00:18 (12:18 AM)

Yesterday’s mission was completed πŸ™‚ . I wrecked my brain doing it, but at least I won’t pressure myself to make a beat myself any time soon now that I uploaded one.  Check it out πŸ˜€ .

I’ll be closing things off, finish my pre-bed bread and fruit and set an alarm to call the doctor at 7 AM, hoping that I can get helped today. I already have palpitations thinking of what I should say, when I’m asked why I need to see a doctor.

I’ll be like: *waits until receptionist is done with her introduction* “Ehm… *shaking voice* Goedemorgen, met Dominique Elia… Ik ben geen patiΓ«nt bij deze praktijk, maar verblijf voorlopig tijdelijk bij de familie *beep*, die wel bij deze praktijk ingeschreven staat, en zij hebben me geadviseerd [geadviseerd, zo van ik ben echt ziek] om contact met u op te nemen. Op advies van een arts uit Duitsland, moet ik een urinetest doen om te achterhalen waarom er witte bloedcellen in mijn urine zitten en waarom de infectie die zich daarbij voordoet niet weggaat na antibioticakuren. Het was mijn oorspronkelijke intentie om het onderzoek in Duitsland voort te zetten[, omdat ik een trauma heb aan het Nederlandse zorgsysteem]. Nu ik ook erg last heb van koorts, lichaamspijnen overal en andere klachten, heb ik toch helaas sneller hulp nodig. [Even though I was on a path of comitting suicide. I want to experience painless existence, if that’s possible.] Daarom wilde ik vragen of ik de test met ochtendurine bij uw praktijk zou kunnen doen en misschien ook de arts zou mogen spreken.” [Mention: “Ik ga dan dus nu mijn ochtendurine ophouden (en kom er meteen aan).” “Klopt het dat het adres *beep* is?” “Laat de arts alstublieft mijn Nederlandse medische dossier niet als referentiemateriaal gebruiken. Ik neem de onderzoeksresultaten uit Duitsland mee.”]

Oh meow πŸ™ . These Cuddlepains πŸ™ .

I’m going to shutdown my laptop, shut off everything downstairs and go upstairs to brush my teeth and go to bed.

Good night

I love you

xxx – 

 07:13 (AM) 

Good morning, my Cuddle 

Something typically Fangish happened… I just set my alarm for 7 am, so that I could maybe still be helped today, because of being early, but the practice opens at 8…

I’ll be holding in my morning pee, attempting to sleep until 8. Meoow my temperature feels higher than yesterday πŸ™ πŸ™ . I dreamt that they told me to come on Monday πŸ™ . I’m scared I don’t emphasize the seriousness of my case enough πŸ™ . I think I’ll start with explaining my health complaints, instead of that officially I’m not a patient there… I’ll keep you posted xxxx

~~~

08:32 (AM) 

My dream (of nachtmerrie, beter gezegd) was a sign πŸ™ . They said that I need a note of reference from my own phycisian, to see a specialist for that urine test, but that I can still visit for the fever and other health complaints I have now. I told them that that fever is not really that much of a problem – all they can do is give me pills for that, and I don’t want that anyway – so I thanked her and hung up. 

I was about to rid myself of my morning urine, when suddenly I realized contacting my fleh phycisian is inevitable. So I called and explained the thing with the white blood cells. Initially, I was asked to come over on Monday morning. When I mentioned my current health complaints, the receptionist asked if she could call me back, and that she’s going to call another phycisian – not that bitch who called me incompetent, thank god – and that they might have a spot for me around 11 o’clock. I then still rid myself from my morning urine, after asking the receptionist if I should. 

So now I’m waiting for a call back, while finishing my fruit ontbijt.  I don’t know what else to eat yet. 

Cuddle? πŸ™

~~~

09:14 (AM) 

Oooh my god. It’s not even on Monday that I can be helped.  The receptionist consulted my phycisian, and she finds it weird that the examination wasn’t finished yet [that is such a fucking long story that I just said fucking nothing, because she probably just wants to fucking call me incompetent again godverdomme], so she wants to see me herself and see what’s up with that non-continuance. I do not want to fucking see her. But I have no fucking choice. My palpitations are beating my heart out πŸ™ . Grrrr I don’t want to see her, because I might fucking fang her. My life is in her hands and she just keeps fucking claiming that I’m insane.  I feel not taken seriously πŸ™ . I wish I had enough money to go to doctor Cuddle πŸ™ .  Maybe I should ask someone to bring me to him… Fuck my phycisian, man, that whole fucking practice should be closed. What if she fucking forces me to take antipsychotics again πŸ™ . 

