876. That is allegedly the number of followers I have, though I suspect 90% are just too busy to unsubscribe, let alone read my rants. Still, even if the 10% who do read and occasionally click like or comment were to donate $1-$5 to our campaign…My daughter and I might well have enough to at least cover a security deposit on a new place. Believe me, this is humiliating, stressful, and not something I like doing but for all my “humanity sucks” frustration…I still believe in the ultimate good of some people. And as I’ve said before, even just a share on social media can have a great impact.
Please help if you can so Rosemary’s Baby Mama and Gothic Witch Kid don’t end up living on the street. I wish I were being overly dramatic but this is our reality. 12 days to come up with a place to live and the money to secure it. And this came as a shock to every one of us here when we were informed of the new ownership or out policy on Valentine’s Day, so this is not the case of me waiting around knowing it was coming and blowing all my money. This is the very definition of an emergency.
And now that I’ve done my beggar bit and probably offended what few people do read this…
Today has been a battle. With my own mind. I started out terrified to make phone calls, but I managed to fight through it and made two, then three, then five, then seven. And two out of them were wayyy out of my affordability range, three had nothing available, one of them said I didn’t make enough money to live there, and I am waiting for a response on another though there’s been none since 8:47 a.m. so it’s not looking hopeful. And finding a place to allow even one cat is proving a challenge as well.
I feel so defeated and yet my nerves are crawling with anxiety. I barely ate anything today. I went pee a gazillion times because when I am nervous, I drink lots of water which of course means peeing a lot. I put anti perspirant on 4 times because I kept sweating through my armpits. Not to mention the knots in my belly. None of which is remotely glamorous and yet I am supposed to believe it’s my behavior that’s a problem, not the fact that my stupid brain is running on Windows ME and dial up.
The frustration is only slightly lesser than the mounting panic. I can’t believe how hard it is for me to make phone calls, it’s asinine and yet very real. Before my kid was born, there was a time I simply could not use a phone, period, I had to have my sister call around to find me a replacement shrink because I was in such bad shape under the crappy one I had, the crazy one who thought Seroquel was better than Xanax for anxiety disorder thus I became an agoraphobic paranoiac for half a year. (Yeah, I’ve not had great luck with competent psych docs, welcome to rural midwest ninth circle of hell.)
I can’t even start packing because I have nothing to wrap glasswear in, only a few boxes, and even if I start packing, we still need space to get through this place and oh, yeah, a place to take the stuff. It’s like don’t stop, don’t go, and I am just lost, going wtf?
To top it all off, when I brought my kid home from my mom’s she started having her spaz out tantrums and swung a back of coins at my head, after screaming at me for ten solid minutes then slamming her bedroom door four times hard enough to rattle things on the living room wall. I passed it off as her not getting her own way and not getting enough sleep at mom’s…but then napped and started right back in because I wouldn’t give her my uber nice adult coloring book that was a gift from a reader…then she started saying I was lying about the teacher saying good things about her schoolwork, then she launched into how I let her down and we are going to be homeless and it’s all my fault…
And I am just like…I mean, here I am, teetering on the edge of a breakdown with all that’s been thrown at me in less than 2 months, and I am forcing myself to view this as a potentially positive thing once we manage to work it out…I am trying to reassure her, comfort her, make sure she knows this is my responsibility and I will figure it out somehow…but it doesn’t deter her, she just goes on tangent after tangent.
I’d like to say it’s exclusive to this current predicament but it’s not. My kid goes off on these neverending tangents over various inane things several times a day, several times a week, and trying to reason with her is pointless.
Now I have 3 straight days of dealing with her behavior, as well as processing my own precarious mental state, worrying if anyone will rent to us since we won’t have a cent til the day we are due to be thrown out of this place…I’m not eating, I’m terrified of the phone, I’m panicking that I can’t get all this stuff packed, that we are going to be in a shelter and honestly I’m not even sure there is a homeless shelter here….And yeah, it’s pretty sad when you have family but they’d send you to a shelter rather than let you live with them for more than a few days due to space constraints. Like I’d wanna live on a sofa with everyone traipsing through at all hours, but just knowing the option was there would be there would be nice. My mom doesn’t own the place though, her roommate does, so her rules apply. As for my dad…he’s already made it clear I’m not even welcome to their sofa even though they’d take Spook for awhile.
Um…NO. Hell no! WTF is that shit, anyway? Proof you can’t pick your family cos I would have chosen a supportive one that actually likes me. Or at least doesn’t think less of me for being disabled and not being able to work reliably.
On the plus side..I’ve had 3 showers in the last 8 days. That’s an accomplishment, especially considering how cold the place is even with the heat blasting and costing me all my internal organs and external limbs. I figure if I am going to be meeting with teachers or potential landlords, the least I can do is not reek and wear clean clothes. And it’s bloody exhausting. Which pains me because I used to be one of those frilly ‘don’t leave home without cute clothes and make up’ types, at least during the manic bouts.
Now if I remember deodorant and scrub my fangs, I consider it a win.
The spawn has zonked, it’s almost ten p.m., so I think it’s time I reward myself by preparing to go to bed. I need a break from my own brain. Hopefully I won’t have nightmares again about running out of trash bags and toilet paper. That melatonin gives me fucked up dreams. I guess running out of that stuff is better than the one where I was sinking to the bottom of the ocean on the Titanic…
It just goes to show that even in my sleep I am haunted by my waking problems.