Progress

I got a carer on Wednesday. I wanted to wait to be sure she would come back at least two days before I started to breathe again. The fact is this only happened because a politician got involved. Congresswoman Michelle Lujan Grisham’s staffers jumped onto this when one of the people linked realized that might work. I entered shut down a bit ago too and my brain feels like it has been smushed with a hammer repeatedly.

It isn’t really over. I find this a problem, but yesterday I had a visit from adult protective services where the employee tried to get my therapist’s name from me but only after I made it clear I am not done until we prevent this issue from ever happening again. She too told me how many other people were put into the same situation but assured me no one DIED. That is like waving a red cape in the face of an angry bull. That means this can be a class action suit but I am not sure if it is Medicaid, Bluecross or both that get sued. Somehow no one dying is supposed to make this okay. Somehow having a carer now means I am supposed to forget suffering, the still there infection in my flesh and my pain. Somehow that is the expectation.

I have been betrayed by the system meant to protect me. My carer is not supposed to help with the cats even until Bluecross finds the papers on Sprite being a service animal. This is not done. It is progress. Massive progress. I can maybe recuperate enough to get everything fixed that needs to be fixed. Yet it is not over. If it was over this would not be the obsessive priority of my stress numbed brain. I came close to dying too many times for this to be over. No one has said “We apologize for our colossal fuck up how can we make it up to you.” They have said, “Yeah so others were effected too, you don’t get to have anger.” I had many things destroyed including my lightsaber, my waredrobe, and even some of my bedding. I have no HAND TOWELS to dry my hands on when i wash them.

So we have progress. I am lawyer fishing after Monday. Monday is my first section 8 inspection so I find out if I need to move or not. The house is actually almost up to normal levels of clean, though I am still going to make it clear to the section 8 lady that I was on my own for months so she can write off some of the not quite cleaned things. In three days my house has been made beautiful. I will post video once we get the Gothmas decorations down.

 

The Voicemail

This is what I posted on my facebook after finding out that at 343 pm today, well after I had made calls of desperation and pushed myself into physical and mental shut down, that Heart to Home called back and I get the same carer.

 

“So I had shut down today, for quite a while. Not that thisis a surprise given everything going on. Tomorrow Miss “She came on to me because she was naked” is going to supposedly be back. Except she will not do anything cat related. Ie litterbox, cat water dish, and cat meds. I also have a voicemail stating that I need to respect all boundaries. Cause I am to know those without them being stated.OH and I can give her my debit card and she can get groceries. I am sure they are presuming I have foodstamps right now, but not for a little over a week. Not so shockingly they get used up.

This is CLEARLY not going to work. I am sure my being quiet and probably surly because I do not want to even come close to saying something wrong will be the next issue or when I shower. So much frustration. ”

 

I considered uploading the voicemail because I recorded it with my tablet. The condescension here is that I knew the boundaries and willfully ignored them. WHAT boundaries? Boundaries are set via communication. So I am updating here and … it is not over. Clearly. Why would they send the same woman? Its a new company run by “experienced” staffers. The owner went back to nursing school and stuff. Etc. So I should be bowing down with gratitude because… if I concede to living in a house with no cats I can have care! I cannot live with a filthy litterbox. I cannot make the cats live without water or food. I cannot continue to make them go without their meds. So if I give up my service animal, who should be accounted for in the hours, then I an have care. If I let them stripmine every little good thing from my life I can have care. I mean who wants to go outside.

Words (Trigger Warning)

Right now I am marking all of the posts as trigger warnings right off before I write them as its all triggering. The bondage of silence is a trigger for people, the abject pain, the endlessness. There was no call from the agency today. Just like with the failgiver from yesterday calling in to them Heart to Home felt that I did not need to know. Just like they do not need to provide care but I can somehow do it all. I find it hard to push on at all and last night I did go to the ER. I couldn’t even call for myself I needed to get help from someone on facebook to get help. I am just glad I could ask.  That is the clearest thing in all of this. The only reason I am not dead is because I CAN log in to the internet. I CAN get help. It may not be the superman style rescue that I think just about everyone in this situation wishes for but the effect is better. Often the physics of a superman rescue would be actually deadly anyway and the goal is to live.

