there's no place like home

 let's talk housing, shall we?

my current apartment lease is expired, i have a few months of missing rent from unemployment/falling behind during covid- no unemployment benefits or rental assistance came through, the rent is increasing by quite a bit, maintenance has not been completed...it's been a lot and i've been...well...me.

would it be august if i wasn't yelling at a CEO via email somewhere?

*sigh*

i've shot myself in the foot so many times during the course of my life it's no wonder my feet hurt every morning.

there's a nationwide housing crisis happening, but it's not exactly a new crisis in my world.

this too shall pass. my housing guardian angel has FOR SURE worked their share over overtime the last 24 years and has yet to fail. i'm absolutely terrified of what the next few months will look like as the nationwide eviction moratorium is fought over in court- both for what i means personally and nationally. i can't even wrap my head around what it will look like when MILLIONS, of people are suddenly not just without a home but without the ability to GET a home. once you have an eviction on your record renting is nearly impossible. add on top moving cost, first/last/deposit, rental requirements x3.5 rent: income ratios, no pets...

ok...don't get distracted by an anxiety spiral self. stay on point.

HOUSING.

yeah. this is not my first rodeo. and let me tell you this, for a FACT, doesn't matter how many times i've moved, i've NEVER gotten used to it, it ALWAYS sucks, and it is draining on EVERY SINGLE FRONT: financially, emotionally, physically, mentally, time, health...

you know how moving goes- late nights, crap food, sprained ankles, rain/snow leading to colds, so many stupid trips to the store for more tape and more caffeine. fuck. i'm tired just thinking about it.

i got my first apartment in 4/1999.

babies raising babies

it was BEAUTIFUL and brand new. a lovely little two bedroom with a washer and dryer and a dishwasher and a play area. and i was the FIRST one to live there.

but, it was NOT easy to get into.

i was 17 when my kiddo was born: graduated high school in june, had my kiddo in july, turned 18 in september, started community college in october. it was a busy year.

i made a very specific decision when i chose to raise my son. several families had written to ask to adopt and i actually had a family picked out (that is a fascinating story for another day), but i very specifically chose to raise my son. it was a long and hard decision, and part of that was providing for him, on my own. my decision, my responsibility.

i needed to:

get a job

finish college so i could get a better job (running start in HS gave me a head start on my AA)

get my own place

the trick is, when you're 17, you can't sign a lease. and when you don't have a job you can't pay rent.

i was able to get a job doing work study at the community college while taking classes. i qualified for daycare assistance to take care of my kiddo, and, i found a fantastic advocate through rural resources that helped me find my first apartment, a brand new low income apartment complex literally across the street from the city park.

yeah, my housing guardian angel does some WORK.

to get into the apartment however, was my first lesson in learning to work inside the system to work the system, and technicalities matter.

*technically* when i gave birth, my son and i became our own family unit in the eyes of the state. i was covered under my parents insurance, but my son was covered under state insurance. as soon as he was born, it started a parenting plan and child support case with DSHS that made us an official family, and as an official family, we were technically homeless. YES, i was living at home with my mother, not, she was not going to kick me out, but i needed out. i NEEDED to be my own family.

if you are, indeed homeless, you need to show that you have used the resources available to you, to show that you deserve their help.

getting help from the state is a hard lesson in letting go of your ego. there's nothing like proving to people, over and over and over how poor you are and that you really do need help and you really don't have any money or any back up plan and yeah, your car is worth money but you can't sell it because you need it to get to work. humiliating and degrading and all the motherfuckers that think people are just making a living off "the system" have never had to be in the system. it is MISERABLE. having to prove you're poor, when you LIVE it every single day...it makes you question EVERYTHING. then when you learn later in life you have been living with massive anxiety FOREVER which amplifies everything...getting off track again.

you do what you need to do to get the help you need.

it was suggested to me that if i spent a night in the homeless shelter, it would help move my application to the top of the pile for assistance.

the homeless shelter in the town where i lived was an old house in the "bad" section of town (according to my evangelical mother). it was next to a known pot grow house in an older section of town. it was pretty run down and completely empty. there was a TV with aluminum gum wrappers on the antenna on a TV tray in the middle of the living room with a metal lawn chair. the second story was completely empty. i wore several layers, took a sleeping bag and sat in that metal chair WIDE AWAKE all night. i was TERRIFIED, alone in the dark in this strange empty house. the worker signed my in at 5 in the evening and i counted every second til 8 the next morning when i could sign out.

but it worked. i got approved for assistance and between that, my financial aid, and my work study i was able to get into my first apartment.

i stayed there until heading to EWU to continue college for my BA (financial aid covered tuition, 3 months rent and books each quarter, i worked part time and work study to cover the rest).

my son (eventually sons) and i ended up moving so many times after that...

i went to college, then got a different apartment at college, then got married, separated (the day the sun stood still: moved a full townhouse on zero notice in less than 8 hours while he was at work while 3 months pregnant), then moved back in together, then moved out. for good.

i thought it was hard to find an apartment at 17 with one baby?

finding an apartment at 23 with 2 kiddos coming out of a domestic violence marriage in a small town?

i honestly thought i was going to die- for a few reasons.

i had to be EXTREMELY careful who i even talked to about renting. in a small town everyone knows everyone and if a wife is suddenly asking about an apartment without her husband...word travels fast. and if you even MENTION the words "domestic violence" on the phone landlords instantly hang up on you.

on december 13, 2003 i was able to move into apartment 13. i found a landlord...mccurdy...i said "domestic violence" and he said HOW CAN I HELP. i cried on the phone. my domestic violence advocate was able to help me get approved for a housing grant- i was one of two grants approved for the TIBRA/THOR program for domestic violence assistance.