I’m so sad πŸ™ . I’m going back to bed. Wtf… I might have fucking cancer – there have been found cysts before, and now this infection doesn’t go away – and my body hurts all over, and she’s making me wait for 4 days, while I could have been helped sooner, just because she wants to continue the shit she started last time. I want to fucking emigrate πŸ™ . But on this pace, that will take decades. I don’t want to feel pain and negativity anymore πŸ™ .

~~~

11:37 (AM)

I can’t stop thinking of what happened πŸ™ . By my choice of words “and see what’s up with that”, it sounds like she gives a fuck about my health. But this is exactly how it went when she called me incompetent. 

Why I worry about this, was because the receptionist ended the conversation with that I should first do a urine test at the practice, before they might decide to refer me to a specialist. Mijn urine moet op kweek gezet worden, en in Duitsland kon dat gewoon bij de praktijk zelf, maar hier moet je daar blijkbaar voor naar het ziekenhuis. 

Het probleem in Duitsland was dat ik voor mijn verjaardag naar Berlijn was gegaan, en ik twee dagen daarvoor dat doktersadvies kreeg om die ochtendurinetest te doen, maar dat ik toen twee uur bij de artsenpraktijk vandaan verbleef en ik niet zo lang mijn ochtendurine op wilde houden, plus had ik niet genoeg geld voor benzine voor zo veel langeafstandsritten. Met de verwijsbrief van de arts, heb ik geprobeerd om medische hulp te zoeken in Berlijn, maar zonder enig succes,helaas.

Wat betreft mijn medische onderzoeken, krijg ik daar van mijn ouders amper steun in. Net als mijn huisarts, zijn ze veel te eager om me aan de antipsychotia te krijgen. Maar nu ik die aortainsufficiΓ«ntie en hartkloppingen heb, mag ik daar niet (eigenlijk nooit, ook door de afwijking die ik heb wat betreft enzymen die medicijnen afbreken) tot gedwongen worden. Dit is in het verleden meerdere malen gedaan, en officieel “waren ze nog niet klaar” met hun treatment, maar iedere keer dat ze me hebben willen ambushen, was ik op tijd “van de aardbodem verdwenen”. 

All that had to happen at that doctor’s practice, is that a phycisian had to give me a note, based on the findings in Germany – that I had to go to Germany for this and pay more than €2000 of my life savings, all because that bitch finds me incompetent, while the second opinion showed that I’m right and she isn’t, is outrageous – and that with that note I could continue the process of making a diagnosis, in a Dutch hospital. I don’t even want to be helped in a Dutch hospital. Especially not the one she will refer me to (location based partnership), where my grandfather died and they put me on the drip without knowing what I have and refused to give me an MRI. 

That the main phycisian, my phycisian, who owns the practice, necessarily wants to see me, instead of the other phycisians who work there, who are available far sooner, is not a good sign. This because one of those other phycisians referred me to the hospital – not my phycisian – and when I was transferred to a mental institution, and I made another appointment to see that same doctor who referred me, in the hope that she would help me prove my case and get me out of that system, I was told that I could see that other phycisian, but at the practice, my own phycisian was suddenly waiting for me, and she said that I’m incompetent and that she wants to speak to those people from the psychiatric industry, to see if they could make the statement of me being incompetent official. 

