trapped

I feel… trapped. Imprisoned. My chains? No, not the children. Not even the husband. Religion? Nope. Gender? Not in the west in 2011. So, why? How can I feel trapped? I have a roof over my head, food in my ample belly. Opportunities that women in other countries can only dream of. How can I feel trapped?

I think to myself that I am limited by my bank account, that I want to get on a boat or a train and see the world, I want my only limits to what I can do, to what my family can do, to be our imaginations. I think I want to grab life by the horns and live it to the absolute fullest and if only I had a few million in the bank, I could.

Other days I don’t want that at all, I want nothing more than a big house in the country, surrounded by fields and to spend my days pottering around my large kitchen, or lounging in my library, reading or writing. Having huge holiday celebrations and family reunions and just…living a good, content, full life.

Alas, both options require money. I am not sure why my life in its current state cannot content me. My children are healthy, intelligent, beautiful. My husband is caring and loyal. Even on the days when the cupboard and the fridge is full, there is plenty of money in the bank account, the bills are paid and my hair is clean and shiny, I still feel…unfulfilled. As if something is missing and I can’t work out what it is. A sense of purpose? Perhaps. Security? Independence? Perhaps.

I feel as if I am living constantly in the house of cards my teenage son constructed this summer, stuck at home with a broken leg and a pack of cards I had just handed him. He had never built one before and even the slightest hint of a breath would send it tumbling to the floor. I can’t get that feeling out of my head. Every day I become more certain that I never will. No matter how successful I might ever become, or how much money amasses in my bank account, no matter what great things my children persue in their lives, I fear that I will never escape that feeling of everything tumbling down around me at the slightest hint of a breath. That no matter how many pills I take or counseling I have, I will never feel happy with myself or my life.

I wonder why this is? Is it because I was unhappy as a child? Bullied incessantly at school and disliked at home? Have I become conditioned to feel this way? Certain that any feeling of happiness or pleasure is a sign of a great wind bearing down on my house of cards. Is it because there is some fundamental glitch in my programming?

I don’t know the answers to these questions, only that as I get older (Hello, 30! See you soon!) they become more pressing, more relevant. I wonder if it is perhaps a part of growing up, and that perhaps I will grow out of it, as indeed I grew out of my “I know everything, nobody can tell me what to do, it’s MY life so fuck off” teenage years.

On the bad days, the ones where for whatever reason I have found myself lying in bed at 11am, sobbing uncontrollably, the black hole in my chest absorbing light and life and threatening to consume every ounce of me, I find myself wanting nothing more then to go home.

“I want to go home.” I sob in to my husband’s chest hair, helpless and small and wishing I could melt into him, not understanding why I’m saying it, why my heart is feeling it. There is nothing left for me there. I think if I were to die suddenly I would not want to be returned there, to travel 6000 miles in a box and be buried so far from the people that love me the most, so why do I long to be back there in my darkest days? Perhaps what is calling to me is the desert which I love so much, the free and open spaces where I could never feel trapped or confined, where I could climb a mountain and watch the sunrise over the peaks and cactus. Even standing on the shores of Great Britain, gazing into the Atlantic Ocean, where there is nothing but sea and sky before me, I feel trapped. An island full of unfamiliar people behind me, a vast inhospitable sea before me.

I wonder if I will ever leave this country again, if I will ever leave behind the feeling of being imprisoned and lost within myself.

Burn Out

A few months ago something started to happen that I wasn’t expecting. I stopped caring about my psychology degree. It was like I had been racing along my degree track, working at furious pace to get my degree next year, really enjoying my two current courses and suddenly ran headlong into a brick wall. I just didn’t care anymore at all. I’d sit and stare at the computer for hours, meaning to write an essay, or do some research and I’d open up a document or log into the search facility only to realize suddenly that at some point I’d switched to facebook and had been staring at that for 20 minutes. I stopped going to the library cold, it’s been two months at least since I’ve been, and I used to go five days a week and spend three hours there studying. I’ve had extensions for my last four assignments and only completed them by staying up and working through the night before and the entire day they were due.