ONE. OF. TWO.

to this day i still don't know...like...was it a real program? i've tried to research it since then and can't find records of the program. but it paid half my rent for 6 months until i was able to get on my feet and get things sorted with the divorce and get financially stable. they told me i was approved for a full year, but i told them it worked. it did what it was supposed to do. it got me out and got me stable. use it for another person. i don't need them any more, and then they'll be available for someone else to be able to get out and be safe and start over. save another family.

wasn't i adorably naive at 23?

silly child. that isn't how government assistance works.

i'll never forget the social worker who just stared at me then laughed the first time i went in with all my receipts and a balanced checkbook ledger for my first food stamp review.

SHE. LAUGHED.

don't you want to check my receipts? make sure all the numbers match? make sure i'm buying approved/healthy foods?

oh sweet silly child.

but i was approved for a domestic violence housing grant, i was able to move, get the restraining order served, and get away. he left to plow the snow at the fire department in the morning, my mother took my kids, and my friends pulled in the driveway with a uhaul. i took only what was mine and got the fuck out. 

he came home at one point and asked if we could go somewhere to talk. the only thing i heard was my domestic violence advocate telling me: once he knows you're leaving that's it. there's nothing left to lose. that's when women die. do not go anywhere alone with him. do not go anywhere alone with him. do not go anywhere alone with him.

she saved my life.

i was lucky. i moved out by 4 pm and his girlfriend had moved in by 8.

he was distracted and glad to be rid of me. he wanted his dirtbikes back, that was the only thing he was mad about. his dirtbikes and the 4 wheeler. 

i was lucky. i was able to get a housing grant. find a landlord willing to help. get away. my work moved me to full time after that and after a few years i was able to transfer to the corporate office and move to spokane.

well, it wasn't *quite* that simple.

i had tuned in my 2 weeks notice at my corporate job because i found out my manager was intentionally blocking my career by not turning in my applications for job transfers because he didn't think i was ready to move forward. i was 23, had worked for this company since 19. i had gone to college, married, divorced, and my boss thought i wasn't ready for the challenge of the corporate office. yes, that's literally what he told me when he sat in my office and accused me of blackmail because as part of my exit interview i let HR know i was concerned he was assigning contract work without going through the required bid process. i stood my ground, stood by my two week notice. i deserved a chance to advance my career. i deserved the change to try at least. and what he was doing with contracts was illegal. i stand by every part of my decision.

however...i had no clue what to do. it was december, i didn't have another job lined up, i just..jumped.

about a week later, i was contacted by my company, and, suddenly, one of the jobs i had applied for opened back up BUT i had to be able to start the first of the year. in spokane.

two weeks.

i had 2 weeks to find a house, pack, move, DURING THE HOLIDAY, with 2 kids, transfer schools (pre-k specialized IPE and elementary school), and show up to the corporate office first thing January 2, 2007.

that last week of december between driving an hour back and forth to meet with landlords and look at places on the weekend, as i was able to "reactivate" my employment and use PTO to cover days between the paid holidays, get everything packed, and then i was notified of an officer involved shooting in seattle.

two officers with their FTO (trainees) had responded to complaints at a house party. one of the officers was shot during the interaction and died.

i waited for about 12 hours to find out if it was my brother or his partner.

my brother (and his trainee) and his partner (and his trainee) flipped a coin to see who would talk to people inside and who would talk to people outside. the office inside was shot in the back while leaving. his trainee shot and killed the suspect.

the news didn't identify the officer but talked about his young widow with a young son. in 2007 my nephew was 2.

the flip of a coin saved my brother's life but cost another his. my brother and his partner had gone through academy together. gotten married at the same time. had kiddos at the same time. but my brother got to live that day.

that was a REALLY long way to say: i didn't get much packing done for a few precious days, but i did it. i found a great little house less than a mile from the corporate office. it was blocks from an elementary school and a wonderful babysitter/home daycare provider. i was able to have a friend move to town and work as a live in nanny for a little bit while we settled in (my first failed attempt at being a roommate). it had a great fenced back yard with a swing set and a massive tree and vines all over the fence and the sweetest young couple neighbors. the owner lived in seattle and had bought it planning to move to town with his family but for some reason it fell through. it was a nice 2 bedroom/1 bath with 2 unfinished rooms in the basement and an upstairs living room and a large family room space downstairs. it was a great house. it was perfect. so close to school and work and daycare and a grocery store. *slightly* haunted, but what in spokane isn't?

one day in february of 2009 i got a call from the landlord asking if i would be interested in buying the property. i NEVER, EVER had the desire to own a home. EVER. renting was my jam. fuck yeah i'll mow the lawn and keep it looking beautiful and take fantastic care of it and stay there FOREVER. but YOU deal with the roof and the furnace and the water heater.

so, no, i wasn't interested in purchasing...why?

i had been paying rent. the landlord had been paying the owner. the owner had not been paying the mortgage.

i had 14 days to find another place to live before it went to auction as default repossession.

i am NOT lying when i say my housing guardian has worked straight up miracles over the years.

i was able to find a city owned surplus property on craigslist and move in right away. withing DAYS of getting everything moved out there was a notice of default stapled to the front door of the house.

the city house was...for sure a surplus home. it was turn of the century, lead pane windows, plumbing installed well after the home was built. it had a creepy attic and a creepier basement. one tiny bathroom where i could pee, shave my legs and brush my teeth at the same time.

but it was beautiful in a way. it has these high ceilings and a formal parlour and the original stained glass. that house holds such a weird chunk of time in my memory. one of those weird gaps of time you can't really account for. we didn't stay there long; by august we were moving up to a 2 bedroom on the south hill. the city turned out to not be the greatest landlord. i was honestly surprised. i really did think the city would appreciate a good tenant wanting to improve surplus property and keep it up. oops. my bad.

i really, really am a slow learner when it comes to how the government works.

