I’ve been trying to write this for a week. It started out embarrassingly long, and I was all, “Go get a soda or a Snickers bar or something.” Then I tried to restart it to strip it down, and that version was still too long, and also I started to realize how it sounded. Entitled? More navel-gazing than usual? It felt like I was displaying a supreme lack of self-awareness even though I was trying to paint a readable picture of a lengthy, complicated stretch of time. Anyway, here I go, trying yet again. (It’s still long. Get a soda or a Snickers bar.)
So where have I been for the past three years?
At the time of my most recent post, I was working full time and renting a little house by myself. I was also attending church regularly. Predictably, my work-at-home call-center job spiraled away from me and imploded that summer. For the frillionth time, I lived off my savings while trying to find a job within my capabilities, both physical and mental. (TL;DR: I needed a desk job.) I tried not to let the Abuser remind me of how many times I’ve had to start over, again and again and again and again.
A Brief Reprieve
I landed a gig doing remote work for a husband-and-wife team in another state. They professed to be Christians and paid me well, but then I suddenly got very physically sick (might’ve been COVID, no clue) and at the same time, my depression flared up and crippled me completely. I couldn’t work, even though I had a job that was perfect for me.
My Pastor made arrangements for me to see a doctor, which I couldn’t afford on my own. I got back on some antidepressants. After several weeks, I started to feel better and my employers allowed me to resume my work for them. Things were looking up. I was grateful. Happy, even.
BOOM
I was suddenly fired. My boss abruptly informed me that he was spending too much money and needed to let me go in spite of all the amazing work I had done. It was gutting. I begged — actually begged — to be kept on, even if it was only part-time, to no avail. It was over. Back to the job hunt. Again.
On the advice of the doctor, as well as my friend Miss Y (who loaned me money, unsolicited, so I could pay my rent), I applied for disability, not for the first time. I fully expected to be denied as I had been before, but those wheels grind slowly. After applying, there was nothing to do but wait.
That summer, a fellow church member gave me a job in her small office. With great optimism, Miss Y loaned me rent money again. But my new supervisor turned out to be a rather psychotically abusive boss, which I don’t say lightly, and fired me after a month.
Welp.
Killing myself started to look more attractive. I still had The Stuff with which to do it. I slept a lot. Weeks flew by. I kept attending church, but the humiliation of getting fired by a fellow believer from the same place was almost more than I could bear.
Hurricane Ian struck Florida. My internet was out for more than a month. With no internet, gig work was impossible. I had to tell my landlords that I couldn’t pay the rent. They agreed to let me use up my security deposits, but I would have to be out by December 1st. I would be homeless, AGAIN.
With zero hope remaining, I wiped my Facebook and “unfriended” almost everyone I knew. All the church people quietly passed by on the other side. Very calmly, I planned to commit suicide in the house on November 30, 2022.
Another Last-Minute Reprieve
Then, a Christian friend from out of state (I’ll call her Miss R) stepped in. She made some calls. I was connected with an elderly lady at another church in the next town over, who agreed to let me move into her spare room. Instead of ending my life, I decided to try to start over YET AGAIN with nothing.
I’ll tell the tale of Elderly Roomie another time. But living with her was bad for me — emotionally, spiritually, and even physically (her roof was hurricane-damaged and there was mold). After several months, she told me I had to leave. Despite my genuine efforts, I still hadn’t found a job. It was almost summer in Florida, but by that point I was HAPPY to get away from her.
I’m leaving a lot of details out. If you’re still reading, bravo!
About a month went by while I lived in my car. Once again, I wondered why I hadn’t just killed myself when I had the chance to do so in relative comfort. My physical health was also declining rapidly.
I spent some time with a Christian couple, friends of Miss R (the out of state lady, mentioned above). After sharing my background with them, as well as the realities of homelessness, they offered me some practical assistance: They would pay three months of (low) rent for me, to help me get back on my feet. They also referred me for a job opportunity.
With some difficulty, I found a cheap room for rent in another woman’s house. I wasn’t optimistic; me living with other people never goes well. But there were two dogs and a cat (yay!) and the homeowner was blessedly chill.
Yet Another Reprieve
My new roomie was easier to live with. Her house was clean (no mold!) and comfortable. The pets were a delight, and they jump-started my healing process. Unfortunately, my depression continued to spiral, and I no longer had access to a doctor. I got extremely physically sick again (I suspect related to Elderly Roomie’s mold). The job opportunity dried up.
