We were evicted from just about every house or apartment in which we lived. Actually, I guess we were the kind that moved out the day before the eviction was enforced. I remember many moves in the middle of the night, with the help of my grandmother and mom, maybe a male friend, and my brother and myself. I saw the stress and the anger, the fear, the sadness all on my mom's face. Maybe I didn't realize it at the time, but it felt like every last-minute move was a demonstration of the five stages of grief. My mom could never hide her emotions from us. I'm learning that if I didn't have Prozac and therapy, I'd be doing the same thing, as I'm currently experiencing the very struggles my mom did.
I used to think I wouldn't get knocked up by a guy that I partied with, and that I wouldn't marry an alcoholic, or just someone who dealt with a mental illness. I swore I'd never go after things that I couldn't afford, and that no materials would own me the way they owned my mom. I carried my Bible in my book bag, volunteered at church, went to youth group every Wednesday night, and read as many books on being the best version of myself that I could be. I learned relatively healthy coping mechanisms at a really young age (I was literally a 12 year old who read books like The Search for Significance). I did school clubs, didn't get my first boyfriend until 11th grade, which lasted all of 2 weeks, and then didn't date again until Senior year. I kept that high school sweetheart for a while after graduation and I tried my best to support us in a new apartment. I worked and paid the bills. He usually quit his job and would search for another, and I just sucked it up and thought, "He's really trying. He just can't catch a break. I'll take care of this until it all works out again." Thus, the very beginning of a life of codependency.
Fast forward to now, and I'm looking back wondering how my marriage to my best friend went so awry. I wonder how I'll make sure I can keep my lawyer- to afford him and have him protect me through this. I am reaching out to community centers for help with my bills, and I've signed up for WIC and Medicaid and I've applied for food stamps. I wonder each day if I'll keep the house and if I'll lose everything. I have resolved to acknowledge what's more important in my life, and I feel like this year has been pure hell. To be honest, the divorce is only one small component of this year's events and stress. There's so much more to be done... so much more in store. And somehow, I'm learning that all of this stuff is so fucked up, and I'm going to make it through. And when I do, I hope I can give back to not only the people who are helping during this time, but also to others who have experienced a year like mine.
Oh this year. It hurts.