surplus property means: no one wants it but they don't know what the fuck to do with it, so see if you can make a couple bucks renting it but don't waste any money on it because we'll probably just tear it down in a few years anyway.

i know this now. i have updated my dictionary accordingly.

the place on the south hill...holy jesus it was a moment to breathe, even if in the midst of storm.

august of 2009, the week i was moving in, was the week my oldest son was attending the funeral of his stepmother and infant brother. at the same time, my younger brother had been in a traumatic accident and was in a medically induced coma with a portion of his skull removed until the swelling could go down.

august and i have had issues for a few years. it fights dirty. really. really dirty.

i don't even really remember how i ended up moving. i remember it was hot and dry and friends, and trucks and too many trips because everything was a mess and falling apart but i HAD to move. school was going to be starting and i had to make sure to get them both settled into bus or drop off or carpool and still work. but everyone was dying and everything was falling apart.

but we did it.

i don't know how we did it.

that was the 11th or 12th my oldest kiddo had made at that point. we literally had boxes that we kept in storage with what to pack already written on them. keep the boxes, we'll be using them again before we know it.

with one kiddo on the spectrum, a personality quirk that makes change NOT the most fun experience, and a kiddo who has been through it ALL with me...housing was hard.

i was WELL aware of the stigma around having single mothers as a renter. i worked my ass off to NEVER be later on rent. i had excel spreadsheet and graphs and charts tracking my budget to the penny every month, i made sure we were good neighbors. my kids weren't too loud if we lived on the second floor, we didn't ruin the grass if we lived on the main floor. we were polite to even the mean neighbors. always take care of the little things yourself. never bother management unless you HAVE to. figure out how to make it work. a few yards of fabric and a sewing machine worked magic many a time. keep the yard up. make sure there's not a lot of toys left out. NEVER have a reason for the police to stop by. NEVER, EVER, be even a day late with rent. never question the lease. sign whatever they hand you. keep your credit good. it was a LOT over the years.

but the south hill space was a good space. it was a sturdy brick apartment. it had a cute fireplace. MASSIVE closets. good sized bedroom for the boys to share (two bedroom was affordable, three bedroom impossible, they could share for a few more years before puberty). there were good people. good friends. good memories there. i got rid of the last of my divorce furniture there. i bought a beautiful (way too big for the space) dining room table and chairs AND a sectional couch. LIVING THAT HIGH LIFE. a new sectional couch. whaaaaaaa???? you know the one. the multi-tonal beige to brown square microfiber/leather one that was in EVERY furniture store in 2010. that's right. i had fancy furniture. in a nice apartment. ON THE SOUTH HILL.

after the storm of losing tyra and roman and then my brother that october, it was a good apartment. it felt sturdy. we had GREAT neighbors. a nice lawn with massive trees. it was a block off the main street. my oldest could carpool to school, my youngest was a drop off on the way to work, i picked them both up after work at daycare.

we had a good routine there for a minute.

the corporate job was holding steady. boring, but steady. it paid well. i had good insurance. benefits. retirement. 401K. seniority, and my rent was always covered without question.

that risk of turning in my notice years before with NO IDEA of how or what i was going to do to take care of my kids had really stuck with me. i was lucky. a few hiccups, but i had landed on my feet thus far. this place was good. stable. i loved that south hill apartment.

then 2010 happened.

after my dad passed, i had this inheritance money, REAL MONEY, for the first time in my life, and no idea what to do with it.

for YEARS, my dad had always said: "i wish i could just buy you a house and take care of you."

well, he did. just in a really unusual way.

i did NOT want to buy a house. it was not in my plan. i loved that south hill apartment.

but, i mean, i had this money, and isn't that what you're supposed to do with inheritance money?

it seemed like the right move at the time.

i made a cash offer on a house the day it was slated to be auctioned as a VA loan repossession.

the full circle irony of life does not escape me.

i was able to buy the house, cash, with the inheritance from my dad dying in a house fire.

again, the full circle irony of life does not escape me.

 fuck that house.

dad, i love you. i love that you wanted to take care of me. i love you for wanting to provide for me.

but fuck that house.

i tried to finish the projects that had been abandoned by the former owner (their loan money had run out and they couldn't finish flipping it and it had gone to auction).

i needed to move the washer and dryer out of the kitchen, into the downstairs bathroom, which needed redone anyway. then i could finish the kitchen. then someone my mother knew could refinish the (original douglas fir) wood floors for me. but oops, he fucked up and there's not enough wood left to refinish them again. you need to replace all the floors. oh, and the front porch needs redone. and the garage door won't open, so you can't use the garage at all. you need to build a foundation under the garage before the door can be repaired. and by the way there's red mold that grows on the walls, even through killz, that looks like blood splatter. and there's lathe and plaster. and knob and tube wiring. and abandoned underground sprinklers. and mice. holy fuck the mice are impossible to get rid of and they are everywhere. well, fuck, there wasn't THAT MUCH dead dad money. now you're completely out of money, and by the way, PROPERTY TAXES.

did you know about property taxes? i mean, i KNEW about them, in theory. they're that thing affects the rate of your mortgage/payments. you know, the thing property owners complain about at election time- the school levy old people hate kids levy money.

