Saturday, July 23, 2011

On a Day of 100 Degree Heat

This was my day... and why I am up at  2:11 AM.

It’s been almost 3 years since we lost our last home.  How many “homes” have we had?  Tonight it feels like none.  In reality, the places have been like, thirty.  They all string in together – with an occasional, short-lived, happy memory somewhere in the background.

I don’t know what’s right or wrong anymore.  I only know I hurt like hell.  There is a huge hole in the middle of my being, a grief that cannot be consoled.

Let go of the grief my Guides said.  But how many times have I tried?  How many days have I pushed myself to “cope”, to “get by”, to find something to be happy about?

How many times have I felt encouraged, determined to press forward, and believe – only to have my hopes and dreams, my belief in the possibility of a good life dashed by some outside force (or person) who cares nothing for me or the difficulties of my life.

It feels like I mean nothing to anyone.

A slam from an otherwise loving child.  Anger, avoidance, lack of concern from an otherwise loving husband – because they don’t know what to do.  So it’s easier to do nothing.

The creditors… oh yes, the creditors… they delight in obstructing every small chance we attempt – because we made mistakes.  They don’t know who we are – they don’t care who we are – we cost them money.  And so, they retaliate – viciously.

The world is so mean.  

Does that sound childish?  To me it’s just a simple statement of fact.

Life sucks – then you die. 

“Oh, don’t say that!”, people say.  “What a way to think!”

“I’m not going to give up”, Frank says.  Good for him.

Maybe I am the problem, and always have been.

“You must care about your health!”, the doctors say.  What they really mean is:  “We need you to continue to come to us, as often as possible, so we can earn a living.”  “Let us string out your miserable life”.  Not that they know or care that my life is miserable.  Actually they don’t know and they don’t care.  I’m only a meal-ticket to them.

My doctor actually told me that she cannot care for my mental health.  I better go find a psychiatrist.  They will cheerfully schedule all kinds of tests and consultations with other doctors for my body – it makes them money.  But when it comes to mental health – well that is just too scary.  You’re on your own.  And the fact that there are little or no mental health practitioners out there accepting patients?  Well, that’s your problem too.  The thing that you most need help with is not our concern – or worthy of our assistance.

So why should I bother?  To care about my health?  To continue this life?

Why not wish I could die? To have all this just end.

I think about Beth, and how awful her days are a good part of the time.  And how she still goes on.  What else can we do?

Actually, that’s what Frank says:  “What else can we do?”

And I say:  “I don’t know.  I guess we have no choice, but to go on – but to live these miserable days.”

Some days I don’t think they will be miserable forever.  Some days I can find hope for the future.  And then some uncaring, unconcerned person makes some stupid thoughtless comment – “why are you depressed?”  (as in “what do you have to be depressed about”).  HELLO!  Am I really that invisible to you?

I guess I am.

Or some total stranger – like the person working for the banks and credit agencies – determines that this letter, this “account” means nothing – is “deserving” of their hatred and retribution – perhaps because their day is going wrong – or perhaps they just like the feeling of destroying someone else – this person who “didn’t pay their bills” and thus must be scum.

The fact that we lost our home means nothing.  The fact that we’ve spent every spare nickel we have to pay them what we could means nothing.  The fact that it’s been three years means nothing.  The fact that we’re doing all we know how to restore our name and our “worthiness” means nothing.

We will continue to screw over your credit report and your life – because we can.  No home for you – not now anyway – “it hasn’t been long enough”.

To me that feels like:  “You haven’t paid long enough” – for having the audacity to make some mistakes in this life.

A home?  Not now.  And tonight it feels like – not ever again.

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