Sylvanna Devlin

Omfg. So.

Things have been nicely quiet for everyone- no taunting me into rage. Everyone left me alone and I succeeded at only muttering a little but caught myself. (It’s annoying for my neighbor, she’s not used to it and when I do get that way it’s distracting.

I recently began to feel peaceful with her as I found out she’s gone during the day and the angry individual I’ve been upset with is just using her place!

Thankfully the police picked up my report of it. But you see what I mean. No room is safe in absence of the renter!

So valuables have to be stashed.

Because dad owns land, that he pays like half his retirement paying taxes on (you really should downsize ) people have noticed my parents are 79 & 80 and quite grossly think of me as “an heiress” – don’t forget you promised to live to be at least a 100 Dad being fit to head up mountains is a good sign.

But they seem to think being able to help me should be more and that I – a separate individual – shouldn’t qualify for housing assistance. Never mind you wouldn’t be able to afford housing me and helping me. The mere fact you have the resources to help, upset some of the people here.

Like it’s their business.

And they have said they’re going to try to get Home Forward to cancel my voucher!

I just got to the point my place it pretty settled (time to move right? That’s how Devlin luck works?) and I have been here a year and a half. I qualified for disability for ages but was actually considered disabled by SSI a year ago.

For some reason, even though I don’t go out. Everyone is butt-hurt about a pendant I bought to celebrate staying alive a year.

I have had a boost from waiting while in the shelter and with what you could send or had fit into my car!

But for some reason they all have to nitpick every purchase like it’s their business. They don’t like my aroma therapy lamp as they perceive a $20 lamp as a “wealth thing” and ignore that it works – and I can’t take benzo antianxieties or pain narcotics because my joints will kill me.

The best? I’m quietly typing this private text out and “see Sylvanna does listen”

Like OMG maybe I’ll pay less attention when they not way up in there with ignorant or ill informed commenting on – my private fucking texts.

And existence really.

So I made it a post.

Idnkwtf Of all the shitty places I’ve lived? Vulcan apartments on fruitvale was better! (That was the Oakland stint in my teens) most people seem nice enough or disinterested. But the vocal few are very vocal.

But it gets better apparently what was a private text had reached a point someone actually said “that’s enough out of you”.

Like… normally that’s reserved for being rude to someone – mostly in person

Who the fuck do they think they are anyway?

The weird thing is. I’m desperate to move. I need two weeks freedom just to get those cogs in action. But I may have to come back here before I can move.

But that’s idk not good enough?

And they’re seriously trying to get home forward to cancel aide. I’m on disability so they can’t. But FFS they’ll go after supplemental disability next because my fibromyalgia- requiring a care giver now, particularly compounded by the PTSD they aggravate on purpose – is somehow not disabled enough for their liking. Like it’s any of their fucking business!

The best? I mentioned I was particular about squashing mania because it’s dangerous and stupid bitches don’t under that’s dangerous TO ME!

Fuckwits

I explained to whomever it was that sometimes I experience severe rage (because of the baiting) and really want to break an object. But then it would be broken and I’d have to clean it up.

But my strength, quick reflexes in an emergency and a side kick that can crack wood are oh so scary. (The first two being iffy depending on fibromyalgia or ADHD but you can bet they get in line if I NEED to fight.

I don’t consider hen fights or pissing matches a need

I consider someone saying they’ll “rape me into supplication” and I warned back one kick from me and they’re never getting an erection again? Pretty fair as a warning. A lot of women used to feel secure around me because I could pack a punch and still be gentle- just protective.

That’s the Bay Area for you. Portland seems to depend. I mean walking my friends dog in Oakland? Where I first learned what gunshots in the distance sounded like? I was left alone.

The gang crowding round me in a double decker, had me just turn and causally chat without an ounce of fear?

Yeah I went back to being alone up there.

But noooo despite the fact no one fucks with crazy except crazier, (in a fucking fight) Some people want a battle and I don’t want to risk life threatening injuries or breaking bones.

Go figure.