UNLESS YOU DON'T HAVE A MORTGAGE.

then suddenly you're out of money and you owe a few thousand dollars to live in the house you bought.

but again, you're out of money because you paid cash for the house. and tried to finish repairs.

oh yeah, and you quit your job while you were doing all this in the middle of what you now recognize to be probably a massive break down after a huge amount of death and trauma and life changes.

property taxes are an asshole.

fuck i hated owning a house. that was the worst...what...7 years? contractors are TERRIBLE. door to door milk men try to sue you. you have to wear socks or get slivers in your feet. nothing ever felt clean. everything felt too big and too small at the same time. every project was dreaded because NOTHING worked the way it needed to. 

owning a home was a TERRIBLE experience for me.

i am for sure meant to be a renter. i dream of just having a steady, quiet little house with a tiny little yard with flowers and plants and a hammock and enough space for stella to get tired playing fetch outside and i will take the absolute best care of it but someone else has to deal with all the bullshit. i want to be able to call someone when the water heater is fucked up and never have to worry about it again. i want to be able to know i paid my  rent, i'm safe. i'm taken care of. i'm respected. my home is valued. i'm valued. i would be fantastic as a long term rent controlled renter. i'd take THE BEST care of a property and help keep the value and make it a solid investment. 

instead i get the place where i am now.

a negligent manager, a management company who blatantly ignores and dismisses concerns for 2 full years. a place where no maintenance is done. money is valued over community, there is no green space. there is no one that cares about making it a nice place to live.

housing should not be this big of a struggle, and i have been one of the LUCKY ones.

the universe has provided for me time and again in ways that are nothing short of a miracle. i did not get this far without help. i am absolutely, blindly, inexplicably LUCKY. the line between landing on my feet and seeing how much i can fit in a suitcase has been beyond razor thin at times, but somehow i've always managed.

i was able, at 18 to find a brand new low income apartment as a single mother first time renter.

i was able, after a traumatic marriage, to find a safe space and financial help. it was a beautiful 2 bedroom apartment on the ground floor so i didn't have to worry about the boys being quiet. there was a courtyard of grass straight out the front door, i could prop the door open and watch the boys play with neighbor kids.

i was able, on 2 weeks notice to find a perfect home, blocks from a new job, blocks from a new school, school, in the middle of winter, during the holidays, in another town.

i was able to buy a home. cash.

as much as i hated owning, NOW I KNOW. how many people ever, EVER get the chance to find out?

housing is scary for me now. i know housing is scary now for a LOT of people. i know that as absolutely blindly lucky as i have been, other have not been.

people deserve a home.

a young teen mother deserves a beautiful new apartment.

a divorced mother of 2 deserves a safe apartment.

people making a once in a lifetime investment deserve to know it was the right choice.

a tenant (renting by force or by choice) deserves rights and protections just as much as any home owner.

EVERYONE deserves the right to safe, fair, clean, stable, affordable housing.

housing should not be this big of a struggle for the MAJORITY of the nation.

people should not have to rely on the hope that they somehow miraculously made it through last time, let's hope that luck holds...

happy father’s day

father’s day is a weird one for me. i love my dad and i miss him, but he never had the chance to BE my dad. spring break and two weeks in the summer with other scattered holidays weren’t much. and i acknowledge that he had his issues. i was well aware he was a life long skirt chaser. i can easily understand and believe that there was verbal and emotional abuse when he was married to my mom. i remember her saying how he used to tell her to go do puzzles because that was all she could handle. there’s a LOT to unpack in a sentence like that. 

my mother remarried, but he was a 20something marine with a history of violence and alcohol abuse- he was quite proud of the story about how he and friends destroyed a bar in DC while on White House assignment and getting sent to Okinawa as a result; remembering the day he got on the boat, the day he got off the boat, and nothing in between. he had a lot of his own issues and no idea how to take on my 11 year old brother and 8 year old me. he demonstrated financial abuse, emotional abuse, sexual abuse, control, lying, shame- not great things.

in total there are 4 generations of absent fathers. my grandmother was disowned for being pregnant before being married in the 40’s. her husband/my mother’s father was killed in a plane accident when my grandmother was 8 months pregnant with my mother. then both my kids dads were mostly absent for various reasons.

i have never known what a dad is. a REAL dad.

HOWEVER.

i DO know what a real dad is. i’ve been able to watch some of the greatest men i know (some virtually, some real) be the most amazing fathers.

i have watched multiple men FIGHT for their kids- years of court at insane costs and ugly custody battles. watching these men never give up, some of them the ENTIRE time i’ve known them…10+ years. to see men FIGHT to be a part of their kids lives. to demand equal time, involvement in decisions. i’ve watched men fight for their daughters to have access to birth control and the right to make decisions for their own bodies. to fight for the same rights for their sons. for access to mental health, a second opinion, the right to choose to be medicated or not.

i have watched the most incredible men make spending time with their kids the priority. dance classes. doctors appointments. play dates. sports. strictly protected/black out time during visitations. dads taking time off work- days or years to spend time with their kids.

dads who don’t “babysit” to give their partner a break but understand that parenting is a partnership. they’re not babysitting, they’re being a parent.

i love seeing dads that are working so hard on their own issues. their own mental and physical health. setting a good example of self care and  asking for help and being real human beings with real feelings.

i love seeing the single dad hair tutorial videos. the married dad tiktok clips. i love seeing proud celebrity dads posting and celebrating their kids.

i did not grow up with a good example of a dad.

but y’all have showed me how many great dads there are.

happy father’s day to all the amazing men in my little bubble of life. i am so proud of all of you. you are changing the world by being there for your kiddos. i love all of you so much for what you’re doing. keep doing it. keep showing up. keep loving. keep accepting. keep fighting for your kids. you’re all amazing.

tater tot casserole

a local restaurant posted a new menu item today: tater tot casserole. their version is: 
cream sauce with sirloin steak, onions, and mushrooms. covered with tater tots and topped with white cheddar and chives.

i laughed, perhaps a little too hard at this.

yes, green bean casserole is funny to me.

well, it is now.

100 years ago (2001) when i was married, it was not quite as funny.

a tater tot casserole was one of the biggest fights of my marriage.

now, while the restaurant version does sound admittedly fancier than mine, mine is solid comfort food: hamburger, cream of chicken soup (i'm allergic to mushrooms), green beans, topped with tater tots.

simple, fast, delicious.

or so i thought.

apparently, some people have VERY STRONG opinions about adding green beans to a tater tot casserole.