Pizza 9 donated food, Rebecca from one of the EDS support groups helped me get care, Linn helped me coordinate people local to me. Heather helped me get pain meds. Michelle helped me get more food. J donated more phone minutes. When I see the picture of the moment, as words for me start out as a still image I must describe theree are hands reaching for mine as my fingers are dug into the cliff edge. The rock is hard, it has cut my hands and I am about to fall but They will try to help me up. THat list is also a SHORT list of people helping and not at all entirely full. I cannot list everyone, some people would not want to be listed but I wanted to show the reverberations of impact. Mentally I would have given up a few days ago without the reaching hands. Normally that scenario would be scary as I hate touch even in my imagination. Even internet hugs freak me out sometimes. I still crave them but that just weirds me out too. The hands are not hands of horror either.

I just slipped into a nonverbal barely able to make sounds state and cannot do the tablet typing for making words either. Its a state I try to avoid but is a side effect of a lot of things. The ER treated me well, there is a long story with piles of amazing understanding (Lovelace Downtown Albuquerque). I had a melt down from sensory overload and something about one of the EMTs triggered PTSd at the same time. I also have had migraines my entire life and never said so. The best way to explain how the ER helped other than standard medical care (which was done with no fuss at me about the allergies just “Can we try this? ” until we figured it out) was sensory aide. The lights were off, but the door was open since I needed it open to be less freaked out. Before turning them on I was given a chance to put my beanie over my face (better than hands or closing eyes for sensory stuff) and no blood pressure cuff since it was painful and making the sensory things worse. They also asked what I needed. There was so much but that is the best “show you” statement.

They gave me some numbers to call in the hopes of a resolution to this and while those case workers could not help me one of them DID in fact make a few points clearer to me that helped. SO I budgeted the words and practiced the things to say and still bungled it. The Bluecross receptionist was possibly the most patient receptionist I have dealt with. Word salad, which is when the wrong words come out and a bit babbly, Being unable to be loud enough. It was probably clear to people on the phone I was crying. She was calm, patient and did more than I expected. Same with HER supervisor. I tried to tell them what an amazing thing she did. Being in the twixtverbal state and no hint of rushing is vital. She checked in on me while I was on hold, kept me updated on her efforts and made sure I understood she was helping without it being “SEE WE DO HELP SHOUTY SHOUTY”. Soothing, calm, professional and direct.

Her supervisor was also patient in the same way. I knew I was failing to be understood because of the disability aspects. I can type all this out because of silence. Sprite is letting me have writing time and she has confiscated the phone a few times today and turned off things. She is being a good service animal but that doesn’t mean its not frustrating. I can pause and not have a fear of the word flow ending in text form with no expectation of an answer. So I gave the URl of this blog to her supervisor. That is actually why I am posting this now and not later. I want it clear I am grateful for them doing their jobs and accomodating my needs without it being an imposition. In the last month that has not really occured much. I have instead been told over and over again to keep calling agencies. keep pushing. Except that I cannot push anymore and even then was asking for help because I couldn’t do it.

So I broke. I doubt the Heart to Home people actually read my blog when I tried the “go here. This explains what I am trying to say” method. If they did they would have read my hope and relief that someone maybe came. Now they are in the list of agencies that I feel betrayed me. I feel betrayed because I must entrust my life to these people and they are in essence executing me. I cannot go to a nursing home. I am not going to get fed, and to me a nursing home is where one goes to die of boredom and neglect. You are a prisoner. I cannot go to appointments on my own pushing my limits and hoping that around the PTSD of travel, the exposure to inevitable allergens because i am allergic to everything I remember. I cannot just live off of two bags I can lift by myself to get them onto the bus of food. Yet I am told cares do not do grocery shopping.