My son had broken his leg and there was the eviction and money worries and of course all the other stuff going on in a family of five and I was finding this feeling of not caring was becoming usual. Poor attitudes or behaviour from my children which I would never normally put up with, I’d shrug my shoulders at. I couldn’t muster up any interest in anything, my kitchen whiteboard had the same information on it for three weeks at one point. And then I started crying. I’d be completely unmoved by anything for days, and then I’d wake up morning feeling like the whole world was crashing down on me and I just wanted to go home and crawl into my own bed 6000 miles away and sob and sob. (Which is funny because my mom sold that bed, which I loved, ages ago) I’d be walking through the grocery store, robotically picking up every piece of junk food there, not even realizing it and occasionally turning to my husband and standing in the middle of the aisle crying as he held me.

I could see that something was wrong, really very wrong so I finally went to my doctor who, obviously, diagnosed me with depression and gave me the British or generic or whatever version of Prozac and told me to take a 2 month extension on all my course work and come back in two weeks. I promised I would. But, you can’t take two month extensions on OU course work, that would put me two months behind on my next two assignments as well, not to mention putting me smack dab in the middle exam revision time. I was afraid that telling the OU would be disastrous- would they insist I drop my courses? Take a sabbatical? Would it delay getting my degree? So, I kept quite. And I didn’t go back to my doctor, because she would ask about the extensions and what would I say?

I took the pills, and after the third week stopped taking them, I don’t know why, it started with just forgetting and I kept on forgetting. Now I feel like I’m back where I was a month ago. Staring at the computer, knowing I have a huge project due, but not able to do anything. Not caring. Knowing I have another assignment due for my other course, but I haven’t even cracked the new books on that one yet. The whiteboard in my kitchen has the same stuff on it that it did last week. I wander through the grocery store, blindly picking up crap, only to be humiliated when I get to the checkout and discover I have tarts, cakes, cookies, makings for chocolate cream pie, and ice cream piled up on the belt.

I’m not sure what this is, perhaps the equivalent of the runners wall. I know I was better after I’d been on the pills for a couple of weeks, so they must have been helping, and I know I need to get back to the doctor and sort it out. But, I’m worried. Am I sabotaging my degree? How will I break through this? Why is it happening? Is it just a temporary wall? Am I truly burned out? Is it just biological- depression, fucked up neurotransmitters in my brain?

I feel awful, and I tear myself down. I’m lazy, not dedicated, irresponsible, not cut out for it. Then I cry, then I just stay away from it. Avoid the computer, the books completely. Then it all starts again. I wish I knew who to talk to about it, I wish I knew someone who had been through a similar time and could hold my hand through it. I feel like I’m throwing my degree away and I can’t stop myself.

Greed and Anger and the cruelty of eviction.

2010 was a hard year for me. 2011 was a chance for things to be better, a fresh start in a new year. Unfortunately, 2011 was doomed from the start. My husband lost his job early on, I was already not working due to valid personal reasons. We missed a months rent, but within two weeks it was sorted and paid in full. Within that time, and after I’d already explained and made a significant partial payment, my landlord had been at the door screaming about eviction in front of my kids. Please keep in mind that by that point we had lived here two years and had never missed a single rent payment. The next month, it was clear we would not be able to pay in full, we prepared for eviction, but our housing benefit came through and while it wouldn’t pay the full amount each month,it would pay most of it, the shortfall being less than £200. The one month back rent was paid, with even the difference paid by us. Technically we were not behind anymore. Yet, our landlord came to us, verbally abused us, called me stupid, and threw an eviction notice in my face and screamed at us about the “condition of the house” (normal ware and tear to the carpets and the crappy to begin with kitchen cupboards, which I have complained about three times). The benefits coming in do not cover even our normal expenses, and we certainly can’t pay the excess rent each month, so I understand his right to evict us.

