Hey there, it’s been a while. Spoiler alert, still haven’t killed myself. It’s been an interesting year-and-change since I almost did.
Quick recap: In Part One, homeless and broken, I gave up and purchased The Stuff (materials to commit suicide with). In Part Two, I reflected on my cyclical history and (un)employability issues. Part Three found me briefly employed! And then unemployed again! Leaving me more depressed than ever at the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic. I’ll now try to more or less bring my interminable tale of stupid woe up to date.
The novel coronavirus of 2019 threw the world into a tailspin in 2020. Of course, there was plenty else going on: Murder hornets! Wildfires! The death of George Floyd, the election, protests and riots, earthquakes in divers places, etc. But the virus, oh, that coronavirus and the insanity it spread (in addition to, you know, death). The conspiracy theories, the mask fights, the hissing and spitting over rights versus public good, and every single government entity choosing to handle it differently.
Not a fun time to be homeless.
Between my gym shutting down (no place to shower now), small businesses closing (fewer jobs), and my church video streaming services (no more in-person fellowship), I was not in a good place. Mentally I was at my worst; I kept taking out The Stuff and looking at it and wondering why I didn’t just kill myself already. Physically I was in rough shape, reduced to washing up in public restrooms, and let’s just say the words “homeless” and “constant stress-induced explosive diarrhea” don’t go well together. Financially, well…my car was gonna get repossessed. Miss Y quietly continued to check in with me; she felt helpless.
I had sporadic contact with my pastor during this time. Since my church maintains a policy of “let’s hope she takes the hint” over “let’s sit down and have a difficult but necessary conversation,” my talks with him were brief and fraught with avoidance. He gently suggested that I apply for jobs I might not want. I reminded him, rather less gently, that there are some jobs I physically can’t do, as well as jobs I simply won’t do.
Time Marches On
After several months of lockdown, my church re-opened on a limited basis. Everything was set up to minimize the risk of COVID transmission while providing much-needed ministry. Rows of seats were removed in the sanctuary; members were encouraged to wear masks and distance, if they chose to come in (services were still being streamed online).
Meanwhile, the well-meaning Good Little Christians continued to offer suggestions. “Publix is hiring!” (Can’t work retail.) “I saw this ad in the paper!” (I saw it too, bilingual required.) “That place needs janitorial staff!” (Physically incapable.) “Have you tried applying [wherever]?” (Yeah, I sucked it up and applied, they never called me.) Everyone said they were praying for a job for me. “Thoughts and prayers” while nobody offered me a shower.
I half-heartedly applied for whatever local positions I thought I could do. Not one callback. And then:
“Have you thought about a work-at-home type job?”
The pastor’s wife actually mentioned this to me. She wasn’t the first or only person to do so. By this time, I had done my research on several remote “call-center” jobs. True, they look very appealing on paper. Sit around in your jammies while you answer phone calls and earn money from the comfort of your own home! (Glossing over the fact that I’m homeless.)
Here’s the thing, though: Those jobs tend to have very strict requirements. Specifically, most of them have two hard and fast prerequisites that I did not meet:
- You need a LANDLINE TELEPHONE (not a cellphone, much less a barely-functional free one), and
- They ALL require that you have a HARD-WIRED internet connection (not wifi).
I had already pointed this out to the other Good Little Christians. When the pastor’s wife brought it up, I rather stridently informed her that no, even though I have a computer, I don’t have a landline and more importantly I don’t have a wired internet connection, “So unless you’re offering to let me use one of the offices here at the church, I can’t get a job like that.”
God: “BWAHAHAHAHAHA”
If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him? (Matthew 7:11 KJV)
The pastor’s wife took me seriously and said she would ask the pastor if that was doable; there was an unused office which did in fact have a landline AND an ethernet port. Pastor said yes. I moved my PC in with the understanding that the room was for me to WORK (NOT LIVE) in. With due haste, I started applying for call-center jobs. I frantically accepted the first one that took me (in retrospect, a tad hasty). We worked out the logistics. Some objections were raised (which I only heard about secondhand, because see above re: avoidance). Pastor overruled them. People were happy for me.