Over and over the needs I have are used as the reason I am not able to be helped. Medicaid and my insurance NEVER paid for this tablet. This one was a friend helping me after the car accident last year destroyed the first one, which I paid for out of pocket from a settlement for damages from the bus company (who just went “How much do you need? here is a check” no drama despite the legal terms). I set up my initial carer stuff myself. Everyone keeps going “Well use a social worker” but despite the use of different terms the Bluecross representative IS that person. So the pressure pad, the never ending wheelchair repair, the need for an inhome care nurse, the need for my carer? I am supposed to ask. I have asked. The answer was “Do it yourself.” Not in those words but “I understand your communications disability. Call anyway” is not acceptable.

I am tired. I cannot even figure out answers to how people can help at this point but I think a part of that is, being far away there is a limit to the help available. This is not an emergency money can fix. Some aspects are aided but those are akin to taking medicine to treat side effects of other medicine. Its a stopgap and not really going to cut it. I did get the section eight things started and the property manager who I really do not get along with has this month been REALLY nice. I even emailed his boss and went “Hey so this is what is up, and you should know he isn’t making it worse and actually helped.” I try to make sure people know when they do well but I am not well enough to get there. They almost kept me last night because my blood pressure is high. It was borderline enough I could leave at the end of the night but it was close. I do not want to be admitted because I do not feel safe out in the world, exposed. Agoraphobia IS disabling too. Yes I go out, I do things, I push myself but I can only compensate so much for all of the things in my internal system that do not function. There is nothing that functions correctly.

I am not giving up. I am just unable to get the prescriptions filled to help me fight the infection I cannot clean on my own. Yes I am going to when I can get Sprite off the phone and am allowed to use it text the woman who helped me with groceries or the woman who helped me with the pain meds but I shouldn’t BE in this condition. I should be saving excitedly for the Convention i want to go to in June and celebrating my section 8. If I had not made alternative plans on how to get there (bus, broken wheelchair, nintendo and starting out VERY early and staying out way too late) I would NOT have had the meeting. The twofaced failgiver could have cost me that if I had been able to trust her enough to call. I cannot trust anymore. A thousand assurances, fourty tomorrows (guestimated), plenty of “I understands” and the only real effect is other disabled folks holding out their hands and helping me hold on to the cliff longer.

Now there are no tomorrows being said just silence. Yes I am sure my upset middle of the melt down attempt to work out something for today did make it worse but that doesn’t make it bad. If they even listened to the messages or had paid a tiny bit of attention it would be clear that I was at the limit of what my brain could do. I am actually dizzy from writing this and will have to lay down now. I wanted this all said one more time. Service cats and people who either read this blog or have known me online for years have kept me alive. Bluecross Blue Shield, Heritage, Premiere, Heart to Home and the other failgiving agencies like El Mirador? Haven’t. What is most distressing to me is how Heart to Home has lied to Bluecross, Heritage LIED to adult protective services and no one believes me because… I am the vulnerable party and have nothing to gain by a lie. Nothing.

I do not benefit from any of this. Heritage does. They got paid money they should not have and they got rid of someone with needs they did not want to meet. They also admitted they neglect their clients, kept a thief on as an employee and made it clear they do not know how reptutation works. Heart to Home does. “No no, we got her groceries” sounds good. It sounds like help. Except that they didn’t DO that. Just like I do not yet get to shower. Sponge bath at the ER is it. Not actually clean. Wounds are clean but I want to clean my hair then shave it off (shaves better clean) and I just want to go to sleep, knowing that when I wake up I will prepare to let the stranger who had a background check in, my cats will be fed. i will be fed and maybe I can have enough energy to go to the zoo.