What infuriates me is his complete unwillingness to work with us for even a few months while I find a job and D gets some training to qualify him for something new. His unwillingness to admit that we are not the months behind with our rent that he has claimed we are to the council and that we can prove it. His abusive and horrible attitude, his coldheartedness. We have three young children, we have lived here without incident for over two years, we are trying to get back on our feet. He is getting his money, every month. Yet, almost every week he turns up and insults and treats us like trash, demands to know when he will get his money (I only assume he means the difference between monthly rent and our benefit) and when we will get out of the house. Threatens to have his guys force the door and get in (to do what? I’m terrified to ask). I point out that any excess rent due once we have vacated he may take out of our £1250 deposit. He has more or less admitted he did not, as the law demands, protect out deposit when we moved in.

We do not have £2000 sitting around for a new deposit so we’ve had to go begging to the council for emergency housing. They insist we stay here until after the date on our notice, until a court order has been gotten by the landlord and bailiffs are standing on our doorstep, only then will the council step in and get us into a new place.

It is hard to write this, to make it public knowledge. I feel ashamed. Like we are awful people who refuse to pay our rent. We aren’t, we’ve paid our rent on time in this house for over two years, and continue to do so. We paid our rent on time in every house we’ve lived in over the last six years. We’ve worked so hard for the last six years to cope with exorbitant rent, utility, transportation food and clothing costs. We buy the cheapest food, the cheapest clothing. I am studying for a degree, taking as many courses as my university will allow each year to finish as soon as possible. (I should point out that it is only this year I have qualified for financial aid, I have paid for all my courses since 2008 out of pocket) My husband is taking courses, 4 different ones, all in different areas, trying to gain qualifications to get a new job.

So, even though I am ashamed, I am also angry. What’s so wrong with taking a slightly smaller amount of rent for six months, or even a year? What’s so wrong with trying to work with good tenants who are struggling but trying to get back on their feet? What gives a landlord the right to be abusive and cruel? Is it greed? Our landlords actions the last few months have shocked us. Previously we would have said he was a good landlord, if not a bit annoying in his tendency to ignore minor (to him) problems. He has shown his true colours with this, lying to the council about our rent payments and the amount of our rent, lying to us, even accusing us of doing damage to the property which he knows is specified in the inspection as pre-existing to our tenancy. To demand we pay money we categorically do not owe, especially when we paid a large deposit which should cover all rent owing on our departure. What gave him the right to spend that money instead of protecting it as he is required to by law?

I feel broken down by this. I am afraid, first and foremost that the council will not come through for us and we will end up living in our car, if it’s not repossessed first! (Though I am being reassured this will not happen) I am afraid the landlord will force his way in and have our things removed before our notice is up, while we sit and wait for the council to help us. He comes here and only wants to deal with my husband, who is soft spoken and will agree to things he shouldn’t just so the landlord won’t scream and swear at him. I have to be the strong one and I don’t feel strong. I have to stand up and say no to this man who is bigger than me and nasty and cruel to me. I have to tell him to go, and point out that he is lying and that he has not done what he is required to by law. I have to instruct my oldest son that he is not to open the door to the landlord if we are not in.

We asked my inlaws if we could move in with them just while we tried to get back on our feet and they refused. Which is their right of course, but when they have three extra bedrooms and we have offered to pay rent and a share of the utilties and buy and prepare our own food and try to be as little nuisciance as possible, I can’t help but feel aggrieved by this.

I try to hide all of this, I don’t want people to know all our problems, or, worse think badly of us, but my blog is the place where I share my feelings and I can’t keep quite about this anymore. We are being forced out, over a measly £150 a month. Never once did he ask why, or how can I help, or how long do you think it will take to get back on your feet? From day one it was lies and insults and “GET OUT.”

Is that right?

Why I play the lottery

Ok, I admit it. I’m poor. Some months things are very fucking difficult. In fact last month, money that I was expecting to come in, didn’t and I couldn’t pay the rent. Which was ironic because Rafe had an expensive birthday party, as well. This only meant that Rafe’s birthday party was paid for before I realized there was going to be a problem with the rent, but sometimes I worry about how things are seen. I try very hard to balance. My kids and I rarely get new clothes, and even then they are George or Primark. They eat very basic lunches that they bring from home. They don’t get any expensive things during the year. Sometimes a weeks worth of dinner will consist of Potato Soup, Mac n cheese, Omelettes, because I can buy the ingedients cheap.

