1:54 pm

Don't let that nigga gas you up and get you whacked, ooh -Megan Jovon Ruth Pete.

I woke up early this morning to a pain I'd forgotten to remember. My right leg. The pain is sharp, like my bones are hurting. Not sickle-cell though. A test in my childhood would show that although I have vine members with it. I'm not a carrier. I got to work right away with a eggshell cream massage and a spiritual tourniquet:

The tourniquet method I do while envisioning said tourniquet, not stopping profuse bleeding, but pain. As of hours later. The pain is only lingering very slightly. I can't remember the first time I used the method, but it was in my early teens. Call it real or placebo. Or whatever. It works. I followed up the tentative care with tentative meditation:

The book of Psalms, as far as I know, is essential to Spiritual Baptists. The only part of the Bible I actually read. The only part of the Bible I actually know. I'm still iffy about the rest of it. So, I take the good and leave the bad. Within no time the pain went away. Call it real or placebo. It works.

2:25 pm

Question. What are the odds of being sent to work on a Cemetary Street? What are the odds of being sent to work next to a Cemetary Street. What are the odds of working next to an actual cemetery? Well, if you work for WITCO.

The chances are high.

Either that or they know me.

I remember being stunned there was a Cemetery Street:

I worked at #1 Cemetery Street, Diego Martin Main Road. A storefront called Onik's Trading:

I thought huh? There was no cemetery nearby. There were houses and businesses on the street. I had to work on the street somedays. Via WITCO's choice in my placements. You could say it was more Elm Street than anything else. I had to keep telling myself Don't fall asleep. And then I'd fall asleep. Then wake. Then fall asleep again. Then wake. That was on days I was lucky. Most days the men outside the shop would slam down the beer and snack crates loudly, slam gates loudly. Wheel things in on rusty screeching wheelers. And I'd bear it. But I'd say that's why I started showing up to work with earplugs eventually. Anyway. Seeing the street sign would make me think of A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) and Pet Sematary (2019). It made me think of my dogs.

Anyway. I'd soon have to work on St. Croix Road per my schedule:

I remember I was on an offline Google Maps page that showed Rainbow Palace. I was trying to find the road, St. Croix Road. So imagine my surprise seeing a Cemetery Street right next door to road I eventually found:

I remember the beautiful rural sceneries on my way to Rainbow Palace. The only thing missing. I think. Were horses. I didn't see any cows. Or sheep. Or goats. But the sight let me know I was going down south.

Some parts of this country. Although considered east and west on the geographical map. Is still considered South. Like Sangre Grange. or Chaguanas (Central). Anyway. The Cemetery Street surprised me. I work one in the West and near one down south? Huh?

But still. I thought Eh. That's just a coincidence.

Until I'd been "stationed" to work at JD's Mall/Supercenter and again I thought nothing of it. Working there (ignore the google map area. It's incorrect. That's Port-of-Spain, in the north. Not Princes Town, which is in south (High Street):

I'd gotten a payment from Witco that morning:

Was hoping to cash out so I went to the first First Citizens atm I found after work. Luckily for me there was one right across the street from where I was working:

But. Upon approaching the ATM, I saw, for the final time. A cemetery without the street:

23.10.2022 4:20 pm

WITCO.

I remember the night I agreed to the heist. Years ago. Deal was too lucrative. If I'm remembering correctly. It was a spend $2000 get back $5000 deal. I believe in Bleeding the Beast, so I thought. Sweet. I don't mind it.

So the particulars were this-

Someone on the inside was an embezzler. Would take large amounts of cigarettes and sell them cheaply to buyers (what I was supposed to be). And said buyers would sell them at or to the stores, snackets and parlours. But with great profit. The more you spend the more you profit. I remember the ringleader getting disgruntled when I outright said it seemed like a scam.

I made sure to stay out of my district when meeting up with the other men in the heist. I made sure the spot we were stealing from was outside of my district. I'd asked a vine member if I could borrow his hat, jeans and shoes. All too large for me. I'd tried to look like the average young man as much as I could. I'd go through all the particulars, but I don't want to. We waited outside WITCO, we waited at a bar, we smoked weed, we even waited inside the WITCO compound for what I thought was WAAAAAAAYYYYYYY too long. Hours passed. The heist would be a big fat nothing burger with the ringleader offering for us to leave our money with him while he sort things out with the embezzler. It would only take an hour or so. He'd be back with treats. I remember he joked.

I didn't take him up on his offer. No one did. I went back to where I was staying outside of my district. I asked the ringleader what his plans for the next day were. As the group was told there would be a try again. I had about a million suggestions. But nothing would happen. The ringleader didn't seem to want me a part of the heist anymore. No communications. I also had a haircare promotion to do that day. So, I went where the money was.