VERY STRONG.

yell at you for hours on end about what a failure of a wife, cook, mother, human being you are for putting green beans in the tater tot casserole strong.

absolutely screaming, yelling, furious.

over green beans.

well, as angry as some people get, i get stubborn.

months later when i moved out for the first time, my mother and friends came to help pack and leave (we did it in 4 hours while he was at work for safety).

as my mother was cleaning out my kitchen, she checked the fridge and was HORRIFIED, beyond horrified, to find said casserole STILL IN THE FRIDGE. holy shit the lecture she gave me.

then i told her why it was still there and she quietly placed it back on the shelf and shut the door.

you want to lectured me? rail at me? denounced me for as a terrible mother and housekeeper?

that's fine.

yell at me for never cooking, being a terrible cook when i do, and never taking care of my people?

ok. fine.  

THERE'S THE FUCKING CASSEROLE THAT PROVES OTHERWISE.

EN. FUCKING. JOY.

there's a reason and a purpose for everything i do. EVERYTHING.

even leaving a fucking tater tot casserole in the fridge for months on end.

i'm still not a fan of cooking, all these years later.

and i've made tater tot casserole maybe once in the last 18+ years. 

yes. i'm stubborn. and petty. and i can hold a grudge like a motherfucker.

i know i sometimes pick the wrong battles. i know i can be way too bull headed over the simplest things.

i also know that i will defend myself, stand up for myself. hold my ground.

even over damn green beans in a casserole.

the first time i was raped

 so, if the title wasn't clear enough, this will be about rape.

if you have experienced rape, please be cautious reading this post, please protect yourself and your mental health. some of this things may be triggering or cause flashbacks if you've been through a similar experience.

your safety is the most important.

i've never told this whole story to anyone before. i've told parts of it. but stories deserve to be told in their whole. you can't acknowledge the truth without acknowledging the WHOLE truth. when you leave out or dismiss parts, say they're not as important, it makes that part stay there and hold on still waiting to be seen and heard.

so. here it is. in the whole.

the first time i was raped i was 18 or 19. i don't remember exactly when, i already had my son, but hadn't moved for college yet. it must have been late 1999, early 2000.

my brother had graduated from community college and taken a job as a sheriff deputy a few hours away from where we grew up.

one weekend he invited me to come stay with him and his roommate. a rare weekend away for me, the closest thing to a vacation a single teen mom could get.

the night i stayed, my brother ended up getting called into work, so he got his roommate to agree to take me to dinner so i wouldn't be stuck just sitting in their apartment with nothing to do.

the roommate and i drove and hour over the 4th of july pass for dinner. it was a fairly nice restaurant. i remember it was all wood walls, like, logs of wood, and maroon table cloths. any place with a table cloth was fancy to me.

i had never met my brother's roommate before this. he was a regular dude, early 20's. nothing particularly stood out about him, i don't even remember his name. his dad was the sheriff so that's how he had met my brother and they ended up roommates i guess? never really new how that happened.

the guy was super intense right from the beginning. during dinner the conversation somehow turned to his plans for marriage and how he wanted to get married and settle down right away. it was a LOT. i remember my antennae perking up and being annoyed right away. being a teen mom, i had very quickly come to recognize what i called "white knight syndrome" where guys would try to "save" me or "rescue" me from my perilous plight. it was incredibly insulting. i was in college, had my own apartment, i was raising my son. i didn't need RESCUED. i didn't need SAVED. i wasn't baby daddy hunting to get some guy to take care of me, I WAS TAKING CARE OF ME. 

it had happened a few times before and i already knew very well how angry guys could get when you have to break the news to them that you're not a damsel in distress and you're not particularly interested.

this time was just a little more tricky since we still had to drive an hour back to their apartment FOR THE WEEKEND

i knew how to be polite but not answer questions, change the subject, try to avoid the inevitable awkward conversation of "no, thank you."

by the time we got in the car to head back over the pass, the guy was saying that i was the perfect woman and i was a perfect mother and would make the perfect wife. it was so incredibly uncomfortable. i had known this guy for 2 hours: one driving, one dinner. and he was telling me i would make his perfect wife??

i was creeped the fuck out. i was so uncomfortable but had no other way to get back to my brother's apartment and no way to get home and no way to...anything. i don't even know if i had a cell phone then. or maybe did but it wouldn't have had much reception. there was no uber, no lyft, i had to ride back with this guy so i just tried to keep as quiet as possible.

on the drive back the guy "suddenly remembered" that he had promised friends that were out of town he would feed their dogs for the weekend, it was on the way.

i don't know where we were. we turned off the highway and he drove 20 minutes up a dirt road into the mountains to a cabin.

any alarm bells that had started to go off were quieted when we got to a really nice big cabin/house. lights were on, inside was very nice. very country cabin, big kitchen leading to a great room with a nice couch in front of the fireplace to the left, and a kitchen table/chairs to the right. he went right in, all the alarm bells went away, this was ok. it was a real house. these were real dogs. it was ok.

 i sat down on the couch while he fed the 2 huge dogs, shepards i think, and he offered to pour me a soda (i wasn't 21 yet). it tasted weird to me, but it was a ginger ale and i didn't like the taste anyway.

but it turned. something started to seem odd. he was too familiar with the house, moved around like he was comfortable in it. it was a regular country house. i had several friends that had grown up dirt roads in beautiful cabin homes. i was a city girl through and through. but country homes were always so beautiful and elegant to me. but he was too comfortable...it felt like...like he had home court advantage.

things get hazy from there. i remember starting to feel not right. there was a bedroom to the right of the couch and there was a bed straight ahead as you walked into the room.

i did NOT want to have sex with this guy.