In exchange, I try very hard to make sure they can have at least one paid for extracurricular. That they can have decent birthdays, including parties for milestone years and even occasionally go out to eat. Some years we even get to go on holiday, and it is hard to justify going on holiday vs. plowing money into our debt. But, we take very cheap holidays within England. My mom visited us in 2009 and we took her to Scotland, we had no money, she covered a lot most of the expenses. One year my husband had a life insurance policy mature, and we used some of that money to go on holiday. Last year when I fought a former employer for unfair dismissal, and received a large settlement, I paid a lot of bills, but also used the last bit of the money to take the kids on holiday to Cornwall.  This year, a holiday is very very unlikely. But, while money can be a huge huge burden in our lives, we have also been very lucky. The things we have been lucky enough to do however, are not really a snapshot into our everyday lives.

But, no matter how tight money is I donate regularly to three charities that I feel do very important work, that is bigger than me and my money problems. I also play the lottery. I play the lottery every month, £4-5 a month. Not much, but it’s enough to keep my sudden millionaire hopes alive, and to also make me feel proud and happy when I see things like this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is part of a brand spanking new brilliant park that has just been built in a local woodland area. Where there used to be mud and trees, this park sits. Not more crappy little houses that will cost twice what they’re worth and be unavailable to first time working class buyers. A park. For local kids. This park has a decent climbing wall, huge tubes for climbing through, lots of swinging things, it is great and my kids love it. It must have cost a fortune to build. Did the government fund it? No, of course not, they are to busy trying to fuck the working classes with a 10 foot barge pole while keeping their own kind rich and mighty.

The lottery funded it. I funded it. Me and every other working class sap that pays for a lottery ticket hoping they’ll get those special numbers. In a crappy time, where money is like diamonds, scarce and precious, and we are all worrying about how we are going to pay the rent, and where the money for the next round of school uniforms is going to come from, we can at least say that we funded something of worth. Which is more than those rich white men in Westminster can say.

If you don’t play the lottery, I urge you to consider it. Even if you never win anything, you will know that your money is going to useful projects that will do some good in the community, to the lucky people who win (could be you or me one day!) and to the local retailers who sell the tickets. Which, again, is more than the government can promise for your tax money.

Lottery Funding/Causes

Good news!

I’ve had a debt repayment plan for three years now and as of today- have managed to pay off £1715.17 of.. hmm.. let me see.. um, yep- just under £40,000!!! (About half of which is the husbands)

(That’s $63,000 for you Yanks still in the homeland…)

I mean great- the balances are finally starting to drop (I think the companies have finally stopped adding fees, now. Maybe.) But, WTF? That’s barely anything.

I don’t want to declare bankruptcy, and it’s been a few years now. I think it’s time to start thinking about offering a settlement for these debts. This, of course, requires some sort of access to a decent percentage of £40k, but I think at least it is an option now. Or will be soon, when I have some money.

This debt really had me in a dark place before and right after we started the payment plan. It is truly frightening how quickly it can spiral out of control. Using cash advances from a credit card with a high limit to make the minimum payment for other credits, getting a loan to help pay off the credit cards. At the absolute worst of it, we were buying food and paying bills with credit cards we had paid off with other credit cards. Not great. It happened so quickly, as well. Inside of two years.

I had just moved to England, so I wasn’t working, my husband had a regular steady income and some savings. He also had the high limit credit card, everything looked fine. We didn’t take holidays abroad, or buy flashy things. We just did normal family things.

But, it adds up. I think there was a certain amount of denial as well about how bad it was. And more than once, the bank very helpfully automatically increased our card limit, by thousands.

I hope that within the next few years I (we) will find ourselves free from this debt and able to move on. Having learned a very good lesson, one that I will teach to my kids early, before they find themselves in the same position. I only wish it had been taught to me.

