Fear of ‘evening people’

I decided to take the bus to the Wegmans supermarket I usually go to on East Avenue.  I was going to go tomorrow (Tuesday), but I felt the urge to go this evening instead, partly to kill time so that I wouldn’t be holed up in my apartment worried about the lack of any need regarding the court order to change my name.

The bus was packed and scary. I saw lots of potential ‘threats’ in the form of human beings.  I was even anxious walking to the bus stop, as cats passed by playing threatening sounding music.  Wegmans was packed, but the store itself is seldom intimidating even when it’s busy.  I got what I needed and had to wait 40 minutes for the bus home.  I kept my back turned from the loud, threatening men inside the bus shelter speaking s form of English that I didn’t understand.

It’s now almost 9pm. I’m going to go out and pinkish this, then I’ll come back and knock myself out with Seroquel.  Hopefully I won’t wake up at 2am again.

And that’s the last time I’m taking a bus in Rochester after 6pm. It’s a whole different crowd of people and I felt extremely uneasy.  That 12 minute bus ride seemed like an eternity, as I stood at the front with my back turned away from eyes that were burning a hole in me.


I’m reading a book called A Painted House by John Grisham.  I’m already a quarter of the way through it.   Adderall has enabled me to not only read, but follow the plot and remember the names of the characters.  Since the story is set in early 1950’s rural Arkansas, there’s nothing to remind me of the life I was denied, as it is so far removed from reality in 2017.  If the vision in my right eye wasn’t so poor, I could read all day.  I can’t get my eyes tested because it would involve the deadname, which is the name my health insurance is in.  


When my mum and then stepdad labeled me as “practical,’not academical” and did not consider me intelligent enough to go to university or do A Levels, they wrote me off, as did many of my teachers.  Perhaps all I needed was the right medication and who knows how far I could have gone.   Oh well, hopefully I’ll be someone else and someone better in the next life.  

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Author: Becca

Dead to the world, dead inside.

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