So they want to whip me into rage, to see what I’ll do – fuck all. Be comfortable with the idea they could hit me without severe consequences. Tell them about my meds – like it’s their business or they would even understand. And try to get me to do bullshit things just to see if I will (No unless I’m curious) or listen to the oh so charming “that’s an order”

Like a polite request is too fucking hard for them or something.

The best is someone suggested I roll my tongue on the roof of my mouth. I was curious what they meant (I give better head than that advice). I could. No surprise there.

But noooooooo

Some stupid, fucking stupid bitch thought she had “conditioned me” and pushed. I stopped having my nap to swear at her, but somehow either because they think I have been conditioned or are trying to condition me – oh scary.

Like I’m some CIA deep memory agent in their Jason Bourne concept of all that crap.

The fuck is wrong with them?

Does a layman’s ability to punch and kick, with decent speed and hitting power, and PTSD somehow make them think broken bones are inevitable if they drive me crazy.

Or are they hoping to capture or have me Raped and that’s fucking not happening.

If someone pushes me to breaking and so think I’m dying of a heart attack? I bellow out in song so fucking loud they could probably hear it down the block.

I sing occasional comments or retorts because that actually saved my life by lowering my BP so the odd burst is good for me.

That’s what I do when I get furious and out of control – very loud singing.

Shivers

Ignoring that anyone can be abused into losing control, my fuse is only short if someone else has been burning it up. They had to get really nasty to push me over the edge and it took about 16 hours!

But boy I got loud for like 3 more!

Then theres there’s the weird crap.

I don’t talk about that particular heart attack though I wrote to guardian about it. But despite it was my third time heading high. (One my psychiatrist caught, another I called EMTs but had calmed. And that one wherein I was kind of hoping I would die and said “fuck” when I woke up

But someone “doesn’t believe it” like her ignorant opinion is the end all be all of reality. I use “disbelief” as a tactic for coping with gaslighting. Her’s? Like who even cares? They don’t like me? Fucking ignore me.

They even doubted my sister’s death (which we were told was suicide) like they are experts on coping.

And like I could cry uncontrollably without being bitched at.

WTF is wrong with them? If they don’t stir the pot they think I’m dead or in the hospital!

Though reactive abuse is getting less Effective. Because I am annoyed but think there’s just something broken about them.

Still, I can’t live with these bitches but apparently they don’t want me to be able to move.

?????????

As a side note. I’ve was asked not to publicly go into my sexual antics as it could cause problems. I was half asleep but the deputy was (like all those in Sonoma County) very kind.

I miss that part of Sonoma county. I miss a lot of it. But going back to Petaluma isn’t a good idea. I miss Redwood City too. And that price point is a bit out of range.

Then there’s the whole disabled thing.

I can maybe review my work one day a week. But to nitpicker and onlookers that’s proof I can work right?

Yeah the government doesn’t think so.

The fact I last (if lucky) one day only is fairly significant.

I hope it improves. But my PTSD is fierce and the baiting worse. I have to move to get better.

Again.

I hope somewhere else in Multnomah county is preferable and I can get there soon!

And if it helps- I don’t care where people smoke so even if officially frowned upon I don’t care. I’m only a tattletale if I think ifs a life or death situation- mental welfare counting.

Though a very kind police officer did explain I shouldn’t be worried about fireworks, not only are they legal. California’s problem with them isn’t remotely similar to setting one off. The only time it was small and because my ass had just come from California!

I will ignore what I can unless I think it involves lives. It’s not my business and I don’t want involved. But freedom, consent, decency in a very important way, and potential lives are different.

If someone asks me to Dial 911 with no explanation? That’s interesting.

If it’s an actual fucking emergency I will.

But if it’s a bunch of childish bitches who hate that I’m alive (???) they get ignored.

If I can’t tell? I hesitate and realize I can’t let it go if someone asks and I do nothing.

So…

Smoke em if you got em?

Not my thing but this is long and I couldn’t think of an ending. If it is your thing? And this is key.

It’s none of my fucking business!