 |
| Legalize It - Young Bob Marley --- almost sold |
Okay, this is for my pal, TL. Who tells me to just bear it and leave. She says that one of her doctors always finds a reason to touch her breasts no matter what... because he is a man, she says. She says that sometimes. It stops me from frowning but doesn't really solve the boundary problem that exists when it comes to our bodies.
I was talking to a pal of mine of the phone today. He reminded me that there is a part of society that believes that women should just be locked up somewhere and abused physically and sexually. He's not a man who would ever do that, so I wonder how a father of two incredible daughters keeps it together in the world.
I had a doctor pretend that he was assessing my recovery from surgery on my trachea by grabbing my breasts and telling me to cough. This after he asked me to change into a cloth gown that ripped under the pressure of his hatred. It was strange and unusual and he was a man so I barely frowned. I'm not sure that I told that story to TL. I told the psych ward staff the other day which means, if I didn't tell the world, they'd keep sexually assaulting me and drugging me until I admitted to being mentally disabled. But really, I'm just pissed and physically ill too much of the time.
I had to call security so that they would stop injecting me with loxapine and ativan. So that they'd finally see that giving a rape victim the diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia while degrading her and assaulting her may not be the measure of a great society. But hey, we're Canadians. So someone was just having a bad day, right. Because I didn't sleep with anyone's husband or kill anyone's snake. I just pulled an all-nighter and spent it at Tim Horton's. So why this outcome from Forest HIll, Toronto to Toronto General Hospital downtown?
Psychiatrists are a lot like people who cannot be trusted to always make you feel better. Sometimes, they make you feel worse and you sit in the worst sorrow you've ever experience in the hopes of healing some past hurt that has lingered for years. Some who have been treated know this. Some who have been treated well, do not.
I worry when health care professionals intentionally make me feel worse, when they threaten my safety, when they break laws and are not held accountable. LIke, um, where's my iPhone6+ that I got the sweet deal on, that made working at 5 jobs really easy. And why do I know owe for the remainder of that phone and the Android phone I had to replace it with. Why is Bell Canada benefitting from my sexual assaults? Why am I losing out on my airmiles rewards and my shopper's points? Where's the swanky business card holder that was shipped from China for free even though it cost less than $5? And why is there money missing from my bank account?
Is the notion that things added up once, a miracle? Was I just lucky enough to have a university degree, a valid driver's license and a passport on me when I was arrested for wanting to stay up and just hang out in my very safe neighbourhood one night - out of wedlock with no kids waiting for me at home because I have none?
Are there no more synchronous events in my favour or is my insistence that I am treated fairly in the world finally showing me that justice is a myth?
Thanks Isle for force injecting me as a way of "helping" me because you know me well enough to make me so incredibly sick that I am still puking those tokens out of my body now. I hope that helps your kids get their scholarships. Is that the trade off? I'm not sure what the war is... yet... I hope someone can see it by now, because I just see a whole bunch of nurses and social workers hiding my belongings from the Executives who understand the crime that is being committed against humanity in democratic Canada.
Am I really expected to charm brutal attackers? Because folks, as charming as I may appear on tv, I'm so kind that I will let you drug me and rape me over and over and over again from behind my glass sliding door at Toronto General Hospital. So perhaps part of me will never leave that place and I hope I haunt it forever throwing the needles out of the hands when they try to inject other aspiring women who end up there.
I hung a sign on my glass door that said, "No one deserves to get raped ever." But they still do it because no one stops them. So watch your kids. And think twice before you send them there. They won't come back the same. You will lose them.
They will assault whoever protests. After I was assaulted, Dr. Buckingham drank a lovely bottle of aloe water. The kind that isn't healing. The commercial brand. Dr. Buckingham also refused to allow me to wear a clean hospital gown. All the nurses respected his choice to have me walk around soiled -- in the hospital where they are not equipped - rape kit.
They take your things as part of some weird game, apparently. They try to take your dignity and offer you time playing a piano that's out of tune and abuse you at every turn. It's fun for them, I guess. It cost me a lot of money and wasted a lot of people's time. But they get paid generously for it and smile at the board meeting as if it's just part of the job.
The funniest thing was the "fake" Board of Directors they created so that the bipolar patients would have more to do while they pretended to buy into the chaos.
