There was the issue of getting to work and back that was weighing on my mind. How would I manage?
Along the passage of a day, Dill showed up. He drove. I asked if he would be willing to drive me to work and back if I paid him. He seemed all excited about the prospect of his gas being paid. So that in place another nerve that was bothering me relaxed.
This was my first week of true occupancy, in the second month of being at the MM.
Week two I managed to get to work and back with Dill and sometimes Sha along. They were a couple. He drove a small, older model car, and Sha would let me sit in the front. She was pregnant, about 4 months in, and I kept telling her I was more than willing to sit in the back, but my 49 years of age made them feel I should be the one in the front. As sweet as that was, I did take a bit of offense to the fact they saw me as “old”.
The arrangement lasted for a short time. There was a day that I sat and waited, and waited and waited, and it became apparent that my ride was not showing up. I had not a penny in my pocket. Luckily it was a sunny day, so I started to walk. I was too proud to call anyone else to take me home. I figured the 8 km walk would be good for me anyway. However, wearing open sandals and walking on gravel sidewalks was not the most wonderful feeling. An hour and a half later I arrived at my front door with blistered feet and pebbles in my sandals. Being in the retarded mind that I was, I just thought that this journey would allow me to eat more. But the heat was such that I wasn’t hungry.
Home at last, my dogs greeted with me a great desire to take them out. At the time I had a Jack Russell and a Jack Russell/Shih Tzu mix (otherwise dubbed a JackShit). Jenny, the JR, was 13 with still much spirit in her. Rolly was 3.
It was shortly after that that I ended up with severe anxiety and quit my job. The job itself was highly demanding, minimum wage, and between that and the lack of transportation, I couldn’t cope anymore. I guess all the previous challenges in the previous two years along with this pressure did me in. By September I was unemployed, and locked myself in my house, for fear of leaving.
Avoidant Personality Disorder. I like that term. I believe this is what I was suffering from. If it hadn’t been for the many visits from Sha into my home (and bumming cigarettes), I wouldn’t have seen anyone. I hadn’t seen my family since mid-August. I did get some visits from my ex-boyfriend who was trying to rekindle our relationship. He’s for another chapter all together. I call him the M Miester, and anything that occurs that reminds me of his actions, I call that the M Syndrome. Suffice it to say he has the Othello Syndrome, which I will expand on later, but he was company INSIDE my home when I needed it. But to leave for me was difficult. Other than going to the grocery store or the bank when little cheques came in from the government, I remained shielded behind the walls of this absurd little apartment.
At the beginning of September, a new person moved in. That is Spidy. He drove a small, older model yellow car with spiders painted all over it. Spidy moved into the second trailer. He was about 5’8” tall, bald, with tattoos (some homemade). Stocky, kind eyes, but disturbed eyes as well. He sported an unkempt goatee. Spidy and I, however, connected as friends, even if he did look weird. He liked watching movies with me, listening to country music, we would drive around, go shopping together. It was a pleasant friendship, and only a friendship, which I made clear from the start. But what was nice is that I was overcoming my fear of leaving the house in the second week of September. This, however, did not remove my fear of seeing my family. Maybe it was shame, maybe it was, what the doctor described as severe anxiety. Maybe my feeling better were the pills the doctor prescribed. Maybe I was too confused to know. But I had a friend. No strings attached.
Spidy had a strange obsession with skulls, and with spiders (he owned a tarantula), and his trailer reflected this obsession. He was in his late 30’s, divorced with a child he never saw. He had gone through a comma which caused him some issues with memory, and the comma came about through severe diabetes. At times he would share with me how angry he was that he ended up with these “disabilities”. I never knew what to say. He didn’t believe in God, and I do. I can’t explain the plan, the reasons, or anything, I just know my faith pulled me through so much.
During this mid-September I was anticipating the soon to be turning 49. No job, no social assistance because my ex put my children through private school and they saw that as “in-kind support”. That didn’t help me pay my bills, and he didn’t support me in anyway. But that is our system. It’s unfair. For all the ones in the community on welfare and disability insurance, I sat there selling my possessions to pay my rent. And I put out resumes in hope for a less stressful job – from burger flipper, to receptionist, to retail at pet stores. Over qualified, under?? qualified, and really, I believe, just “old”. Doesn’t matter that you feel like 28 years old at 49, are fit and willing, and well educated.. they don’t want you. I couldn’t return to the prison job I had that pushed me over the edge even if they asked me to. The thought nauseated me. So I moved forward, always believing it will be okay. I will get a job. I will be okay, all the while hidden behind my walls.