Now I’m Just A Little Fucking Pissed


I hope the right motherfuckers are going to be reading this post because I have a message for you that you motherfuckers need to listen to and understand. I reference three physical letters of response I received yesterday after I spent hours, many of them months ago, filling out forms, questionnaire, social surveys, household income surveys, military background questionnaires, background checks, applications, and residency verification. Thanks for allowing me to waste my fucking time and your time. I look back now at the time it took y’all to process everything and see why people are frustrated with the fucking wait. Y’all fuckers want to know what is super fucked up? I qualified for the three services I applied for based on my income, employment status, and residency according to all three of the assistance organizations legal standards. I think I get the picture tho, because I really find it to be racial, because NO other reasons were given, unless “we’re sorry you were not qualified for assistance” is a reason. Is it because I’m white that assistance isn’t available? Since I’m white I shouldn’t be unemployed? Is that why we need me to list my race? Is that the first page y’all fucks look at?

Personally, now that a clear stance has been made, I’m beginning to understand what many people say these days, and that is that you need me to have a job because so many depend on my paycheck. I’ve been busting my ass working since I was 14, to include my time in the Air Force and the last fifteen years since I got out of the military. For what exactly? To be told by people who hide behind a form letter that because I’m white I don’t qualify for financial aid or any kind of anything, not even food stamps, nothing. That’s fucking great, I understand now that I am not allowed into the elite group because I’m not an alcoholic, drug dependant, I don’t have excess children with different last names, I’m legal to be in the United States, I’m white, I’m not a felon, I own my guns legally, I am a disabled veteran, and I’ve never received anything in any form of prior assistance. What exactly does it take for help for a white man when I’m in need? I could really do with less go fuck yourself letters!

But why should you give a flying fuck about me? Did I not donate to your political party? Do I not support the government your way? Is it because I speak English and don’t believe I need to push “1” for English? Why? Being white and speaking English seems to be holding me back. Oh, yea, btw, I appreciate all of my original paperwork y’all sent me to fill out being in Spanish, it was a real pleasure contacting your offices to have forms sent to me in English. I’m bet my German last name really fucking confused you fucktards. Or is it just the government standard to shotgun blast out Spanish forms in hopes of identifying potential illegal voters? Don’t worry, I’m not the only one that knows that even dead or fictional characters get to vote, receive government assistance, and are signed up for obamacare. But as long as there are politicians and government offices it is only going to get worse. But fuck, why do you care, you got a job, a paycheck, and get to fuck with people’s lives for entertainment. Yay you!

Sadly, like the voices of many legal American citizens, my voice remains muted. I’m the wrong color living in the wrong state to to quality for anything more than being on a mailing list. Let’s not forget, you overly arrogant motherfuckers, that y’all sent me the initial bullshit in the mail offering the assistance, I did not seek you out. Who would of thought sending shit to a person with a German last name would have result in that person being white? Do I think our system is fucking broke? Yes. Do I think this system is racist? Yes. Do I personally think it will ever change? Not in my fucking lifetime it won’t. So fuck you, that’s why, I will figure something out.

…………. And Then She Was Gone

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When a family member commits suicide, the entire family is plunged into confusion and grief. Life is instinctually valued by all of life’s creatures. Even a blade of grass or flower fights for the privilege of life. When someone close to you voluntarily ends their lives, your entire value system is thrown into question. Family members are consumed with guilt, thinking that they somehow should have seen the signs that led to the individuals suicide. This following note was found next to my 19 y/o niece’s body late in the afternoon on Christmas day after she did not show up at her parents house for brunch. Her dad went to pick her up figuring she was having car trouble. I’m sharing it with you today to remind you it is never too late.

“To my parents and sisters I love.

I do not know where to begin. I don’t know where I left off. I have been needing someone to talk to but our lives are very different. I have had big changes in my life which I cannot understand. I know that you would not understand my feelings. My pain. My situation. I sit here looking in the mirror wondering who I see. I sit here looking in the mirror looking to see who you don’t see. Wondering maybe. Wondering yes. Yes I wonder. I wonder if you wonder about my wonders. I sit here looking at my puffy face. Red with tears. Red with rage. Red with fear. Red with tears. I see myself scream. I hear nothing. I see myself cry. Alone I cry. I will not bear the pain of confronting you today. Family gathers, my sisters who I love. I am out of tears, I am out of anger, I am out of care, I am out of my own mind. I need time to myself. I need time not to be judged. I need time to say goodbye. Say goodbye for me to my unborn daughter, Cynthia Danielle. We are leaving, we are done. Merry Christmas, I love you, L.”

I sat there at her funeral on the following Saturday and wondered, as many did I assume, what makes suicide the answer. I tried to spend my time at the dual funeral believing that she isn’t suffering any longer. I held my wife’s hand as she cried and tried to be strong for her as she mourned her sister’s first born. I have been to my share of funerals but this is the first funeral I had been to that was a result of a suicide. It makes it different. The questions are different. The answers are none. I was unsure at that time what was going through my own children’s minds. How were they feeling, has this ever crossed their minds. It saddens me that she ended her life as much as it saddens me knowing what she has left behind.

In her memory I will not be discussing her method of suicide, that will not be talked about. I remember her as my niece I love.