That she now doesn’t even believe that there are white blood cells in my urine… Even typing in caps lock, wouldn’t express the anger and pain I feel. Why they are still there,  is basically because I would literally rather die than put my fate back in the hands of that psychotic bitch. If she wants to continue her thrill seeking nonsense, in which I could lose all of my rights, and get an IBS, I should start looking for a (BopZ) lawyer… The problem is that I’m extremely broke and my phycisian, my parents and those two mental institutions are one team, and I’m by myself, still actually experiencing The Head Cuddle, but I have to lie about it, to them, because otherwise, they force me to take antipsychotics (I know, because I’ve been stuck in that shit for more than a year). I’ve been telling them all kinds of random shit, most of which not even true, because I was forced to have therapy sessions with them, and they have logged everything. In their way. And I’m not allowed to see it. (One of the things I’d/I’ll tell my lawyer, if I’m able to get one.)

I need eyes on me. If no one supports me and confirms my right – this has to be done by someone other than myself – I might be absorbed by that psychiatric industry again [I’m talking about the experimental world war two [why capital letters] type of shit, modernized], and no one will notice. Just like last time. Things like cameras and other ways of recording are forbidden there, because the things that happen there are so inhumane. Ik zit er ook niet op te wachten om weer tussen TBS’ers te komen zitten. 

I had a lot of trouble falling asleep last night, because I worried about my dependency on these health care people – en die zorgen waren terecht – so at some point I decided to look at old pictures on my phone. 

I so love the Google Photos app!! Even pictures that were made with phones I now don’t even have anymore, are still backed up on this device. 

In the timeline of my pictures, it’s visible that I was fully offline, when I was stuck under surveillance: [I made screen shots of the pictures I want to show you πŸ™‚ ]

The things I was going through, I didn’t want to share with those who gossip, and I was very afraid of the consequences of recording those inhumane circumstances

Those random pictures from May, were because my PR business was on a budget the way D.O.C.I.S. International is, and I needed simple background pictures I intended to edit. 

This is what I intended to do, in 2017, but then my father refused to invest in me, and my B couldn’t be my subject for that Georgia Tech assignment anymore πŸ™

TimeHeroine stood for “heroes of time”, as well as click bait, but those psychiatry motherfuckers thought I was taking hard drugs… Fucking dumb psychotic bastards…

My old business card πŸ™‚

My sister and I, in Nassau, on the Bahamas, in the Summer of 2016

Againn look at us being Cuddle… That psychiatry shit has driven us apart, now that everyone is educated to tell me that changing the world is impossible and I will never see my B πŸ™

My old glasses πŸ˜€ . I miss them… And that used to be my favorite shirt.

Here I was even younger

And here’s post-psychiatry me…

Other pictures I took, when I uploaded that Instagram picture

The type of face I make when I correct myself

That full picture I put on Instagram. My account is deleted now. No regrets πŸ™‚

My transfer ticket, when I went from Baltimore to Miami

I was fang flexing. Miami gave me a tan

Me when I started working, right after coming back from the US

Me around the end of the Summer season… In the beginning, I was eager to speak to clients, but the way it’s uncertain what type of person I’ll speak to – someone normal and polite, or some wild sensation seeker who wants to rage at me [that “is normal”, in that industry] – was having a very bad influence on my heart

I worry about if my phycisian will ask me what I do for a living. I’m not earning from my websites, so that doesn’t count at all. I don’t want to go back to school and I don’t want to apply for routinous jobs – but with my diplomas and age, that’s all I can apply for – so she might use that to back up her case of me being incompetent πŸ™ . I would literally rather die than do that meaningless routinous nonsense. I would do that, if they threaten to put me under surveillance again. 