Now I have to just survive. I will not stop fighting or shouting and this isn’t just going to go away once I have care. I am going to try and find a way to change the system so this can never happen again. Yes this is directly to Bluecross and the agencies out there. It is NOT okay that I spend all my days working to help others when i can, and help myself and hear about people who died from neglect EVERY day. Its not okay. If I die it is murder. When others die from neglect it IS murder. I am averaging, to just the post about the neglect with the video 1000 hits a day. I looked at my stats and saw that. I am going to survive this so give me a happy ending. Then help me FIX the system. You all have that power. It also is great for your reputation. I like to say nice things about people. LET ME.

 

 

A Question (Trigger Warning)

So today the carer I had yesterday and was hoping to blog about when she actually returned filed a complaint. You see I had no clean clothes left and I asked her if I could just get naked and send stuff with her. I actually left underwear on and she said this was fine but reported that I was being sexual while nude and she was uncomfortable. I am left in the dark here because nothing I said or did was intended to be sexual and I cannot figure it out. When trying to figure out what was going on the Blue Cross people and insurance people both told me different things, and after hours of processing while riding the bus to try and deal with Section 8 I was left asking… Why am I being expected to perform as well as an able bodied, able brained person? That is the real jist of the issue as I see it.

I do not think anyone failed or is out to get me out of malice. I do however think the system is broken. There is a clear cut expectation that if someone does not do their job I can just pick up the phone, call my mother and viola. It is all fixed. Except that my mother would probably kill me or in some other way cause me harm, lives in another state and the people who I have been relying on are friends of friends or friends from the internet. My nudity was a solution to the quandry of having enough things to wear to get to the end of the week, given the loss/theft of my laundry. I was asked why I did not just buy more since I have SSI. Apparently Blue Cross has no idea how much that is. I left a very snarly shouty voice mail trying to communicate this. A mistake. Though I cannot apologize to them for it because I am not sorry that I had a melt down when I have been pushing myself to survive their broken system. My SSI just got raised ti 720 a month. REnt is 420. Electric is between 30-120 dollars depending on the season. Internet is supposedly affordable but Century Link is trying to force me to pay 80 dollars rounded up for my one luxury. (Long story short: WORST COMPANY EVER). After that I have my 150 in foodstamps that must cover the things I drink to get around water, food and is about to be cut. SO I often have to fit cat meds, laundry and enough liquids to not die in. After that there is the need for transport fees as the bus costs money and apparently caregivers are no longer allowed to do things like errands etc. I am waiting to blog that bit until I have it in writing and can process that in a manner that does not leave me with a terrible headache and stabbing sensation from trying to communicate in a way that does NOT work for my brain.  I saved thirty dollars over three months to get a skirt that I NEVER got back. I spent money on laundry I had to rewash to get to wear. I am supposed to magically replace the gifts my friends have given me that allow me to protect my head from the sun and feel pretty. In all that.

I am asked too why I didn’t just send her in two trips for laundry. Funny thing. I didn’t think of it. Neither did she. Apparently she did not quit, according to Blue Cross. She did according to Heart to Home. I feel a bit bad for Heart to Home as they ARE trying but I am out of my ability to communicate. I am past my ability to function. My thirty hours allow for people to cook, clean, aide me in bathing, help me with errands such as groceries and medicine, remind me to take my meds, help me dress, and a variety of other things. I have had a woman who could not figure out the stove, and forgot her time sheet. Its by my front door. I have had weeks of “Someone might be there tomorrow if we get that paper.” I have had “Just keep calling people, on your phone with limited minutes that you must now fit into your budget so that you do not die. Ahaha you wanted to pay bills. SO funny!” I have had “We are trying.” The one thing I have had that I do not believe is, “I understand.” No people at Blue Cross and Heart to Home. If you understood you would stop expecting me to act like someone without autism, a brain injury, a spinal cord injury, ehlers danlos syndrome and who DOES NEED HELP. You want me to NOT need your services, because that is how you are acting. That is not what they really want since this would cost them their jobs if every disabled person just healed.