I emailed Sharon at Patient Care to get the President and Chief Executive Officer University Health Network contact information and she simply would not release it. This after telling me that the person I found online had left his post. Lovely man from Wales. Where'd he go? C'est la vie.
She told me what I already knew. The information would get diverted to her office. Now kids to whom I provided my business cards, why do we go to the very top when the people in the middle steal from us???
Email Sharon at Patient Care at Toronto General Hospital and tell her with a picture. She will never understand it. Confusion blocks racism for about three seconds. That's all.
She never, ever released the information. But I managed to get it. It was fun and funny and there are a million ways to do it. So choose your own adventure.
If I live to the end of the month, I'll be surprised.
 |
| Simone in Alex's Favourite Puffy Shirt Photo by Sam | Canada Post daze |
This blog is my form of self-defense from some very horrible people who have insisted I don't put their names in my blog.
I was cut off from internet access while at Toronto General Hospital. "Of course," my strategically forward thinking pals might say. With the help of my fabulous lawyer, I was able to have that overturned while in PICU. So why didn't I update my blog. Because I was on drugs and I don't post, create art, write, text or tweet while under the influence of medication which means no blogging high unless someone is actually trying to kill me or I'm feeling the side effects of loxapine and ativan injections which would be paranoid schizophrenia.
This is one I'm prepared to die for before after or during any sexual assault that happens in any government institution that is supposed to protect it's citizens, not harm them and damage them further. I am prepared to die for my right to write. I simply am. So thank you for the opportunity to present nothing at all to anyone I'll ever see again. I did not make medical history or change the world. I just lost a lot of stuff and managed not to have my identity stolen as far as I can tell. But who knows, right?
I haven't seen the convict who had a penile procedure in a while. He stayed in the room beside me. The look in his eyes was frighteningly scary but easy to deflect. Nobody cared about my well-being so I didn't care if I died by his hand or one of the nurses, in fact , either was possible.
Dr. Skorsewska and Dr. Wang had no problem putting women in the same ward with a man who refused to tell me what he was in jail for. People of the Lie, I suppose.
I managed to take the subway home with Depends, my maxipads missing along with the clothes I wore to the hospital which I'm sure are being destroyed as they would indicate evidence or sexual activity preceding my hospitalization and semen matching someone I'm pissing off immensely. Or, the nurses just steal. Who knows? Apparently, I'm mentally disabled, so...
Could Dorothy have gotten home without her shoes? Is this Oz?
Before they raped me, I called the fire department one time. I will never forget the face of the nurse who cut her hair shortly after she read this blog. She was a horrible person who has a great cushy job where she can manage the rapes and assaults of patients with no rights for her amusement.
All the while hoping to affect credit rating, insisted on delaying my rent, stealing my money and blocking my access to my accounts because Dr. Skorsewka didn't believe that I knew how to keep a budget. Odd thing for one female professional to think of another female professional, but it happens, right TL... Sorry TL, this is why I haven't paid you back everything yet. There is far too much intervention in my day to day choices.
To quote on of my former best pals, FD, "The more they do, the less they do."
I will most likely be pinned down and drugged again. Happily, I wasn't. I was just denied every other right until I retained a lawyer.
I already told "them" that google will decide how to edit my blog not the Toronto General Hospital staff who don't hesitate to assault patients in the PICU ward.
I don't have the time to research this, but is this the option that eliminates tasers? Do they inject people now instead of shooting them, hitting them, zapping them electrically. I'd like to know, because it might be me. Because it is me!!!
 |
| Harmonica Stevie - acrylic on canvas |
 |
|
Remember Painted Blue in Yorkville when the Tango Dancers loved our Blues?
|
Here's what happened to me:
I was held down in my bed despite not having resisted, arrest by three male security guards. The nurse asked me not to sit in a chair to receive the injection. She asked me to lie down in bed. I calmly walked there. The security guards put gloves on, held me every so gently while the nurse held two needles in her hands.
A male security guard said, where should they inject her? The security guard suggested, "Her arm?" The brown female nurse decided to pull my pants down and inject me beside my pubic hair. Yes. There. The place no flippin' security guard could ever see. This is not a race issue this is why I never talk about this. This is why I never talk about marijuana and race. This is why I include my hands in pics of books on instagram. Books I just found randomly.
Some people are stuck in boys against girls, some in skinny vs fat, some race against race, some religion? Why do we argue about religion and why am I still here?
To know more about me...
I'll tell you the things that drive me flippin' nuts!
This is Canada, eh!
Welcome to Canada!
Yesterday, the nurse misled me again about giving me access to my bank account to buy snacks. I waited for hours in my cell for the nurse to get my bank card out of security.
The nurse who allowed me the most privileges had gone home and the new nurse had no information in her file. No information about my bank cards being available to me.
I already cancelled my passport and I have lost one debit card already to theft in the hospital. It's not a fun place to be metaphorically or otherwise. And the TBA keeps asking me where I"d like to go on vacation. Is this really happening? A friend an a family member came last night and assured me that it is.
I have a hearing in front of the board of Toronto General Hospital on Monday at 11am. I would like to go home immediately with all the items I had upon admission. They have stopped giving me meds to treat schizophrenia so I am stable again. Lord, the things people assume when you're dressed in your scrubby clothes.
April 15, 2016 is the anniversary of my late Mother's Birthday. She's dead. She was born today. It's trippy in a Star Trek kind of way. I thought, maybe a chocolate bar, cookies, a poorly written novel. Something besides the hospital, right??
They are always out of yogurt, digestive cookies. They only have granny smith apples as fruit and I'm not the biggest fan of either, but they are the healthiest snack option.
The nurse who allowed me the most privileges had gone home and the new nurse had no information in her file. No information about my bank cards being available to me.
I already cancelled my passport and I have lost one debit card already to theft in the hospital. It's not a fun place to be metaphorically or otherwise. And the TBA keeps asking me where I"d like to go on vacation. Is this really happening? A friend an a family member came last night and assured me that it is.
I have a hearing in front of the board of Toronto General Hospital on Monday at 11am. I would like to go home immediately with all the items I had upon admission. They have stopped giving me meds to treat schizophrenia so I am stable again. Lord, the things people assume when you're dressed in your scrubby clothes.
My lawyer is optimistic so I am as well... sometimes
 |
| I Hipe for Strength - Sold - Ontario Human Rights Commission Execute Office |
 |
| Afro Angel - Available |
April 15, 2016 is the anniversary of my late Mother's Birthday. She's dead. She was born today. It's trippy in a Star Trek kind of way. I thought, maybe a chocolate bar, cookies, a poorly written novel. Something besides the hospital, right??
They are always out of yogurt, digestive cookies. They only have granny smith apples as fruit and I'm not the biggest fan of either, but they are the healthiest snack option.
TGH would like me to quit smoking but considering my stress level is at an 11, this is not the place to quit. Plus, I don't intend to ever give up smoking. They'd also like me to blog about whatever I like as long as I don't use anyone's name. They'd like to inject me when I am rude or angry while other patients merely get scolded. It is a very strange place to be.
I look forward to finishing my graphic novels this year. Hopefully on Monday or earlier, I can return to my work. My three jobs, freelance career and artistic projects. I have no desire to be hospitalized whatsoever. This is a very expensive abuse of the system.
I look forward to finishing my graphic novels this year. Hopefully on Monday or earlier, I can return to my work. My three jobs, freelance career and artistic projects. I have no desire to be hospitalized whatsoever. This is a very expensive abuse of the system.
Before they pulled my pants down and revealed my pubic hair to security guards in Toronto General Hospital, 200 University Ave, Toronto. I yelled at a nurse. I asked why I was there. A nurse asked me to follow her to a door she then closed in my face. She told me that she would tell me why I was there if I followed her. I'm not that big an idiot. Not even Alice in Wonderland would have cared to know more.
I called the Fire Department who came.
When the fire people actually arrived, the psychologically abusive nurse said, "I thought it was better to call the fire department than the police or hospital security."
Then security gently pressed down on me although I was not resisted the drug by injection. I resisted when they decided as a group not to inject it into my arm, but to inject my pubic area. So now, 4 security guards who may or may not be attracted to me, none of my culture, one woman and the rest men, all got to see my grey and black pubic hair. Why wasn't it brown? They wondered.
A few seconds ago, I verified nurse white supremacy, that they could have given me the injection in my arm.
This is why no matter how much I learn about health, well-being and medicine, I will never become a health care professional of any kind. I would never join the police force and I would never, ever be a lawyer.
 |
| Snoop for Bro Who Cut Me Off - Bastarodo!! |
Sexually Inappropriate Forced Medication at Toronto General Hospital
