Tag: health care

Dear Diary 8

~ korymcclary1221 ~ 1 Comment

Affirmation: Every step I take, no matter how small, is a step toward understanding my purpose.

Dear Diary,
What’s the highest elevation of the self?
Is it wealth or glory?
Is the highest elevation of the self even a true story?
Like, is it possible?

Sometimes I wonder if I’m a philosopher, searching for the truth. Religion says searching is a form of Lucifer, but I’m just a questioner—a quester.
I don’t know.

I want my tomorrow to be better than my today.
Sometimes I fall.
Sometimes I stay in place.
Sometimes I elevate.

At the end of the day, I wonder: what progress was made? What even determines progress?
Is it the accumulation of wealth?
The preservation of health?
Or the pursuit of the highest elevation of the self?

Dear Diary,
I get confused by the rules of life.
To change the world is to change my sight.
Am I right, or am I wrong?
Left, or right?

I followed the path—and I was wrong.
I abandoned the ship; swimming took courage and strength.
But I’m strong.

Dear Diary,
Allow my legacy to reach the stars and beyond eternity. Allow the universe to embrace me.

What defines the highest elevation of the self—success in the world, or peace within it?

Dear Diary 5

~ korymcclary1221 ~ 1 Comment

Daily Affirmation: “I will not let someone else’s indifference dictate my well-being or silence my fight for proper care.”


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Dear Diary,

Medical care in NJSP is a nightmare. It’s not just rough—it’s terrifying. The doctors openly wear their indifference on their faces, and their hostile tones make it clear that they don’t view us as patients in need of care but as adversaries.

On December 18, 2024, I visited medical for the fourth time in a month regarding a condition I’m dealing with. The doctor greeted me with a cold, judgmental glare and barked, “What’s the problem?” Her tone was anything but compassionate.

I explained, once again, that I was experiencing the same issue and that the pain was worsening. She barely acknowledged my words, her attention fixed on her computer screen. She skimmed through my treatment records, searching for an excuse to dismiss me. “It says here we did this… and this…” she rattled off, as though checking boxes could cure my pain.

“But I’m still in pain, and it’s getting worse,” I insisted.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” she snapped.

Our conversation spiraled into an argument. Isn’t it her duty as a doctor to help me uncover the cause of my pain and work toward a solution? Instead, it felt like her priority was to brush me off.

It’s as if the policy here—between NJSP and Rutgers Health—is to delay care until it’s too late to help. Why should anyone have to fight so hard for basic medical attention in a facility that claims responsibility for our welfare?

Desperate to make her listen, I mentioned an article I’d read in The Guardian US. It detailed how, between 2019 and 2022, over 200 incarcerated men in NJ DOC facilities died from treatable conditions. That finally got her attention.

But why does it take invoking death and public scrutiny to make them care?

Dear Diary, why are incarcerated men treated like the scum of the earth by the very medical providers entrusted with their lives?

Dear Diary, how can society allow these injustices to persist without demanding accountability?