i had *just* had a baby. sex was traumatic and scary and life changing for me. i did NOT want to get pregnant again. i was also still very religious and conservative back then. i was not into casual sex with someone i had JUST met.

also, i didn't like the guy. i had no plans on ever seeing him again, ever. i just wanted to get back to hanging out with my brother for the weekend then home to my baby and work and school.

it didn't go that way though.

i told him no so many times.

i remember "just the tip" and "just a little more" and not much else.

i don't remember leaving that cabin.

i don't remember going back to my brother's apartment.

i don't remember much else of that weekend.

there was a cave in at the mine where the roommate worked and he was stuck underground the whole day, keeping me safe away from him until i left to go home.

i tried to tell my brother.

he assured me his roommate would never do that.

i somehow reasoned that the roommate breaking his leg and being stuck in a landslide was enough of a swift karmic punishment that i should just stuff it down and pretend it never happened.

because i thought i deserved it.

i mean, i was a teen mom. i was damaged goods. i had baggage. i was trash. i had sex outside of marriage before, obviously it meant i was "that way." i was LUCKY someone like him would even take me out to dinner. i was LUCKY someone "didn't mind" that i had a kid already, i was LUCKY someone didn't care that i was damaged goods.

these are the things that lived in my head. these were thing things people whispered that they thought i didn't hear. these are the things the ladies in the church said to try to be reassuring. this is the way my mom treated me. hell, my own brother didn't even believe me. he believed some roommate he'd had for a few months over me, his sister.

i was LUCKY any man was willing to sweep in and rescue me and that very thing infuriated me more than anything.

i've spent a LOT of years with those voices in my head. i was admittedly a bit quick on the eject button any time a date talked about taking care of me. being fiercely independent and PROVING i didn't need someone to take care of me became my main focus.

hell, it still is.

i've been trying to prove to everyone for 20 years that i don't need someone to take care of me. ESPECIALLY with someone who would treat me like that guy did.

well, i did not see that coming.

there's an old writing legend of the story taking a turn even the writer didn't see coming.

what do you know, that's a real thing.

i'm really struggling with control right now. it's been a month of unemployment and i've been on a few interviews but have yet to land anything.

i'm scared. i'm fucking terrified.

and i'm going to have to ask for help.

i'm going to have to say i can't do it on my own.

i knew that was going to be hard because i don't like to give up control, who does?

but it's been more than that. there's a looming sense of failure. there's a fear of needing rescued.

this feeling that saying i need help now somehow means i deserved to be raped then.

whew. that's a hefty one to unpack.

that's what happens when you stuff trauma down for 20 years. i doesn't go away. it just hangs out waiting for you.

i've been carrying that around for 20 years. that feeling of: if i fail it means i deserved it. i should have been grateful. i did need a white knight. i should have been glad someone was willing to tolerate my damaged, less than self.

whew.

but here's the thing.

it doesn't matter how "damaged" i was. it doesn't matter how much "baggage" i came with. it doesn't matter ANY of it. it doesn't matter how lucky some people thought i should feel.

I DID NOT DESERVE TO BE RAPED.

full stop.

i said no. i did NOT want to have sex.

end of discussion.

anything happening NOW, twenty years later, does not change that.

needing help now, in the middle of a global pandemic and record unemployment and record deaths and political and social unrest and unexpected unemployment does not mean i deserved to be raped then.

needing help anywhere between then and now would not have meant i deserved it.

time to let that one go.

worst case scenario game

 one of the best and worst parts of having a writer's brain is the creativity. the imagination. the ability to think of 100 different scenarios and possibilities.

when you're trying to problem solve or trying to find the right words or having a discussion with someone, the ability to see a thousand different possibilities is an amazing thing.

when you're alone, and left to your own devices, however, as with any gift, it can turn into a curse.

there's things in life i'll never have the answers to. dates who have never showed up. people who made vicious comments out of nowhere. communications that have ended without resolution.

when you can think of a million different reasons and plot lines and scenarios, your ability to think of all think of all those possibilities quickly becomes...it's worst case scenario game lightning round.

it's been 10 years since my dad died. national news level died. there were a lot of questions and investigations and a gag order on the case and then it just...went away.

i never found out what happened.

there were so many questions, so many theories, so many different ideas- was it gang activity? was it something related to the governor? was it something to do with the union? was it the guy that had threatened to kill me after he was deported following a traffic stop? was it an accident? was it intentional? what started the fire? how did all three NOT make it out? medical reports didn't match what people were saying. timelines didn't match up.

maybe they all did in the end. maybe there was a completely basic boring answer in a report no one bothered to tell me about. i'll never know.

and when you have a brain like mine, that's hard. it's been a lot of work to not become obsessed or turn into a gerard butler movie.

 

 

 

 

i had to come terms pretty quickly. i didn't have the time or energy to be curious or worry about getting a real answer. i had kids to raise. i had to make sure there were groceries and sports equipment and a "normal life" after a year long campaign of trauma.

it was a LOT dealing with so much death in such a short time. 

suddenly, here i am 10 years later. 

i think the biggest lesson i'm still learning is how to wrangle that worst case scenario mindset.

yes, the ability to create a all the different possibilities and options and choose your own adventure avenues is amazing.

but of all those scenarios and options and paths my mind has wandered down about my personal life, what's going to happen, all the time and energy i've spent worrying and letting anxiety wreak havoc in my mind, NONE. absolutely NONE of them have been true or real. i could have never thought up the path my life has taken in the last 10 years.

i've spent so many hours. SO MANY HOURS. so much energy. so much time worrying. playing the worst case scenario game. 

and i have had so many completely different absolute worst case scenarios happen anyway.

all the worrying and imagining did was take away the energy for when i actually needed it. i was so exhausted worrying about what was going to happen that when something DID happen i was already drained.

this year in particular i think has been a little bit of that for everyone. the news stories are so outrageous and world events are things writers all over are laughing because they know their script or plot with any one of these events would have been rejected as "unbelievable."