So if they understand it, why after 35 days of not knowing whic way to turn, pushing to get things done by myself even when it causes me injury, eating just junk food and rationing that since junk food costs money, making more calls than I can cope with every single day am I supposed to think AT ALL much less have the brilliant comprehension of someone’s unspoken discomfort. How exactly does that work?

How also am I to feel sexual when I am in so much agony, passing fist sized clots that the doctors cannot figure out or fix, with no medication for most of that time and barely being able to see straight? I am sorry your failgiver, because yes someone who does the two faced dance of “No its fine, let me report you” no matter how skilled IS a failgiver was uncomfortable. I get you want to convince her to go back but I cannot trust her now. I have to presume people tell me the truth because I cannot tell. I tried really hard to say all this before going out into the land of PTSD triggers and riding the bus where I was verbally assaulted, sat on by someone who was a greater biohazard than my bathroom and sensoraly assaulted as well as exposed to allergens. How am I supposed to perform normal when i cannot manage that WITH AIDE, to get AIDE.

I am awake (trigger warning continuation from Naked post)

I want to update things because I am alive. I am still kicking. The internet is a beautiful creation and I envision it much like the brain, each connection is a nueron, we are the sparks of chemicals that allow communication and thought. Yes I suppose this could make the internet sentient. This is too what gives the internet power. It is why there is a battle in the US to remove the freedom from the internet. It is why it is feared by politicians and why children must learn now censorship. Our mistakes and choices last forever. That said, i find I do not have fear or regret over my videos. I feel relief. There is a stigma about the internet and videos but the thing is this is not a sexy video meant for attention. it is a raw scream of anguish and that seems to characterize the response.

Do I want people to see it? I think I must allow for this because I uploaded it. That is the purpose. Words were not enough. Calls were not enough. My pain is not the only pain like this. I however have the power of the internet. This will end up filed under eldercare and abuse, but the key there is… I am not an elder. I think I can put a new face on what abuse is with in the health care industry too. I live in a state where the ER cannot necessarily help me.

So I made my videos, and while things are not as good as I want them this second that is an action of time. I may have care monday. We will see. There is a new agency at play in this and this one may be bringing their A game. I have food. Linn, a fellow disabled person coordinated food relief today. Rebecca, also a fellow disabled person coordinated other long term relief and a check in with the police. I have to say I have had a police officer make my bed which I find surreal but I could sleep as a result. Linn’s efforts got me some fluids and a pizza donated via pizza 9 based on my last orders. That is if I understood her correctly on that. If not donated either way I have food and she is amazing. They even added extra cheese. I find that a strange little thing amid all this chaos. Extra cheese.

My battle is not over and I suspect … okay I know I am going to sue these people, I have no choice. I must continue to push for myself and for the people who have no voice and no ability to throw down the gauntlet in this way and go “Care for me or else.” SO I will show my teeth. I am very tired but I do not feel isolated. I have mentioned this a few times. The power of the internet is you are never alone. The Net gets a bad rap for the trolls but they are a minority voice that shouts loudly.

So yes I want those videos seen and made viral. I want to change the perception of disability and ability and neglect. I think even if i fail at all that at least I have pizza and know that it is not hopeless.

The Time I Got Naked on the Internet (NSFW and Trigger Warning)

I rarely do these page break things but the truth is I am naked in this post. I mean literally naked and bearing my soul.

Dear Mattel

This is posted here because I cannot mail it. So I am going to try to hit their twitter I guess. I can make one of those right?

 

Dear Mattel and Creators of Monster High,

My legal name isn’t Kat but its the name I use in every situation where I do not have to sign my legal name. I am sure this letter will be full of awkward segways like that. I am an adult with many disabilities, autism and I have been struggling my entire life to survive. I did not have toys as a child and I never let myself open the few I picked up because I couldn’t resist the beautiful sculpture of an action figure. I frequented the toy department once I was on my own because it is a place that makes me happy. Yet I never let myself have girl toys or anything I would want to play with AND could open.

