nccotus

No Puerto Ricans in my British American playbook. No Spanish speaking culture in the UK. Just as there are no American slave legacies in a British American.

Puerto Ricans have always been a tough one for me.

Starting at Wernersville State hospital.

a young man with a wild eye was coming to my bedroom saying “make love.” He said hie had been hit on the side of his head with a baseball bat as a child and his mother called him a “joke.” Then I submitted to David the warlock as predicted by staff (he took all the women. I don’t know why they warned me off of him and then put him on my unit.). Roberto started laughing sarcastically all the time and I was terrified that I had hurt him.

then there was Alberto the Puerto Rican street missionary whose toenails I cut with my nail scissors thinking it was some kind of act of God. He and his girlfriend, Judy stuck with me in my mind until I had Ian.

in downtown Reading—at the bitter end of all this 35 years ago in Reading; as I was riding in a cab to downtown St. Jo’s psych ward—the taxi driver bluntly introduced the topic of race. As—even then—Blacks and Hispanics were taking over the inner city. He tried to put some anti black and Hispanic words in my mouth and I just didn’t say anything. I used to hang out at the McDonald’s there with my state hospital and partial hospital friends. You said it, I didn’t. That is what I was thinking.

In Easton, a beautiful Hispanic woman stepped in to clear my doorstep of 5 young black men who were menacing the steps up to my door, she said she would talk to their mothers. And they took off.

but, after that I developed serious issues because of moving into an all Hispanic apartment block in Allentown through my father bossing me around about where to live. I slammed my trunk as a Hispanic little girl and her brother and mother were passing and then was instantly terrified. And stayed there ever since. It was a random abuse move. I was at a low ebb of my strength. But of course it was taken in the worst possible way. I had so much animosity. It proved through to that poor little girl. Her and her family were instantly protected. I was not.

Then, a sick little overdose when I couldn’t resist the urge to take pills. But there were serious consequences. Then the almost fatal Lamictal overdose in 2016 that I am still trying to recover myself from; now with the help of ALIENS.

So, on the Extended Acute Care Unit Sacred Heart Allentown now St. Luke’s, after the Lamictal overdose, I was seriously persecuted as an older Anglo-Saxon straight White woman by a gay psychotherapist, a young black lead psych tech, and numerous Puerto Rican techs and nurse; and a Mexican Chief Psychiatrist and PA who enjoyed this balance, I feared for my life here.

the Black tech put on a Superman t-shirt when he returned to work. We had been friends.

I have told before in detail about my experience there already: the “Spanish spoon trick:” being isolated in my room because of asking a question of the psychotherapist about a moment with the young Black psych tech that I did not understand.

Since then I have had a bad attitude about Hispanic/Latino world; I feel that they are similar to Black world who will always step out to hurt or harm an older White woman like me. Recently a Hispanic/Latino woman here did step out to stop the abuse. But, as a rule, I suffer abuse here.