~~~

13:28 (01:28 PM) 

Oh my god πŸ™ . So not only do I have an aortic insufficiency of the first degree and very regular palpitations… I also have tachycardia πŸ™ . [If my heart rhythm were to be stabilized, would my aortic valve then close again?] My mother just texted me, that the bill from doctor Cuddle’s practice came in, and that includes the listing of a diagnosis I did not know of yet. 

How the fuck am I still alive…

Causes for it must be being underfed [I often starve myself, when there’s no healthy food to eat. Like today. And yesterday… I couldn’t even eat a quarter of that kapsalon we had for dinner], stress, anxiety, (formerly) cannabis [if I knew, I would have quit smoking earlier], alcohol [not that much…?], the pain I’m in, that infection in my body, all of those fucking antipsychotics, and maybe I have Wolff-Parkinson-White syndrome, since I used to faint a lot as a kid, and now I often have loss of muscle strength. 

Why do I have bad luck so often? πŸ™ The amount of figurative “slap in the face”-moments, in a day, where things play out in my disadvantage, is unhealthy πŸ™ . I don’t want this anymore πŸ™ . 

For my heart rhythm to ever be stabilized, I need to have these Graeynissis in my life. I feel legally unsafe without them, because I can be captivated by those psychiatry people whenever. Also, when it comes to love and being able to express myself: I can only truly do that with them. Those who can live in life’s routine, without wanting to die, have a different way of being themselves and a different view on what love is. To them, all might seem good “again”, when I’ve gotten myself behind a desk in some office. That while in my view, it’s the most unbearable and painful situation I could ever be in. I think my Graeynissis can understand that feeling of hidden inner panic – because you have to stay professional [something I’ve unfortunately passed on this blog plenty of times now] – that comes with being trapped in such a situation. I think they can also understand why I find that to this day, I live through a situation of injustice. Only if I were to have cheering fans, my name might be able to be cleared. Please be my wild Graeyniss? πŸ™ 

Als ik tachycardie heb, had die persoon die een hartfilmpje maakte, in dat gesticht, om te “bewijzen” dat ik die kut pillen in kon nemen, dat toch ook gewoon moeten kunnen zien, trouwens? Dat is moord… Daar zaten er, naast geen THC, trouwens ook zowel witte als rode bloedcellen in mijn urine. 

l’m so tired, but I can’t sleep, because of the pain πŸ™ . Cuddle me pleaseee πŸ™ .

~~~

18:00 (06:00 PM) 

Heeyy β™₯

I’ve been able to sleep a bit, but I’m still a tired petje. Tomorrow is the first weekend of 2019. I want my situation to be at least a slight improvement, but how can I do that? πŸ™ I’m still living in someone else’s house… Here I’m more safe than at home, when it comes to psychiatry, because the people who monitor me, have the Rotterdam region as their territory. 

But I’m so unproductive, when it comes to having a reason to get out of bed every morning – that is something I do miss, but I want it to be for an occupation that suits me – my life is far from what it should be. It feels far too “being a couch potato”, to now again spend tomorrow indoors and the day after as well, while the family here has been working all week. 

Having an occupation that allows me to leave my bed and house each day, will get me more respect – respectlessness and people assuming that I’m stupid, because I don’t do regular proletarian shit, is soooo very frustrating [ik zou het zo fijn vinden als ik terecht met “u” aangesproken zou worden. Dan voel ik me ook comfortabeler in “u” zeggen… It will also feel quite sexy… This respectful tone combined with mutual attraction 😻. Haha I’m random πŸ˜€ ]  – but my health [and depression, but please do not tell those psychiatry people that… They can’t keep me because of that anyway, because their pills and shit conversation won’t change that I prefer death over a proletarian life and when I attempted to commit suicide, when I was in that institution (it was that hell-ish), they kept going on with the schizophrenia bullshit and did not even try to recall and help the reason why I tried. She just called it “wanhoop” [because I feared never being able to save myself from their surveillance, and she was basically right]. I’ve never heard anything more heartless…] limit(s) me in what I’m able to endure. I feel constant pains – for quite a couple of months now, and it becomes worse every day – and get tired very fast [probably because of my heart condition and the infection]. 

If there’s one thing that can get proletarians pissed, it’s saying that you have a health issue that keeps you in your bed all day, while it seems like you function normally. Then it always leads to: “Yeah well everyone wants to lay in bed all day.  I had/have *long dramatic story about health complaints of that person [still not comparable to what I have]* and I still go to work every day.” Ah meoow how do I get a house in a secluded and noiseless area?  πŸ™ I don’t want to hear TV or people citing TV ever again, unless it’s something from me and/or my Graeynissis… Or see signs of people “living the TV life” [I mean spending most of free time with self in front of that screen, not truly thinking].

All I’ve eaten today is a bunch of kiwis, an apple and a granola bar – that bread with cheese, bread with sausage and kiwis before going to bed last night, I don’t really count, because my digestive system seems to never stop, and I was hungry again after a few hours already. It feels like the semi-natural edible products I can eat, from supermarkets and/or toko’s [very not good for the environment, by the way…], I’ve eaten so often already, the thought of buying groceries literally makes me feel like vomiting [but I hold it in, just like my tears]. As if it can still give me scheurbuik. I did think of buying some exotic vegetables at the toko, but I’m completely out of money [okay I have €25 cash, but that will probably be used for travelling expenses πŸ™ ] and with the current state of my health, I cannot go outside. Too much pain, fatigue and high temperature. Deze bewegingshoofdpijn is echt vervelend πŸ™ .

So I now risk some serious nutritional problems I can’t solve. The solution lies in emigrating to California [and growing my own fruit and vegetables], but I currently don’t even have money to travel to whatever workplace I need to work at least 40 hours per week at, to be able to somehow afford to emigrate. Ah meow πŸ™ .

I need to invoke a shift in this deadly situation of mine, but how? I wish I could receive the honor of getting some of a Graeyniss’ free time in real life (again) πŸ™ . I miss these Sweetnissis πŸ™ .

It, by the way, feels far too random to lay sick in bed all day, in not “my own house”. But I’m so tired of my father raising his voice at me, because I “don’t have a fucking job”.

