Three Years A Vagabond | Part Three

Written
January 16, 2020
Occurred
October 2014 - July 2015
an image of a doctor holding an HTC m8 provided by the National Cancer Institute, courtesy Unsplash. Five Years Strong. After I relocated to Ossining, I went to the Peekskill Service Center to establish ties with a new therapist and psychiatrist. During this time, I oversaw the transfer of records and brought them up to speed with current developments. I informed them of openings in my class schedule so that I could regularly show up to appointments as I had before, and promised to show up at least twice during Spring Break, which I eventually did for the last time. I gave them my contact information and promised to keep in touch as long as they did not call me during class. I emphasized the need to "keep the worlds separate" and not to take secondary feedback without running it by me first.
I also relocated my PCP to this area, too. I visited my PCP every other month in between shopping trips to ShopRite (his practice was in the same plaza). I came regularly to get an unbiased opinion on how my body was doing since getting off the meds (I did not tell him this until after I got the lab results), and his outlook was largely positive. I spent a good part of the past year justifying that my pills were doing more harm than good, and this was promising to hear. My improved bloodwork results (and my blood glucose going well below the 98 it registered a year earlier) was the best proof yet that I made the right choice.
I was never apprehensive to the medical world. I just wanted a second, untainted opinion in a world that did not view me as some bumbling, incapable child. I knew the risks of what I was doing, and people did not respect my autonomy and right as an adult to take those risks, and that is where much of my frustration lies (not really with the outcome). I kept in touch with a few of my neighbors for emotional support, and occasionally reported my progress with them. I even got to know one of them, [#p3m68z], really well. She, too, had a fantastic story to tell about her experience with medication. Her insight laid the groundwork for precautions I would take at a later date. Ultimately, I overstepped in a family affair, and she distanced herself from me after receiving external pressure, and subsequently filed a report with the Greenburgh Police. It was the last restricted call I allowed at my current DID (which has not changed).
I wasn't as isolated as people thought I was. I kept everyone in a bubble for my own safety and logistical needs. I had to deliberately keep people in the dark (except where prohibited by law), so that I could always be a few steps ahead of them while preventing them from shaping narratives that would work against me. It's why I lied about my black eye. I didn't feel great doing it, but I had to in order to survive and stay at the helm of my own ship while fending off the crew I once trusted trying to sink it. It's a strategy that I expanded upon after my eviction, and played a huge role in my later decisions to ditch Google Play Services, but that's a whole other story.

 
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