Then Monster High came about. I was drawn immediately to Ghoulia, though I have to say the only time I do not like a Ghoul is when they are so pink it hurts. Draculaura is an exception to this. There are personality issues with the cartoon but my home is full of toys. YOu see, I could afford one doll and I saved for my first Ghoulia. I was terrified to buy her because I did not know what to do with a doll. Then my state never got the dolls. I waited. I checked shelves. I hoped. I even ventured to Toys R Us before I finally gave up and got a Bratz Doll.

The lack of quality repulsed me and in frustration I nearly gave up. Then a person I helped to start their own business asked if I liked Monster High. I admitted I wanted nothing more than a nonverbal Ghoul. You see I am an autistic, and sometimes I just cannot talk. My voice is there in my mind but it is trapped between flesh and the space between existence. I can write anything down but that is not always compatible for communication. Sometimes I flail and just noise comes out. Ghoulia is very much in line with my autism experiences and for her to be a beautiful fashion doll blew my mind.

She sent me Ghoulia. It took me three months to open that box. I held it every single day. Often holding my breath and shaking with fear of opening the box. I was afraid I would break the doll. Eventually fiddling with the edge of the lid tore it and the box was open. I pulled her out, the soft silk of her hair a sensory thrill. I studied her. She was perfect. She still is I might add. I took no chances with my cats getting her and put her on a shelf. Then I fiddled some and played with her hair. I ended up playing with her for hours. I felt free, it was fun and I felt good. A gnawing depression I have dealt with my entire life abated some. There was no judging or working or trying. I simply had fun with my doll.

The next time I went to walmart I had just enough money to get the Deuce and Cleo two pack. This was mistakenly put on actual clearance, not their “we just say its clearance” that they often do so I snatched them up their first day out of the box. I was told they were new by the toy staff who I had become friends with. Then I went online to find out if other Adults collect Monster High. I met my best friend (name removed since this is being publicly posted since I know she would want that) on a forum somewhere. I was shy and did not want to talk to anyone but we connected. The ether of the internet let us find one another. She too is autistic. She asked if I wanted a Frankie that had just come out as she had two and I accepted. She sent me a giant box of things I have yet to see hit my particular shelves. New Mexico is not the fastest on the toy uptake. In awe I asked her how much I owed and we have spoken daily since. She sends me dolls often, and introduced me to a Facebook group that was more comfortable for my pacing on communication.

There I met Heather. Heather is a local woman, she has a kid and is very much a walking Operetta as far as fashion goes. I am not sure if she would want that said but she quests for the first release of Operetta still. Being as disabled as I am, I am writing this with no idea how to send it because I want to tell you and others how these two women, strangers I met online via dolls saved my life. Over and over. The family I do have is dangerous to me. Their ideological views mean I must die. I survived years of abuse as a child that put me in a wheelchair though my genetic structure would have eventually. Ehlers Danlos Syndrome has plagued me and every injury just stays with my body. I need a caregiver and due to abusive agencies and at times what I call failgivers, the thieves, the abusers, that lot, damage me. I had my entire Dawn of the Dance series stolen. Love sent me Ghoulia after that but she dances alone without the others. Their arms were ripped off and mailed back to me chewed up by a woman who did not want the actual work aspect of her job. That happens a lot, though my dolls are not usually maligned. Its something every time. Last time? All my skirts and pants.

I am writing this after a month of hell. Its not even over yet but I need to put this out there. Every day I talk to these women. This means despite being isolated I am not alone. It means that I do not face strangers in my home without feeling that i at least can talk about it later. I am a mess of agoraphobia and territory challenges, the worse my pain is the worse that my territorialness grows but I can suppress it to survive. I do every time I let a carer in. This month I have not had much care. I had an agency abandon me illegally. Their replacement abandoned me after I complained about my stolen skirts and pants pointing out I have nothing to wear and with recent mystery illnesses atop everything else I have no money for skirts. It took me three months to save for one that I never got to wear. So I play with my dolls while I call people and try to get my needs met. I am lost in paperwork that other people are responsible for.

