“You Are Not Alone.”

Standard

“Call this number. You are not alone.”

I’m sure that many, many people have been helped by calling those numbers. I’m sure a lot of people have gotten through a crisis and not taken their own lives by calling one of those numbers. But my problems can’t be solved by talking to a stranger on the phone.

You know what would at least mitigate some of my problems? If my father had paid one dime of child support. If my sister hadn’t become a drug addict. If my other sister had not convinced my mother to get a mortgage without personally going over her bills, as I did when I was 18 and my mother first mentioned a mortgage. I showed her on paper why it wouldn’t work. As soon as I moved to New York to get married, my sisters moved in on my mother like vultures. The drug addict wrecked my mom’s car. My mom bought a used car from the very little insurance money she received. It was a lemon. For a few weeks, she had no car. She got rides to work with a co-worker who lived nearby. I had no idea. She didn’t tell me during our nightly phone calls because she didn’t want to “upset me.” I could have helped. I could have sent her money. I could have come down to NC on the train and knocked my sisters’ heads together and helped her find a way to buy a used car that didn’t involve mortgaging HER HOME.

My brilliant sister who talked her into the mortgage has now fled from one end of the state to the other trying to hide from her own creditors. She can’t pay her own mortgage.

My addicted sister wrecked the car my mother bought when she mortgaged her house. She also destroyed her body with drugs and is now on disability. I can’t get disability for chronic depression/anxiety/OCD/PTSD/complications of a broken back sustained in a car accident when I was 16. I’d really rather go back to working at the library or as a paralegal, but those jobs where I could sit are about as rare here as talking blue unicorns who shit gold.

Another thing that would have kept me from ending up emotionally and financially destroyed at 45: a fucking amicable divorce. But you can’t have an amicable divorce when your spouse is practicing fake Buddhism and some bullshit martial arts system that convinced him that only Master So-And-So understood the true nature of reality. You can’t have an amicable divorce when your spouse denies cheating, yet comes home from work every day talking about his work wife. Alimony would have helped me. Being able to keep my own car would have helped me. But when someone hoards guns and tells you in graphic detail what will happen to you if you try to “go after” alimony, you just leave and sign the papers.

I had a temp job after I moved back home. And I was hired by a friend to help her open her own business, because she knew that I was a paralegal and could do all the paperwork necessary to open the business. It was a doll museum. She knew that I loved dolls. She promised to put me on the books as soon as the museum opened. We opened the museum on July 4th. I was working 30 hours a week. Not a living wage by any means, but a tremendous help to our household. I asked her multiple times to put me on the books as she had promised. She gave me various ridiculous excuses, like “I don’t know how.” She had a college degree and worked full-time remotely for a tech company. She had an account.

When she fired me six weeks later, it was a complete shock. She gave me multiple excuses for that too, and I called her on every one. She agreed to pay me severance pay. She never did. If she would pay me that money right now, it would be like winning the lottery. But what she did was give my old job to a retired doll collector who could volunteer for free!

She’s one of the reasons that I don’t trust anyone.

I’ve been freelancing since 2011, but the work has all but dried up, and I can’t get help because you have to have a job to get help now that we live in Upsy-Downsy Land.

I’ve applied for so many jobs. Office jobs, retail jobs, waitressing jobs. My ex-huband didn’t allow me to work, so I started off with a seven year gap in my employment history and pretty much no credit because he kept everything in his name. He trusted me to handle the household budget, but he set everything up the way that he did so that I would be financially destroyed if I left him.

When I left him, I was 37, healthy, and ready to start over. Ready to get on my feet. I knew that it would take a long time to find a job due to NC’s economy, but I never imagined that I would NEVER find a job. My ex used to tell me that if I ever left him, I’d have to become a prostitute. That’s why so many people stay in abusive relationships. The fear of being destitute is greater than the fear of being hit, or having your children or pets threatened, or being threatened, or being raped, or sitting home knowing that they’re out cheating.

I wrote this down to vent, and to give some explanation of why my life has taken this turn, and so people would know why I’m not the person I was a few years ago. I had potential once. I used to enjoy things.

And that’s all.

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