And then, completely unexpectedly, approximately a year after I had applied…I was approved for disability.
After all that. All these years of misery. All these decades of trying and failing to work anywhere for more than a year or two, if that. Week after week, month after month of people (usually Christians) haranguing me about my inability to remain employed, accusing me of not trying, turning their backs on me.
To be officially recognized by the Federal Government of the United States of America as being genuinely too messed up to hold down a damn job.
Finally.
Men Plan, God Laughs
And then, my new roomie sold her house. So of course, I had to start looking for a new place to live, AGAIN. And none too soon, because as per usual, my relations with her had started to deteriorate. I’m pretty sure she was going to kick me out soon anyway, whether or not the house sold.
This just in: Trying to find an affordable rental in the Year of Our Lord 2024 when your only documentable income is Social Security Disability? Damn near impossible, even if I did not have eviction history (which I do). Rents are more outrageous than ever. And the scammers (“Pay this ‘application fee’ before I’ll show you the property”) have multiplied like mushrooms.
At any rate, I found a place. It’s another house share, sadly, since I still can’t afford my own, and it’s tiny and cramped, but there’s a dog and some cats (yay!) and I’m scheduled to move in on June 1st.
So here I am. On disability, which is guaranteed pay but not a lot of money. Physically in worse shape than ever (arthritis in my knees, constant upper respiratory problems I suspect are mold-related, etc.). Picking up and starting over, AGAIN. I have basically no local friends remaining. I’ve been attending a church semi-regularly, but I’ll be moving soon — gotta start that search over too. Continuing to struggle with my mental health.
I’m…in a weird place. Even though I’m arguably better off than I was a year or two ago, I still think about using The Stuff. Yes, I still have it.
So where was God this whole time?
Of course, God did not abandon me. He never has and never will, and I know this in my head, but my heart still forgets when my circumstances are grim. What else is new?
Now, I have spent a lot of time griping about how other Christians have treated me over the years. I have a lot of what’s called “church hurt.” And those hurts are real and I’m not going to pretend they didn’t happen because that’s not how forgiveness works.
But while I was writing the original versions of this three-years-spanning blog post, I realized I wasn’t properly acknowledging all the good that other Christians tried to do for me during this season of my life. It’s only fair that I lay those things out, if for no other reason than to remind my own broken brain about them:.
- A husband and wife in another state, who never met me in person, gave me a well-paying job. (Of course, they soon took it away and never looked back, but the money I made was enough to sustain me briefly.)
- My longtime pastor paid for me to receive medical care from a local doctor. (Of course, it wasn’t long-term but the meds I received were enough to lift my depression briefly.)
- Miss Y loaned me rent money. Twice.
- A church member gave me a well-paying local job. (Of course, she was abusive and a horrible, horrible, horrible boss who quickly came to despise me and fired me after a month, but the money I made was enough to again sustain me briefly.)
- A longtime out-of-state friend, Miss R, leapt into action to find connections for me when I was on the verge of being homeless (and killing myself, which she knew was likely even though I didn’t explicitly tell her at the time).
- An elderly woman who just met me agreed to let me stay in her spare room when I had no place else to go. (Of course, she herself was deeply neurotic and we soon began to clash until she, too, could no longer stand my presence.)
- A different elderly woman paid me to do a few odd jobs for her while she recovered from surgery. (Of course, this too was brief and she later ghosted me, but the money I made was enough to keep my car gassed and insured for a few months.)
- A local husband and wife, friends of Miss R, gave me three months’ rent and connected me with a job opportunity. (Of course, when my physical and mental illnesses prevented me from engaging with the job opportunity, they distanced themselves from me, but the rent money allowed me to be safe until I was approved for disability.)
All of these Christians genuinely tried to provide me with practical assistance, within the means that were available to them. Their motivations were varied, they each had their own preconceived ideas of how I should respond, and a few of them carried expectations of me that I was not able or willing to fulfill. Some of their gifts were actually favors in disguise. It occurs to me that a few of them may be on a wildly-different Christian walk than I had first thought. But they did help, in their own ways.
And I’m still alive.
For now.
Meanwhile, I’m hoping to get back to writing. More on that later. But if you read this whole thing, thank you. Please pray for me. I still need it.