I have not seen a carer for two weeks and I do not have local family or friends in the traditional route. I ran out of access to drink and food yesterday and I asked for help from anyone on the doll forum local to me. It is dangerous but I cannot live without liquids or food. Heather rescued me. She brought me food and drink that I am not allergic to (a seriously difficult challenge) and she also got my pain medication. It has been a month since I had it. I was dealing with everything in a mire of agony that left me wanting to die. Wanting to die does not mean you do and I am not the sort to kill myself from pain. I considered it a long time ago and decided that I would find a way to change the pain. Dolls do that for me. The myriad of color, awesome shoes, and the generosity of the people I have met? This is what makes Monster high for me. I would love my dolls anyway but the gifts from others, the rescue from my situation as much as she could manage? Without Monster HIgh I would be dead. Probably more than once.

I do not make friends easily and my medical fragility includes a compromised immune system so I rarely get to see my friends. My dolls have become a physical representation of those relationships in my home. I have not felt lonely in years. I struggle. I fight. Then I doll. Sometimes I tuck my Ghoulia into my bag and carry her with me to appointments when I am very stressed. She is not a real person but she represents Love and Heather. She represents the others I have met online.

I have been gifted nearly every Ghoulia available by my friends. I have bought personally ten dolls total but I have thirty more. I have never been much for things but Monster High is special to me. There have been moments where I am not sure what I would have done if I had not had those reminders of care. I have been in a lot of pain my entire life. Monster high eased that. I never liked Barbie, though I admit I have a few now that snuck home in my cart. I never connected to her. With Monster High I do. Barbie demands perfection. Blondness. Monster High demands individuality.

I am going to print this and mail it eventually but it was written February 6th 2014. I have no idea when I will have care again, but I know that I can ask for help and I am not all alone in my city. Monster High gave me that. The world can be a terrible place, without much joy to be had. I never got to be the kid playing with her dolls but now I get to enjoy them. I think it may be the same. Little moments of a childhood that I steal back from time. I never got to play and now I do.

I am always going to be in pain. My body is twisted from abuse and time. I have had to make hard choices to survive. That meant cutting out my family because they would kill me. It meant learning how to fight for myself because no one will do it for me. I have been homeless. I have been the battered wife. It was not until way too recently that I got to figure out how to be happy and how to have friends. These friendships will last my entire life. These friendships I would not have without my dolls have kept me alive. It is very easy to give up when you hurt, when you are on the edge of starvation. I live without a safety net. I am fragile and my body is weak. These friends of mine give me strength. My friends came with my dolls. I cannot envision my life being this difficult and me fighting so hard if i had no one to share with. I may rarely see them, never touch them, and fight often just to speak to them but I am not alone.

I know that this letter contains dark and sorrowful things. Most of my life qualifies as that. I have known happiness for four years. No life where happiness is known is unlived. I would have a single friend, who while he does not get the doll thing is the one who encouraged me to buy a doll anyway. He has cared for me and is responsible for a good portion of the dolls even though he often doesn’t seem to really get it. I would have one friend for certain without them. Now I know countless people of diverse lives, around the globe who also share in my happy moments. I do not share much when I struggle because I do not want to make them unhappy but I can when I need it. I wish I could be as generous as they have been to me. My friends give me so much without even seeming to try.

The gamble you took in releasing Monster High was big, I knew it then. I am glad it paid off and that you all took the risk. I of course still wish you would use less pink in the doll lines but I am enduring one of the worst moments of my adult life and I survived it because once upon a time… I met a Ghoul.

Yours,

Kat Fury