I thought nothing of it. It wasn't exciting or profitable. It was a waste of time. I was left still trying to figure out how I'd get money for my independence. My freedom. Escaping the Vine Members.

You know.

I didn't know what WITCO stood for. The abbreviation. It wasn't until I was with my trainer did I see the cigarettes, giveaways and West Indian Tobacoo Company and thought Um.

And even then I thought nothing of it. My disguise was perfect! I'll just do my job.

Then Cemetery 1, 2 and 3 popped up.

23.10.2022

It's 4:51 pm and it's raining. I finally got my Medical Officer's Report for Welfare signed:

I'd gone to Dr. Edmund on 21.10.2022 to get it signed. I arrived earlier in the morning to not miss her this time. I was so focused on that that I forgot I had an appointment with her anyway. Our correspondences were civil. She'd asked if Adam was with me. She wanted to speak to him for a while. Brought it up from our first session. They need to speak to someone in my life, as a part of the process. Makes sense, but what happens when all vine members and friends are estranged? With me? All vine members and friends are estranged. Even the ones I live with. Even the ones I love. I'm lucky I'm even getting to see one of them on the 29th. Haven't in 4 months. Friends aren't really friends. I mostly keep it in the family. The ones I rarely talk to are for the most part. Busy. Or they live far away. And even they're estranged somewhat.

Anyway. I'd offered to show proof of Adam's abusive nature to Dr. Edmund. I just don't think psychiatrists should ask to see or hear from their patient's abusers. Especially if a patient is willing to show proof that what they say is true. She never asked to see it. Only him. And I said no. That he wasn't with me because of course he wasn't with me. Hell, if I were doing any better. He wouldn't be the one dropping me off at the clinic. He wouldn't know off me trying to take care of my mental health. I think the only reason he drops me to and from is because me getting my "crazy pills" play into his You're sick, you're ill narrative. And yeah I hear that. From him? All the time.

I'm not sure what Dr. Edmund plans to do with me saying no. He wasn't there. I didn't invite him to our session. She didn't make much of a fuss about it. Just said okay. Wrote something down. I got word that whatever little Concerta the country gets they reserved for Child Guidance. That disappointed me. It's a good thing Risperidone exists. I picture myself sleeping right now. Or just waking up. I picture washing wares and feeling like I'm dying. I picture brushing my teeth and feeling like I'm dying. I picture going to a pharmacy, asking the pharmacist what's the cost of their Concerta. And then actually die. The risperidone is keeping that at bay. I can't be too hopeful I'll get Concerta. Ever. I can't be too hopeful my medication will remain the same. So until I have my Concerta. I'm taking half the prescribed dose because it's enough to achieve more than little functioning. A least for me. The recommended dose is too much for me anyway. I get mad headaches. Glucose dips. And there's not enough food in the house for me to combat that. Adam hasn't bought groceries in 6 weeks. Just some eggs and cheese here and there. Some bread.

But I'm still making the best out of it:

Speaking of making the best out of. I'm 65% done with the detangling of my hair. I got to work on it over some Nerd Explains and sheer will power. Didn't get much undone but it was better than nothing to say the least.

I can't remember which morning it was. But I'd woken up to my Destiny Board right in front of me. It made me feel happy looking at it. Then there was a night I was panicked. I felt like I was going crazy with uncertainty. About life. My life. Safety. My safety. But I pulled my shit together. Had to take deep breaths. I imagined people all over the world loving me. Hearing me. Seeing me. Supporting me. I imagined that Adam telling me I was all alone, was a lie. Is a lie.

I am not alone. I kept telling myself. There are people who love and support me. I imagined me amongst others. All of us together and meditating to raise each other's vibrations. And then felt fine. Woke up the next day ready to kick ass. I was surprised by how well it worked. I kept thinking about it. And I ended up thinking. That if I didn't know better. I'd think things were really so.

So yeah. That's what's up, there.

Anyway. The medical officer's report. The Social Welfare Division gave me one, so I asked for another. There's still my back pain despite my 75% psychiatric disability. If I'm going on disability, they're gonna know all of what's fucked up. The system frustrates me tho. There seems to be zero options for abuse victims who rely on abusers for support. I'd used my Maximalist Brands business as my main source of support. I could not put Adam down as he was refusing to sign the letter stating himself as such. Because of course he would. I think to myself Jesus, what if I didn't have a business? And I didn't think of that at first. I thought to seek Him out. See if He would be willing. And get the sign off from Adam. I didn't read the second note on the form until last night; If you were self-employed, please submit a letter stating the type of work you performed, total monthly income and indicate if still employed and/or the date you ceased/stopped working: