Poverty Is Not an Accident

Poverty Is Not an Accident
Nelson Mandela

Wednesday, July 13, 2011


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Let's see: it started in elementary school: I must be hyperactive; I can't sit still. Ok, I have mutilated genitals and you expected me to sit in wooden chairs from eight in the morning until three in the afternoon. And nobody asked about the bruises, you know. I was being beaten, every day, before and after school. Ya think that MIGHT have impacted my ability to concentrate, focus, feel secure?

Later, it was "depression:" one of those garbage pails they throw women into when they don't want to listen to the fact that just maybe we might have legitimate concerns and issues. Put her on pills so she'll shut up. It took me years to stop using drugs and alcohol and just face life as it is! THANKS!

Next, it was multiple sclerosis. Explains my vision issues, muscle weakness, numbness, small motor weakness, etc. Another garbage pail. It was the beatings, you freaks. If you'd just taken the time to run an MRI or CAT scan, you'd have found it then. There's hearing issues, too, you know. If I had multiple sclerosis, back in the '90s, when you first told me I did, wouldn't I be a quadriplegic now? More likely, wouldn't I be dead?

Fibro myalgia, lupus, chronic fatigue . . . one bullshit, concocted garbage pail after the other, always with a bottle of pills I can't afford and NO physical therapy, opthamologist, hearing examination, neurological tests. Just a bottle of pills I couldn't take because they just made things worse. So, I limped along, from one crack-pot diagnosis to the next until, guess what? I won't go back to a doctor, a clinic as long as I live as long as it's in my power. You're quacks and the pharmaceutical companies own your souls.

But they're not going to own mine. 


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