I could be one of those epic vague bloggers and beat around the bush, give you pointless drivel about why life is hard and woe is me, but you know I'm not that person. Instead, I've always been 100% honest with how I feel, what's happening, even when I know others don't want to hear it or it makes them worry.
I don't do it to be cruel, I do it because I have to get it out of me otherwise I will explode. When I was younger I feel like I did an excellent job keeping all of my troubles to myself and I worried about how my sad or depressed feelings would be for others and I never wanted to inconvenience people. But as I get older, and mostly because I've entered a new level of depression, I can't do that anymore. What I feel comes out, good, bad or indifferent.
So in my last post I mentioned how we put our house up for sale and made an offer on another house, which was accepted. Matt and I have been doing so well working on our finances (more on the last of our FPU classes soon) and making hard decisions. We have hit some pretty startling, and sobering, facts that hurt. First, we're broke. We're not like, "Oh man, I wish I could go to this concert but I can't because I'm broke" broke, we're more in the, "I'm not sure if I can buy groceries... maybe if I just pay half of the utility bill because I can't cut back on my medication and we have to make a full house payment" kind of broke. So we decided first and foremost, pay off all of the credit card debts that we could with our tax refund. Did that, and we're still broke. So then we decided that we'd sell the house and move into a new one that is markedly cheaper per month. Yes, it's kind of dumpy and needs a LOT of work, but Matt's so handy that in time it would be OK. Matt's truck is paid off so we're putting his truck payment towards other debt to hopefully snowball it and that would eventually help. We've made a lot of other changes to just stay afloat, but doing the hard math? Well it tells us that in about a year, maybe two if we're lucky, we're going to be in dire straights.
And not even of our own doing.
All of it would stem back to my long term medical needs (non-stop appointments with Neurologist, Primary Care, Endocrinology, and Mayo Clinic, not to mention my Psychologist and Psychiatrist) and medications from my AFE.
So at the encouragement of essentially everyone, I applied for any kind of assistance through the State of Wisconsin. Hilariously, we don't qualify. I'd like to know how in the world any of these programs can justify using your pre-tax income as the threshold. If Matt was actually bringing anywhere close to that home, we'd be in amazing shape. But no. He pays for our health insurance, he's taxed out the rear, and then what he does bring home is spread so thin. He can't work the ridiculous hours he used to because I am a hot mess and I am not in any shape capable of taking care of the kids by myself because I break down into tears and scare them.
I don't want to be a mess of a mom. I really don't. This is against everything I set out to be and I hate that I can't control any of it.
We were denied for all assistance, and WIC. We can't even get WIC and as I'm told by everyone, "Everyone gets WIC". Well we don't, folks.
So we had EVERYTHING banked into the basket of this new house. Hoping we'd make enough from our sale to fix a few things and it would all be OK. We spent our emergency fund on earnest money. We spent the last of our savings on new carpet for the stairs and hallway because everyone said if we spent that money it would make a big difference. Spoiler: it hasn't. The seller of the house we want is in obvious financial trouble herself and needs to sell ASAP and doesn't want to wait for us to sell, so she took a second offer. Which means basically, we have until midnight tonight to have an accepted offer on our house otherwise we aren't in the running for that house.
Which wouldn't stress me out normally because we've had like six or seven showings and all but one hated our house. The one who likes it, "had stuff come up" (join the god damn club) and is on the fence. We basically spent our reserves as a last Hail Mary to sell this house and SHOCKER, it hasn't paid off. That means if we don't sell this house in the next day, that means I get to stare at this stupid carpet and feel unbridled rage.
So the end story is that I am 99.9% sure we are going to lose that house. If we don't get an offer on ours today, we're pulling it off the market. Every other house that is four bedroom, and in our price range, in town is an absolute dump. It's either a dump, next to a sexual offender half way house, or in a disgusting part of town where I absolutely would not let my kids play outside. (So explain to me how my house is still on the market?!)
I can't even get into the nightmare that is showing your house when you are suicidal with severe depression. It's like every horrible, negative piece of "feedback" you could have thrown right at you. Some of them I want to strangle and just ask why they even looked at the house if it was too big for them? Why waste my time? Do you even know how difficult it is for me to get moving in the morning, let alone clean my house, feed the kids, and get them out of here for an hour or two? By the time I get home I just cry non stop because it's so physically taxing I can't think.
But I'm trying. I'm trying SO hard to be optimistic, and be the fearless, take-no-crap woman I used to be. Then I am reminded that person died in August and she is never coming back. I'm such an emotional wreck that I flat out told Matt today that every day that goes by only solidifies that I should have just died and stay dead. It would have been easier. The family would have had my life insurance, all of my retirement funds, survivor benefits, and Matt would have been swamped with help from my friends and family. Instead, I'm here, sucking up every last penny we have to stay alive and it feels selfish.
Yesterday Jackson, on his 9th birthday, told his friend at lunch that we aren't doing anything for summer because we're poor. He couldn't sign up for baseball because his mom couldn't pay for it and it's "too hard for her to leave the house a lot". I know he didn't mean it to be hurtful, but I sat there (I surprised him at school with a Happy Meal at lunch time) and I felt like the worst parent in the entire world. Then I go to the Realtor's office to be told that we tried but yeah... probably not going to happen. Cue crying in the Walmart parking lot for 45 minutes, pulling it together to go get Jackson's birthday cake, and crying the entire way home again.
I can't say it enough: every day it gets harder and harder to be alive. There isn't anything anyone can say or do to help me, this is something I have to navigate on my own. It's like guiding a ship through fog basically. I don't know what is on the other side but I'm supposed to just keep going. I just don't know how long I can do that. The only bright side is that at least I don't feel like I'm being unnecessarily dramatic because I have both my psychiatrist and my psychologist who tell me that I have every single right to feel the way I feel and that they are at a serious loss on how to help me. Because (wait for it) most people die from AFE so there isn't anything out there on how to help people cope with this kind of thing. So we keep trying different things because eventually something will stick. Right? I'm not even going to lie to you and tell you I'm optimistic about that.