LackawaNa Dermatology

About me

On this page here, I want to tell a little bit about myself. There’s no sense in directly saying my name on here. These perverted doctors know who I am. I want to focus on being homeless with Crohn’s disease, which is when I first encountered these people who call themselves “dermatologists”. I think “sex offender” is a better term. I don’t think anybody wants to hear my whole life story. Nobody is that interested. I already hated doctors before I met these “dermatologists”. So, I’m going to start there when I was a kid, and try to make it brief.

I had trouble with my family when I was a kid and my parents put me through the psychiatric system. I started shouting that I want to kill myself at about ten years old. It was more of a cry for help than anything else and was the biggest mistake of my life. You shouldn’t be allowed to make a life changing mistake when you’re only a kid. If the troubles you had were only when you were a kid, most people don’t hold that against you. I told the psychologists that my father is abusive. What did they do? Nothing. They “investigated”. Which means they did nothing. Actually, they took pictures of me naked to document “child abuse”. Oh, the irony. Another reason I have no faith in the medical board investigating these people. I “went through the system” which is a way of saying that I had a bunch of different doctors and a bunch of different diagnoses and a bunch of different pills that I had to take. Among the diagnoses, bi-polar disorder, autism spectrum disorder, PPD-NOS, Asperger's syndrome (those last three are like the same thing but they keep changing what they call it so they can diagnose more people and make more money), other mood disorder not specified, seasonal affective disorder. There’s no end to it. My mother liked autism the best because she gets the most attention for it. She would seek attention on online on forums for mothers with autistic children.

The pills would make my mental state worse. Prozac carries a warning that children and teens who take it are actually more likely to commit suicide. My mother signed the waiver without even reading it. The more pills I took, the more mentally sick I got, the more that they had to put me in the mental hospital and the more money they made off of me taking even more pills. I compare it to the “kids for cash” scheme that hit this area. I know a guy who was one of the kids they jailed. I didn’t want to go to the mental hospital and my parents would call the police to come and take me there. I used to fight the police when I was a kid. The Wilkes-Barre police pulled me out of my bed by my hair when I was about thirteen and pushed me down the steps and punched me in the face and took me for a “joy ride”. A joy ride is when they throw you into the paddy wagon, or prisoner transport vehicle, and drive erratically throwing you around in the back. There’s no seatbelt, but your arms and legs are tightly handcuffed and the entire thing is made of hard steel. They did that in Baltimore to a guy and the whole town rioted when they broke his back and killed him. Anyways, when I was sixteen years old, I finally had my own say in the “medical treatments”. I told them I don’t want anymore of your pills and that was the last time they put me in a hospital. Upon coming back home without any medicine, my mother gave up her custody of me to my grandfather. This is when you realize that my mother is the one who is actually sick, not me. I finally finished high school but my grandfather’s opinion is after age eighteen, you need to move into a dormitory or a barracks. So off to the dorm I went.

It was when I was at the University of Scranton that I became very sick. I was doing really well; I was in the honors program studying computer science. I got a fever, headache, sore throat, coughing, extreme vomiting, and bloody diarrhea. I think I drank some tap water when there was a big water main break. I initially didn’t want to go to the doctors because I hate them so much. I finally went there and they gave me possibly every antibiotic on the planet. It’s when they finally put me on steroids that I started feeling better. They didn’t tell me why they put me on prednisone and they didn’t tell me that you are supposed to taper off of it. I stopped taking it suddenly. I read that if you do that it can screw your body up and also the inflammation and everything can keep coming back (chronic). I blame the doctors for my illness. I was still sick and I didn’t want to keep living at the dorm or even keep going to college at all. I had to go back to my mother’s house. My grandfather’s house wasn’t an option. So for a while I lived there, shared a room with my brother, and rode my bicycle to King’s College everyday to try to finish school. It didn’t take too long to start having issues again with them. I had a fight with my brother. He started it. But then he called the police. I am so sick of these people. I told the cop to take me to jail and he didn’t want to do that. He’s not going to start a fight with me and put me in an asylum just because that narcissistic brother of mine wants his own room. So I punched my brother again and broke his eye socket (he claims) and then got arrested. They won’t force me to take pills in jail. I was in there for like three nights until my grandfather bailed me out. The charges got dropped. I had a colonoscopy scheduled but I missed it because of being in jail. My grandfather made me go to the dormitory at King’s College. I was still really sick and didn’t want to go back to school at all, let alone live with these other students. There was an opening at one of the dorms half way through the semester because the kid that was living there got arrested for cocaine charges. This filthy place is where I stayed at. The women at this school were like the most filthy prostitutes. It was a disgusting place to live. I saw a girl one day awake at around 8am on a Saturday. I was shocked. Nothing is even open at that time. I thought she must be on a bender from last night still. There’s no way. I haven’t met anybody on this campus that’s actually here to study. Can you guess who that girl was? Yep. Marlee. The biggest psychopath at the whole school. Studying really hard to play with dude’s dicks while they’re sleeping and not tell them anything about it. But that’s a story for another page.

I moved out of the dorm and into an apartment with my friend. I had to call my father to get him to co-sign some student loans. I just hung up the phone on him. That’s was the last time I spoke to him. I’m done. It’s too much stress. I just have to get away from my parents. I need my own life. I’m not controlled by these people. I’m an adult. I tried to get a job and pretty much failed. All this scientific bulls*** that I learned. How to get a job wasn’t on the syllabus. Actually, the one professor at King’s College, to her credit, had a us make a resume. I moved out of my friend’s apartment to another place, worked for no pay, just enough to cover my rent, but then got evicted. I stayed at a different friend’s house and eventually ended up at the homeless shelter. This is when I got an appointment for another colonoscopy but I had to wait a long time. I have no car, no money, nothing. It’s my father’s health insurance that’s paying for it, a fact that I hate. I don’t even have the insurance card. I had to track down the number for the insurance company and get them to give me my ID numbers. I don’t have an address to mail anything to. This is the tent that I lived in while suffering a rash in my crotch and on my foot despite being seen by a “dermatologist” during a colonoscopy. I was buying athlete's foot cream with what little money I had. You take ALL DAY LONG to do the exam and no medicine or diagnosis? No follow up appointment? What the heck is excema? Does anybody want to tell me?