i didn't expect to be fired in the middle of a global pandemic for standing up for mental health care because 5+ months of self-isolation mixed with nationwide social unrest due to police brutality led to massive widespread brutality and the government is being dismantled right in front of us and there's not a damn thing any of us can do about it for MONTHS and we just have to...yeah...you get the point.

that is not even a possibility i could have dreamed up 6 months ago.

and yet, here i am, one week in to being unemployed.

i am terrified.

my brain has moments of not being my friend right now.

that worst case scenario lightening round is right there. i've spiraled a few times already.

it's a real quick trip some really, really dark places.

when you start wondering if it would really be so bad to hope maybe you're one of the bad/quick virus cases...it's time to take a moment and step back a little bit.

i'm learning to not listen to that option. that's all it is, one of the thousands of options.

and just as quickly as i can spiral in the positive direction, maybe i'll find a million dollars on the street tomorrow...

but that's wasted energy too.

i'm learning to just take a breath, and do what i can right now.

 

right now i can apply for jobs. right now i can follow up on financial aid paperwork. right now i can have a dance party in my livingroom. right now i can practice yoga and meditation and work on helping my brain be kinder and not do those exhaustive spirals in either direction.

 

i can channel that energy into writing. into creating, but i need to stop letting that energy run me down and dominate my thinking.

funny how it keeps coming back to writing. it always does. you'd think after 40 years on this earth i'd quit fighting the thing that has been a part of me since the beginning. 

BUT, my extremely slow learning curve aside, the point is that i am learning. i am recognizing behaviors that don't work for me anymore. i'm working on changing them.

it's hard. that anxiety spiral is right there. a six shooter on each hip of terrible things, locked, loaded, always ready to go. 

well, isn't that a particularly interesting analogy for someone who does not like guns, at all.

the thing that is the worst for me, my most dangerous behavior, i just compared to an object i strongly regard as dangerous and deadly.

i'm sure a shrink would have a field day with that.

i think it's time to retire from the worst case scenario game, at least personally.

how long have i been saying i'm tired y'all? 

maybe it's time to stop exhausting myself.

maybe it's time to just focus on today. today i can do what i need to do and that is enough.

if you build it...

so.

the world is trash and i hate everything.

but.

the world does keep turning and the sun does keep fucking appearing every morning, so i guess i need to knock the dirt off my boots and just keep fucking going.

so. fine. you fucking win universe.

i'll actually do the thing that i know i'm supposed to do when everything turns to shit: i'll fucking write.

FINE.

i'm so fucking annoyed right now.

fine. i'll do the thing that helps. 

AND WHEN IT WORKS AND IT DOES HELP...

what?

i'll be better?

YEAH. I GET IT.

fine.

i'll fucking write.

so.

the world is shit and i hate everything, and when that happens i like to dream about a better place. shocking, earth shattering information right there.

i'm sure i'm absoluely the only person that does that.

for, well, forever, my dream place has been a little single wide trailer on a little piece of land.

i'm still mad i passed up the opportunity to buy a trailer and a 1/4 plot for $2000 back in 1998 because my mom convinced me it was trashy.

damnit.

i dream about it all the time. a little air stream, a little singlewide. just a little place on a little piece of land. that's it.

having kids, it was never practical. we had to be in town near schools so they could walk home or to daycare while i was at work.

we had THE BEST set up for years when we first moved to spokane- school was 4 blocks one direction, daycare was 4 blocks beyond that, work was less than a mile the other direction and the grocery store was only two blocks past work. it was a DREAM. little stand alone house, fenced back yard, washer and dryer, enough bedrooms that i was able to have a live in nanny/friend for a while.

then the landlord forgot to pay his mortgage and we got kicked out 2 weeks before it went to auction. 

fast forward to now and it's just me.

my studio apartment is tiny and perfect. 

and now tiny house living is a thing.

holy.

fuck.

ya'll, i have a serious pinterest addiction to tiny houses.

i. am. OBSESSED. with tiny house living.

dirty little secret: i applied to go back to community college to get an interior design degree so i can design tiny houses.

long story short i was accepted! yay! but applied to the wrong school that doesn't have the program and now have to start again and then depression and then here we are and i haven't applied again.

BUT.

tiny house living.

omg.

my dream is to buy a trailer park or a piece of land and make a tiny house community.

a tiny house every other lot, the buffer spaces are a shared community garden, a pet area, a shop/garage for oil changes/auto repair/wood working/whatever, one is an open shared yard area, you get the idea.

AND, step further, the intentional community is for kids aging out of the foster system. provide a place for them to learn to build a safe, stable home in an intentional community of shared experience. rent would go toward hiring local people from the community to come in and teach classes available to help the community to learn how to start out a stable adult life. cooking classes, budgeting classes, yoga classes, oil changes, change a tire, how to make doctors appointments, time management, how to apply to jobs, how to interview, basic home repairs...again, you get the idea.

just, a safe place to help fill in some of the gaps that may have been overlooked because i don't think it's any big secret how chaotic and challenging the foster system can be and how some of these kids age out with no where to go.

they say: be the thing you needed.

i needed help when i started out. i was a 17 year old kid with a kid.

i didn't have a lot of room for mistakes.

i could have used a safe place.

so, how amazing would it be to help make that for someone else?

in a gorgeous little trailer park of tiny houses.

so.

there. i did it.

i wrote.

i focused on something that energizes me and excites me.

and i fucking feel better.