The money demon rears his ugly head

So, the last few weeks I have spent learning how royally fucked I am soon to be. The council decided to sic their bailiff on me after they forgot to update my account with the agreed payments I was making on the agreed dates of the agreed amounts. The bailiff visit, with free threatening police officer, was traumatic but even after admitting it was their mistake, the council would only say that after they had sent the account to the bailiff, they could not get it back. The bailiff was texting me and insisting he come to my house and take an inventory of my belongings and set up an arrangement direct with them. I was freaked out and scared. But no matter how freaked out and scared I ever am I can usually hold my own with bullies, I had great practice in grade school. But, the bailiff was not going to back down, and I knew I needed help. After my 3rd or 10th tearful phone call to the council- sobbing to civil servants while you keep reminding them they fucked up is more effective than sobbing to bailiffs and claiming someone else fucked up- the guy finally gave me a break and told me the Citizens Advice Bureau had the power to freeze the account and get the bailiff off my back. I went and spoke to them that day, which is how we get back to me spending two weeks learning how fucked I am.

I spent two hours with the CAB lady, on my birthday, and she was clearly not impressed with the state of my finances. Or with me, I didn’t really understand what was happening and probably seemed uninterested as opposed to scared to death and confused and trying not to break down into a sobbing heap at her feet. I kept trying to explain that well, yes at this point in time I officially am receiving £800 a month in benefits and yes that is it and yes my outgoings are in excess of £1200 (£2100 if we include rent!) and that’s only because she figured there was no point in continuing listing my expenses. But, that this is all BRAND NEW, I couldn’t quite impress on her. I only quit my job a week ago, well almost two. I’ve still got a paycheck coming. And I’m in the process of applying for other benefits. I haven’t been living like this for ages. (Well, if we ignore the £85 a month I’m paying toward joint £40k+ worth of credit card debt) Also, my husband is still paying the rent and is here visiting every day. I have no idea whats happening, he might move back in if the social worker says it’s ok, and then I’ll have to go around changing things again. It’s very confusing. In the end she was more sympathetic, and made it clear it was inappropriate for the council to sending a bailiff to my house under the circumstances.

I wad glad she was nice at the end, but when I left I felt like…like scum of the earth. Can’t pay my bills, apparently, not working, when she asked me how much I spend on public transportation I looked at her blankly. I’ve only ever taken a bus in this country once, and that was two days before. It cost me £1 and a very nice lady at the bus stop answered all my questions about “TAKING THE BUS”. I tried to explain this to to the CAB lady without looking like an idiot, and I don’t think I succeeded.

I am a control freak. This does not always do me any favors. My husband does not plan ahead well and can’t really manage more than one thing a time. The British are not usually forthcoming with information and I usually end up realizing a conversation has ended and I’m still standing there waiting for the plan of action to unfold. And right now, at this point in time, I have no control over anything, it seems. This is probably why I am taking refuge in painting. I can control applying paint to a stationary object, I can plan it out and prep it and begin and decided on whether another coat is needed and finish when I am happy. Control. In the midst of a hurricane, calm.

Why I am lucky to be a white American…

Me: “…anyway, so since I hadn’t actually been here three years when my three year visa expired, I couldn’t apply for permanent residence and had to apply for an extension to make up the gap. I’ll have to apply for permanent residence this year.”

White British (upper working class) colleague: “Oh, is that expensive?”

Me: “Um. yes. Decidedly so. We’ve spent about £2000 on visas so far. And may well have spent another £2000 by the time we have citizenship.”

WBC: “Well. You know, Erin. If you were a Muslim you could have just come over here for free with 7 kids, get the government to pay for your nice big house and not even have to work!”

Me: “um.” (I KNOW! Imagine a rich, non secular country that allows people from impoverished/corrupt nations who are in danger of being killed or tortured to move there without having to pay astronomical fees they could never afford and then actually giving them a place to live and money to live on when they got there! That really is so moral and disgusting!)

Poor getting poorer….

I applied for a job at McDonalds. And I didn’t get it. Didn’t even get an interview. How does that happen? I’ve seen some of the people that work at McDonald’s. C’mon.

