Rambling Over 1000 Words; or A Post Not Worth Reading

I’m writing this to later post. It isn’t possible to post online at the moment, but I need to confide things. I asked Soul Bro to take me down to Social Services. I wanted to see if my social worker had news regarding my application for Special Assistance to Remain at Home. This program helps people with disabilities stay at home instead of being thrown into a ‘home.’ I can’t call my worker, because the phone was cut off. Soul Bro said, “yea-….if you have gas money.”

I replied that I could give him 5, maybe 8 dollars. At first he said OK, but then told me I could go to the apartment office and ask to use the phone. I didn’t wish to spark his ire, so I retreated from his room and made my way to the office.

I almost got there before turning back. I’m terrified of that coven that works inside the office. First, I haven’t made my $15.00 payment for the month on the balance I owe from my mother’s apartment. Second, I think The Partner tells bad things about me to them as to why they can’t pay the rent on time. Soul Bro told me that the office is allowing us extra time to cough up the $200.00 yet owed this month on the condition my roomies sign a paper stating that they won’t let me stay here again. The idea that a paper exists forbidding me to live here is wayyyyy too much enmity for me to dare going into that office. AND, according to Soul Bro, they said they wouldn’t even consider letting me have my own apartment here. To know management feels that way is enough to make me stay away. If it’s true. My nature is suspicious these days. I’m too scared to chance it. I guess I will hope if my social worker hasn’t heard from me in a while, she will come by to see if I’m alive.

Perhaps the Lord does work in mysterious ways, because my truest friends came by to check on me. I sent a message to my social worker through them. I wrote it all down, but Elsie is 89. Her ears and eyes work, just not all that great, so hopefully it will get where it’s supposed to go.

I hope what Soul Bro told me isn’t all true, but it likely is. They owe $200.00 in rent…and it’s my fault. Back in May and June, my social security check stopped coming because Window Licker Hall routed it  back to their den of meloncholy. The first month was their just due, even though it completely killed my bank account. Ghetto Bank, Inc., a branch located inside a friendly mega store near you, offers an overdraft protection that allows you to spend your next month’s check this month, with the nominal fee of $18.00 per transaction. It’s great and terrible all at the same time. Like those old check cashing places that used to be everywhere, you have to keep returning because your current month’s check is already spent.

At the end of June, however, Social Security sent my check here, and I spent some in taking us out to dinner, some on the rent, and some on my new netbook (Soul Bro gave me permission because he didn’t like me using his computer).

In July, yet another check didn’t come on time and they re-issued it to me. I believe that must have been when I tried to have their van’s air conditioner repaired for $100.00 –didn’t work. Maybe it was also the month The Partner found out he had skin cancer on his face, so I gave him $60.00 for them to go and have some time.

In the end, I still hadn’t paid back the $300ish I owed from the late months, but Soul Bro hadn’t asked and anytime he needed money and I had some I gave it. They paid for food, I’d sometimes pay for food, etc.  I guess I felt I was giving the money back by how I tried to help when I could. Then voila! I owe them 700.00 (that’s with this month’s rent included. I am also to pay $100 a month after I  leave, for all the expenses they’ve been out on me: The food I ate with them that they paid for, taking me places, household supplies, weed, cat litter, and cat food.

 

Later that evening, The Partner allowed me to use his phone, so I decided to call my nurse. Let’s say her name is Florence N. Florence answered, though it was 8pm and a strange number. That’s when I told her how my social worker appointment went. They’re still wondering if I can live on my own, and if I do become homeless or in a shelter, or in a hotel, or in a ‘home,’ I will lose my chance to get special assistance. My nurse reassured me she thought I could live alone with a bit of help, and would tell the social worker so. I’m worried about what my doctor will say. I hate that all my chances are hanging by a thread. I told her about the payee the social workers insisted I have, and that’s the first time my roomies heard about it.  I was too afraid to tell Soul Bro, “Um remember how upset my social worker was when I told her I’d had to pay back my mom’s final expenses out of my first special assistance check, and how I became convinced you were mad at me forever, and I had a crush on you, and my mom was still dead, and I tried to overdose on Ativan? Yeah well, they ain’t forgot and they’re going to make me even have to turn my damn social security over to a payee to be eligible. Sorry about all that. Have a nice day, now.”

So my roomies heard that I had to have a payee through my conversation with Florence N., but I wanted Soul Bro to, because my conscience is killing me for not telling him. I was afraid he’d be mad and worried he wouldn’t get his money ( I think he really does need money).

Mad? I do believe he is quite angry. Maybe he feels duped and that I’m a horrible user. I deserve it, but I can’t really say much. If I nobly turned down the special assistance I’d have to find something with my check of $698.00 or go to a place. I’d probably still be thrown out of my apartment either way, because I’m a total pig and my roomies tire of me.  

The day the roommates announced they were going to throw me out, they said a lot about me. Soul Bro said I was dirtier than any woman he ever knew ( I bathe every 2 to 3 days because who have I got to impress , it takes maybe an hour and a half to perform my bathing rituals, I deodorize myself, and I seldom leave the house any damn way to get dirty), that I never vacuumed, and only did stuff when asked except for cleaning the kitchen every night and washing dishes. That even if I did start cleaning up the place, I’d only just break stuff. All this hurt, and if you don’t think I’m not mortified and embarrassed at admitting all this, you’d be wrong.

But what The Partner said hit the hardest. “You alienate anyone who’s ever tried to help you.”