ARE YOU HAPPY UNIVERSE?

the world is trash and i hate everything

so. normally when i write i try to not whine, not pity party, not complain without solution, i try to find some silver lining. i try to...i don't know what the fuck i try to do.

i vomit out what's in my brain, but through a filter.

filter is fucking off today.

i fucking hate EVERYTHING.

i fucking LOATHE my job. this isn't the first job i've said that about but this is the worst.

i had a job where the girlfriend of the owner threatened to burn down the building with me inside (she thought i slept with him to get the job. not so much).

i had a job where a coworker would grope my breasts every time he walked by my desk (and the female owner let him apologize by hugging me).

i had a job where i was accused of trying to blackmail the boss AFTER i had already resigned (because i turned him in to HR for illegally bypassing the bidding process for on site contractor work).

i had a job where i listened to coworkers complain about what trash single moms are. the same coworker would go on racist rants about the BLM movement (back during the ferguson protests), LGBTQIA, any minority group.

i had a job where the owner defended a political manifesto stating gays should be killed if they wouldn't convert to being straight.

i had a job where the owner was a literal pimp (it was a furniture store as a cover business).

but this job...holy fuck man. this job is worse than all those. i've been employed a little over 9 months and i dread waking up every day. my entire job is to spend all day talking to comcast, verizon, att, all the nationally recognized WORST customer service platforms. all while corporate is shoving metrics and performance requirements down our throats while in the midst of a pandemic that has us working from home, paying for our own internet and now requiring us to use our personal devices to "help" transition their platform update (with zero compensation). they promise a great insurance package and forget to tell you the deductible is cost prohibitive. they intentionally list their jobs with zero insight into what the *actual* work is, and then require you to be a specialist from your first day on the job (even with zero training) while paying a non-living wage. they have an HR team that pretends to care and want to help and then management that punishes you for speaking out. they have executive leadership telling us we need to make sure to use our vacation time because it costs the company too much money if we don't.

WHERE THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO TAKE A VACATION RIGHT NOW YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKING TWATS?

i dread clocking in every day. i cry on a daily basis because i hate it SO MUCH.

and so i try to find something else. 

i apply to any and every job i might even tangentially be qualified for or be able to learn.

i search every job board i can find on a daily basis.

i go on IN PERSON interviews, during a fucking pandemic, just to never ever hear from a fucking company again.

I RISKED GOING TO AN HVAC COMPANY FOR AN INTERVIEW JUST TO BE GHOSTED.

a fucking HVAC company. their 50 employees are in and out of houses and businesses ALL DAY LONG. and i risked going there for an in person interview just to be fucking treated like i don't fucking exist. just straight up ghosted. "...we'll call you tomorrow either way..." and expect me to fucking believe it.

i've lost a handful of friends since this fucking pandemic bullshit started and i didn't have many to begin with.

i've been isolated for MONTHS with my only human interaction being the curb side pick up orders at target or fred meyer. 

even stella is fucking sick of me.

i have daily thoughts of death again.

my anxiety is off the fucking charts.

i smoke weed constantly to try to calm my thoughts and allow my mind a few minutes of non-terrible death filled thinking only to be told i can't apply for jobs because they drug screen.

i fucking HATE everything.

i'm lonely.

i'm terrified.

i have no one to TALK to and bounce ideas off and stop me when i spiral.

yeah, i can snapchat or text but it isn't the same.

i'm just....

it's bad right now.

july is the start of a few fucking MONTHS for me every year. and i know memories only hold the power we let them. i know we control our own thoughts.

buy july is when tyra and roman died. when steve had his TBI that led to his suicide. july is my mother's and my oldest son's birthday. july leads into august when my dad and anne and christopher died.

i fucking DREAD this time of year. all the milestones.

this year is 10 years since my dad died.

ten fucking years.

what happened in the last 10 years? i had to cut all communication with my mother because she chooses to stay married to a pedophile. both my kids had to leave my home due to violence and threats (and drugs for the younger one). my career has been absolutely destroyed. my finances have been gutted. my mental heath has been absolutely wrecked.

and i know.

I KNOW ALL THE FUCKING THINGS.

i know i have to be the one to change my thinking and my behaviors.

i have to be the one to make things better.

i have to find the positive. i have to find the solutions. i have to...all the self help books. i get it.  i know.

i know if you only focus on the negative, the negative will be all you see.

i know good things have happened. i do have good memories and good experiences. 

but they're fucking few and far between.
 
and i'm so fucking tired.

i've been trying to make things better for 22 years, alone, with no help.

i've done therapy. financial workshops. tried to learn cooking. educated myself. tried new things. searched for better answers. tried every out of the box idea. i've done religion, spirituality. i've meditated and prayed and tried fucking tarot cards.

i have tried for twenty two years to make a better life and here i am.

and i fucking hate it and everything is terrible.

i'm tired of middle aged white dudes fucking up my career.

i'm tired of all ages of dudes fucking up my self worth and self image.

i'm tired of abusive relationships and shitty behaviors.

i'm tired of rape and sexual assault.

i'm tired of body shaming and mocking my intelligence and my beliefs.

i'm fucking tired.

i'm tired of constantly feeling not enough. worthless.

i'm tired of being told over and over it's my fault. it's up to me. i have to make it better.

I'VE BEEN TRYING MY ENTIRE FUCKING LIFE TO MAKE ME BETTER.

and i'm still a fucking pile of shit that gets stepped on and ground down.

i'm tired of being the one trying to sort out and change generational trauma.

i'm fucking tired.

i don't know what else to do.

i don't know what else to try.

i need fucking help.

i need someone to help me process ideas. someone to listen and rell me when i'm being a fucking asshole and when it's fucking valid.

i need someone to hug me and stroke my hair and tell me it will be all right even if it won't be.

i need someone else to worry about the groceries and the bills and the laundry and meals and cleaning.

stella will help with the eating, but she's absolute shit at meal prep.

i fucking hate everything so much.

everything feels like swimming through quicksand with fucking cement shoes right now.

oh, and the world is fucking ending too.

i hate it all. all of it.

i'm so fucking tired.