All the jobs available were Full Time, and I had to be honest that I already had a full time job and hopefully that was the only reason. But without knowing for sure, all I can do is wonder. And it kills me. A job at McDonalds should have been a given. It was the way to make up some of the deficits in our income. Our car tax has doubled from last year. (Thanks, Gordon Brown!) Food costs have soared, the cost of real butter went up 15p in the space of 2-3 months and I can’t justify buying it any more, not when the oil/butter blends are 60p less! Gas is hovering between £1.15 and £1.20 a litre. (nothing like a little British taxation, baby!)

Two people working FT jobs. And it’s still not enough. David doing occasional freelance work, still isn’t enough.  And if I can’t even get a 2nd job at McDonalds, what are we going to do?

lay down and die quietly? No fucking way.

I finally logged onto the Open University student website last night and I found out that my course prep and study guides, etc were posted on the 18th July! Which means I should get them this week. I was really excited about it, just because I’m so eager to get started. But when I start thinking about the course, I have to start thinking of the other stuff, paying for it, having time to study, balancing work/life/school, and wondering if it truly is the only way, the best choice.  But, even after all this I was still pretty positive about it. And I went to bed feeling hopeful, for the first time in awhile.

My job is a stressful one. I work in a growing vet practice and my job is, very simply, debt collection. I am the *unofficial* manager of this side of the business, and everything to do with client finance comes to me. As you can imagine this does not make me popular with some clients, and I’ve had my share of nasty phone calls and threats.  Today, I had two. The first was Mr. S. Mr. S was very very angry that I had sent him an invoice for £9 when he had already paid us £8000.  He assured me that I was “useless”, “offensive”, “insulting” and needed “to go back to school”.  He threatened to complain about me to my boss. (the person I work for, collecting this money…hmmm…)

The second was Mrs. M. Mrs. M was not quite so informative, but she was happy to tell me how she had written a letter to said boss, how unhappy she was with this side of the business, and how angry she was.

And after the second call, (which had me in tears, this is not a great time for repeated blows to my confidence and self esteem) I spoke to David and he told me I had to compartmentalize it, and then delete it. And that kind of snapped me out of it. And I realized that if going to school, and getting this degree will ensure I never have to let people assault me like that again, and if it means my kids have a better chance of never having to put up with it, then I don’t care how much it costs, or how long it takes, or how hard it is. It doesnt matter.  I’m sick of being stepped on, fucked over, belittled, cut down. 

So, fuck you. No, not *you*.  Fuck those people who treat me like I’m nothing. Who think it’s ok to insult me. Who want me to believe that I will never be anything but poor, subserviant, useless. Who look down on me.  I’ve done more in my life than a hell of a lot of people will ever do in theirs, and I’m not done. Not by a mile.

everything but.

Keeping positive.

• it’s a beautiful day. Sunny, warm,breezy.
• I’ve lost over 10 lbs.
• We’ve still got a roof over our heads, and money coming in.

I’m trying to keep the other things at bay. £700 water bill, £170 court fine, £500 back council tax, £1300 house deposit, packing, arguing with David, Devon’s ever present attitude, and then the “how did this happen?” A few months ago things were ok. David made a small bundle selling a picture to the nationals, we started the debt management plan and felt positive about it, I felt like were starting to move forward again.

So, I try not to think about it, any of it, unless I have to.  I make phone calls, and set up payment arrangements and ask questions and then I leave it. I move on. I think I am in a place I have never been in all my life.  I can’t really describe it. I just feel that one more tear, one more angry word, one more blow will just tear me apart.

I’ve been sad before, I’ve struggled with depression most of my life, but this…this is so dark. This is so oppressive. I know I can’t crawl into bed and hide from it, but it’s what I want to- desperatley. 

So, I try and not think about it. I think about the party the kids will have in September, once we’ve moved into the new house, and school has started.  I think about starting school in October, and how excited I am. (But not about how we are going to pay for it. Definetly not.) I think about packing. Not what it means, not all that goes with it, just putting things in boxes, arranging them, labelling them, updating the spreadsheet.

I want to wake up one morning, and things will be better. I just need to get there. I have to get there. It’s not an option not to get there. So, we will. We will. We will get there.

I’ve been saying that for a long time, it seems.