Mon. the 7th: I wanted to stay home because I'm just starting the quilting phase on a Hawaiian Appliqué piece which I've been working on since early October, but I was worried that my quarterly form, badly filled out with the garbage pen the old man lent me, would be illegible so I had to go to the CAF to fill out another form. So I hobbled there, crossing the terrace between the 1970's high rises, because it was just a bit longer than reaching the bus stop, and then I didn't have to wait for and take a bus. So I waited in line and a young man let me pass ahead of him, which saved me a good five minutes wait and I told him he was the first person to let me pass ahead without my asking and I thanked him. When I was done ith the form I asked a woman when my allowance would be credited to my account because I checked before coming and my balance was minus 89 euros. She said it would be wired on Wednesday.

Since I was in the nabe I checked on the library where I spent so much time last year. Incredibly enough, this ultra-modern building was closed until June 2006 for "modernization". Alas alas, all these art books beyond my reach. Last year it was the branch on the Place d'Italie that was closed for the same reason. When I think how uttterly heinous all the library employees were in both places, messing the computers to prevent me from using the internet or refusing to give me more than two half-hour sessions per week even thouy the rules did not impose any such limitations... What a bunch of ... words fail me.

Before returning home I went to the Massena 13 Mall for fruit and veggies and a few stationery items. I needed mostly pens, a sharpener and an eraser but I ended up with 14 euro worth of writing utensils, which would have absorbed all the cash I had left in my pocket, so I gave up a few items after the cashier had rung them up, so she had to call a supervisor to cancel the items. I apologized for the "dérangement", and then bought my veggies. A young Asian man was talking with two women when I entered my building on returning,and they separated when I walked in, the man opening the second door for me and asking if I was all right and needed any help. Then when I was opening my door the fiftyish man who is renting a room from Tina walked up past me and said hello. Corrective action.

Since it was not yet 5 PM when I reached home I called my bank to ask how come my monthly statement had not yet been sent. After asking for my account number the woman said the statement had been issued on Nov. the 2nd and would reach me shortly. Usually it comes at the very beginning of the month. And then there is a refund from my health insurance I'm still waiting for, concerning a 132 euro ambulance trip last February 21st. I sent the forms in on Oct. the 17th so I find it takes a little longer than usual. Why all these delays? Add to this my mother cutting off her funds and I'm left once more with no resources. Could it be that all these delays are being orchestrated to coincide with my mother's suppression of allowance? To coerce me into doing something I do not want to do?.

Hey hey hey, I ain't dead yet!

It's not every day I get a good laugh so I have to make a special note about his squirrel story.

Tues. dec. 20: I know, I know, this is the month of December but I'm going to refer to November events so...
I just checked my November bank statement and saw that, true to her announcement, my mom didn't give me any money this month for my upkeep, under the pretext that I refused to go with her to see a doctor. BUT... she put money on my bank account as a BIRTHDAY PRESENT "to buy yourself a pair of pants"". And how much money are we talking about? FORTY EUROS FOR A WINTER PAIR OF PANTS, FOR MY BIRTHDAY!

I don't buy many clothes but when I do I buy quality. And the winter pants I bought last time I bought any (in 2000 or early 2001) were 100% wool and lined, from Talbot's. They were marked down at half price from 120 US dollars. I bought two pairs in different styles because I considered them a bargain. And now my mom gives me 40 euros in November to buy myself pants for my birthday!.

And she's being righteous about the reason why she cuts my measly allowance: to punish me because I show ill will about getting treatment for my leg. You see she cares so much about my health that she deprives me of necessities to force me to get treatment. It's a complete perversion of the parental mandate: "Eat your vegetables or you won't get any dessert!" But fundamentally, what she's trying to achieve, I believe, is to make me believe that it's what she believes, that the ineividual responsible for the non treatment of my multi-fractured right leg is nobody but me thought I'll be damned if it wasn't she who told the docs not to treat me but to prescribe physical therapy on untreated fractures). So she punishes me to make her deception more forceful. It's an old ploy of hers. How many times in the course of our relationship has she punished me for misdeeds I didn't do, I couldn't say because there are so many. I could even say that it's a characteristic of hers. A way of covering up her own responsibility, so I won't suspect her. As in "If she punishes me for something I didn't do it's because she doesn't know who the real culprit is; (logically, in a sane mind, f she was the culprit she wouldn't punish me.) In other words I get on the way in and on the way out.

THEREFORE it can be safely asserted that this outrageous punishment is proof of her guilt! That this punishment is a coverup of her own criminal opposition to my getting treatment. She pushes her sick logic to such an extent that any sane person would be shocked at her actions.

Besides I have told her about my misadventures in my attempts to get treatment, so it's on the record that she knows that I was turned down at the Pitie hospital on January 6th under outrageous pretextzs, that Dr. Coulon acted disgusted because of my age and pretended to slam me into the wall when he pushed my wheelchair, that Dr. Chanzy without saying expressly so acted like he didn't want to see mme again, that Dr. Leonetti told me he didn't do surgery anymore, thereby discouraging me from seeing him again, and though he prescribed X-rays he didn't make an appointment to examine them, and he didn't charge me for the consultation, another disincentive to see him again.

All this I told my mom. So when she acts outraged that I haven't gotten treatment I ask her how many doctors does she think I should see before I understand that there's a word going around in the orthopedic community to the effect that treatment must be denied me.

I cannot say how deeply wounded I feel emotionally at the betrayal of the medical body. Once again they are in my mother's pocket. It's part of her m.o.: just like she got a dentist to put rot in my teeth when I was a toddler, she's been using the doctors whom I trusted and allowed to approach my body under cover of health to do just the opposite. The trick was to come close without arising my suspicion, and then instead of healing, to wound. Same thing with lovers, whom I allowed to approach my body, and who abused me sexually in ways great or small. Mom's friends.

So that, being apparently unrelated to all these attackers who were only carrying out her orders, she could act the reasonable woman and act infuriated and blame ME when I told her of my misadventures, and punish me. O, the satanic delight in punishing your unsuspecting victim for her victimization! How exquisitely perverse and titillating!


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