~~~

20:48 (08:48 PM) 

I just ate a piece of a mandarine. A part of it was starting to grow fungi, so I skipped that part. Meoow I need my own house πŸ™ . I’m not very able to go downstairs and socialize. I also feel bad for not contributing to the household and being a bedpet all day. Not that I would receive complaints about that. Not here. In “my own home” [I can better say “my “father”‘s home”], I do get complaints about that. I think that’s why I now always feel pressure, when I’m laying in bed around not-bedtime-hours. 

Light makes my headache worse, too. I feel like a bit of a creep laying here all day and then going downstairs at night, like a bat

Will fate continue to turn my life into more of a complete hell, more than it already was, somehow [compared to what I used to say about my path growing up… I never expected my life to become this, all because I thought I could trust certain (health) care parties]? Everyone can read what injustice I’m living through, and solving this in a way we could both benefit from it is very easy, as I have explained it plenty of times now, yet still I’m left for dead. That hurts me the most πŸ™ . 

My form of social anxiety is keeping me trapped in bed [but giving a speech wouldn’t frighten me at all]. I’ll have to go downstairs, because I’m far too hungry, but it just doesn’t feel right πŸ™ . 

Why aren’t we real life Cuddles? πŸ™ 

~~~

21:21 (09:21 PM) 

I’m still in bed… I added some text to “Van mezelf tot mezelf”. 

By the way, what I had to think of, when I was not typing text on here, is how unhealthy (Dutch) hospital food is. Especially in the institution. It was the same menu every week and it included sooo many artificial sweeteners. [Yet still I always looked forward to “salmon with mashed potatoes, spinach, butter sauce and a lemon slice”-day… It was the most edible of all menu options. On your birthday, you get a special container with (hard, cold and sour) fruit.] Meoow I don’t want to experience coming Tuesday. I’m in doubt if I would rather die or not. That fleh has contributed to my PTSS, and I wish to ne-ver see her again. I go crazy (with hidden inner rage), thinking of seeing and hearing her.  I reallyyy don’t want to see her πŸ™ .

My mother says that she’s willing to take me to doctor Cuddle. There, too, I feel ve-ry uncomfortable of the thought of having to explain why I want to make the appointment [why do people not just read my blog and let me know about that… Then our conversations could be so much deeper πŸ™‚ ], in semi-German/English… πŸ™ I’m in full bed pet mode πŸ™ . This is all too much shit πŸ™ .

The conversation could have been like: (*I call* *phone number is recognized?*) “Met Dominique” “Door je dagboek verwachtte ik je telefoontje al. Je staat ingepland op zaterdag om 9 uur ‘s ochtends” [Bij wijze van… In Duitsland kan ik op zaterdag terecht…] “Dat is geweldig! Dankjewel! *Stelt misschien nog wat in-dept medische vragen/vragen over de afspraak, als de tijd en het karakter van degene die ik aan de lijn heb dat toelaten* [niet iedere werknemer wil moeite doen]” [Dat doe je ook niet elke dag… Ik denk dat mijn statistieken afwijken door het refreshen.] [Voor “u” heb ik esn eigen huis nodig, nietwaar? Is mijn dagboek te moeilijk voor wat ik beschreef in italics?]

~~~

22:07 (10:07 PM) 

Another reason for me to not attempt to go downstairs, is my loss of muscle strength, combined with my fear of falling down the stairs. I already have a headache… But for the sake of not passing out and/or tachycardia “taking the best of me”, I’m going to eat something… Hunger makes my English lazy…

~~~