Let’s see if this is true:

My relatives disowned me ( but I think, I hope, it’s because they disowned my mother first)

Then a friend I had for 14 years got angry at me for asking if I could stay with her when I was in the hospital –I asked before when my mom died, but now she was pissed at me begging. It wasn’t that she didn’t let me, it’s  because she was a total bitch about it and we only spoke once or twice since. I still like her, but …

My best friend of 17 years: The night she stayed with me in the emergency room until I was admitted was the last time I saw her, and only spoke to her one time afterward. I think I was just too much to handle when she was having a really rough time in life herself. I will try to repair things when I am out of here. God only knows what all Soul Bro said to her to get her to come get me. He may have bullied her into it. I remember how kind she was to me in the ER staying with me until I was admitted into the hospital at 4am.

Soul Bro and his partner, The Partner: Soul Bro was and is my life. He loved me so much before I tried to kill myself. He may have thought I was just trying to get high or attention. He may have thought I was the biggest ingrate ever. Plus, I used to make fun of The Partner when I thought he wasn’t around, but Soul Bro egged me on in a way by telling me both truths and tales.

I only know one thing. I want to be alone where I can’t bother, burden, or break anything.  Soul Bro isn’t even talking to me now. It hurts so much and I’ve got to get away.

FUBAR;

It was the mediocre to fair times, it was the worst of times. When we last left our favorite blog heroine, she held her tongue on certain subjects, except under password protection. In the past month I have managed to anger the gentlemen I live with to the point that they are defenestrating me from the apartment in October (somebody out there is humming Tears in Heaven right now). Well, not chucking me out the window, per se, more like flushing me down the toilet to that great open world outside.  Woe and despair! Outrageous fortune, etc. Point being, I gotta hightail it by October 20th.

It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.

At first I took the news of my departure with tears, gnashing my teeth, and wishing for death. I saw me for years ahead, Christmas after Christmas alone. No one to laugh with, or love, or to get loked with. Nothing. If fortunate, I’d die an old cat lady, one day found dead with her beloved cats nibbling at her decaying flesh. At worst, spending my life in a ‘facility’ until God or sheet noose mercifully ended my suffering. Good times. But then Soul Bro reminded me that he was loyal even to his ex-girlfriend who took his house, that we would always be friends. That I would see him again after he left town for cooking school. This was what I needed to hear.

I began to realize how comforting is the idea of not having to answer to someone. Waiting for criticism, anger, and whatever sin that would cause them to throw me out, in a hyper-vigilant state is no way to live. It wasn’t that they criticized me all the time or got angry every day, but when it did happen, it became an obsession waiting for the trouble to start again. If I heard them talking to each other in a serious or angry tone I was certain it was about me. I seem unable to live up to their expectations and mine, mixing the two hurts a lt. If I am fussed at, my perfection rituals stop in my head and I declare the day ruined. 

**************

 

A few days pass since the last part of this post. I am determined to not put my final solution into effect. I’m still determined to live free or die trying. I’m skirting fatal thoughts. Half of my mind says everything will be fine. The other half suggests, “Die already. He won’t miss you. No one will. The only one who ever needed you is dead.” I tell the other half to go fuck off, that I will live, even if it’s just to spite anyone who ever doubted me.  I am worried, because I do have a plan, even though I don’t want to die.  “I WILL live,” is my mantra. I have the control to not down a bottle of Benadryl and tie a plastic bag over my head. Fuck Ophelia. Trying to kill yourself over someone because your beloved thinks you suck (not in the good way), you have no family to claim you, etc. is so 1999.

Things are getting worse in this place. I feel Soul Bro’s anger and resentment rising against me with every mistake I make. Yesterday, I forgot a chocolate cake box out where the dogs were and one might have ate some, but he’s still grunting his little pug heart out like always. I was so devestated by Soul Bro’s anger, I ran off to bed without realizing there was cake crumbs still on the floor for the roaches. So Soul Bro was angry anew and he barely spoke to me all day, also reminding me that even if there weren’t any dirty dishes that I was to clean the kitchen every night. I honestly don’t see the point of bleaching the counters on days no one has cooked there, but as you may have gleened, Mr. Clean, my opinions are always wrong.

If all that wasn’t bad  enough we had a talk about money, how I needed to pay him 100.00 a month once I move out to pay the rent I didn’t pay him when my check arrived late two months in a row due to the machinations of Window Licker Hall re-routing my SSI check to their facility and getting it all straightened out. Which is around $340.00 I owe him, but then he says the rest of the money is due to the $1700.00 or so in expenses he incurred due to my returning home in April. I honestly don’t know how the hell I managed to do that much expence incurring, though he swears it’s true. I have become suspicious and cynical in my old age. He says that with me aboard, they use $40.00 in paper towels a month. Say what?! First of all I am not a serial paper towel slayer, often forgetting to grab a towel until I finish eating. Secondly, are those damn towels made out of silk, because they look and feel like the kind that sets you back a buck a roll?!

Well, all’s well that ends well, right? Not really. Soul Bro went to get The Partner and they must have batted around ideas on how to make sure they got that money.  We went to cash our checks at Wal-Mart, where the county’s most genteel trash get their government checks cashed. And that’s when he dropped the bomb. That their rent was late and if he doesn’t get 700.00 by Tuesday to pay, he’ll have to ask me to leave. “OK,” I reply. I promised my storage unit 100.00 or they will break the lock to get my stuff ready for auction, the rest of my check I will give you.”

And then Soul Bro clarified: I would have to give him 700 or be thrown out of the apartment, and that I must be fully financially independent for my meals even though he wanted all my money and then some, as my check is only 698.00 and I get 93.00 in food stamps. I knew one thing though, over my dead body would I give my 100.00 to him no matter what. My storage unit has irreplaceable stuff: i.e., all the photos of my mom, the family Bibles, and  Christmas ornaments. As both of his adoptive parents are dead, you would think he’d understand. even if I end up on the street, I’d do it again. But then, he’s the one who set my mom’s ashes in the storage container while I was away. later returned to me. So wrong. Wish me luck.