I was grateful.
The job didn’t pay much and had a lot of issues, but it was full-time, kept me busy, and and brought in some income. I told everybody, “It’s what I have and I’m trying to make it work.” This provision, provided by God through the church, allowed me to take a few steps forward over the next few months:
- I saved up enough to negotiate a payoff of my car for less than I owed (also less than it’s worth, but better than repossession). It’s mine now.
- I resumed my tithes and offerings, which was a big, big deal for me.
- Food now included the occasional splurge on a hot meal (Chinese chicken with garlic sauce, YAAAAASSSSS). This was helpful for my state of mind. (I’ve written previously about food issues for the homeless. I also touched upon it here. TLDR: It gets pretty demoralizing.)
- Health insurance: The job offered benefits after 90 days and I stuck it out long enough for them to kick in and get some antidepressants.
I was also still homeless and depressed as hell.
My depression is exacerbated by circumstances. As Miss Y pointed out to me, my circumstances had improved since the previous year. But the Abuser still lurked. Nightmares persisted. My nightly getting-murdered visions continued apace. I kept trying to fight them off in the wee hours by pleading with God.
Now that I had a job, I tried to find a place to live. I started applying for rentals, but nobody wanted me because of my past eviction record, even though I’m an otherwise perfect tenant (single woman, no pets or kids, non-smoker, non-drinker, no criminal record). Even when I offered to pay extra deposit money, that black mark is apparently worse than if I had numerous felonies. Every single landlord either blocked me when they heard the E-word, or tried to scam me. (“Sure, just send me your $100 non-refundable application fee first. I accept Venmo or CashApp.”)
Meanwhile, spending so much time in the church offices every day for several months allowed me to get a much closer picture of behind-the-scenes issues. (More on that later.) The 2020 election was in full swing and EVERYBODY was on edge. I tried to keep to myself, but clashes began blistering there as well, though I continued to benefit from the “let’s not actually sit down and talk about things” culture that plagues this place.
And History Repeats
The job didn’t work out. (Raise your hand if you’re surprised.) Its problems, even with no one ever being in the same room with me, were too much. Fortunately, I got a better call-center job relatively quickly — one that paid more, had benefits that kicked in after only 30 days, and was night-and-day more chill and less stressful than the previous one. However, it did mean starting over yet again.
Conflict with the pastor’s wife came to a head just as I started the new position. (She and I have never been close over the years; “more or less friendly” at the best of times, butting heads at others. More on that later.) My church friends feared for my status in the office, but once again the avoidance tendency of everyone in leadership worked in my favor.
I continued to message landlords about rental properties. I was upfront with all of them, copy-and-pasting a note asking if they’d consider a tenant with prior evictions if I offered extra rent, stressing all of of the positive aspects I’d bring as a tenant if they would just give me a chance. They continued to ignore me.
Until one Saturday, while working with some ladies on a ministry project, I got a reply asking for more details about myself. And instead of demanding a deposit sight-unseen, they agreed to let me view the property. The landlords were a local non-Christian couple; I filled out my application as we talked about difficult times, and they (THEY!) brought up the importance of second chances.
A week later I signed the lease. Three or four church friends donated some furnishings, including a bed with linens. A few weeks before Christmas, I got the utilities hooked up and moved in. I’m still here and still employed.
I still have The Stuff.
It remains in the back of my mind. I’m still a Black Sheep Christian (and I still have stuff to say about that, especially with last year’s perspective). I still have problems.
But I’m still here. The “somehow” is a little clearer now than it was, say, six months ago. Stayed tuned.
For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war after the flesh: (For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but mighty through God to the pulling down of strong holds;) Casting down imaginations, and every high thing that exalteth itself against the knowledge of God, and bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ. (2 Corinthians 10:3-5 KJV)