Or more specifically, I feel like nothing. I feel like I barely exist anymore and I don’t want to feel like this.
I slept until 6:30 pm yesterday. I woke up to the sound of Dylan washing a load of his laundry. Thank God he cooked for us because I don’t think I would have eaten otherwise. I didn’t even make a smoothie yesterday, which is kind of a big deal because I’ve had one almost every day since the last flare-up of my illness 4 years ago.
I have kinda jokingly felt that the nutrition in the smoothies has kept me well. I really do think it might have. And right now I don’t even care.
I did my budget tonight and I am fucked. There’s no other way to put it. I don’t make nearly enough money to survive.
I will be okay when Chloe gets a job (maybe—I have about $9,000 in debt which I can’t pay off on my current schedule.)
My credit score has finally moved from the “fair” category to “good” and I really don’t want to lose that, especially if I’m going to be trying to buy a house with Chloe (who has no credit history at all.) So bankruptcy has to be the last thing on the table.
I have a sizable amount of donations that I’ve received and could almost pay off all my debts but I need to hold on to that donation money to cover my rent, at least until Chloe gets a job.
I can’t help but feel like between me and J, my kids got stuck with the worse of the two parents. I’ve mentioned that to them (but also made it clear that I wasn’t looking for them to compare me to J) and Chloe and Dylan both said that they don’t feel that way. The only way I fall short is in terms of money, which they’ve assured me isn’t my fault.
They’ve also said that they really appreciate that they can talk to me about their feelings. They didn’t say anything negative about J and they never would, but it’s never been a secret that I am more in touch with my feelings and open to talking about theirs than J was. And I’m also paying for Dylan to see a grief counselor, which I am sure that in a similar situation, J would not.
Honestly, that feels like a very small consolation.
I often feel like I don’t want to be here anymore without J. But as pathetic as my financial contribution is, they would be much worse off if I weren’t here and I know that.
I guess I have to keep hanging in here, no matter how bad it gets, because they need me. And I guess that has to count for something.
Someone I follow on Twitter (and donated to) lost her husband to a freak accident a couple of years ago and she’s also on disability. Her husband had much better life insurance than mine and she got to keep his health insurance for over a year. She raised $300,000+ from her GFM account, while I’ve raised a tiny fraction of that. That’s not to shade anyone who’s contributed to mine and I’ve genuinely, deeply appreciated every one who has. But why do some people get so much while mine pales in comparison?
I’m also still so angry at my MIL for not even offering to help. She knows how little I’m living on. She has literally millions of dollars and she can only complain about things like the fact that now that she’s on Medicare, they won’t cover Pap smears anymore now that she’s over 65. Like how much could it really cost to just pay for one herself?
She is used to having Cadillac-level health insurance through her husband and doesn’t know or care about people like us, who had a $10,000 deductible before insurance covered anything. She is the walking picture of entitlement, which is ironic because she rails against “those welfare bums who want everything for free.” Even though she has so much money, she still feels poor.
J once said, when I suggested that his mom might help me, that she was living on a fixed income just like my parents. I happen to know that’s untrue but I just let it go.
I just wish that she gave a single shit about how the kids and I will survive. Right now, even I don’t know how we’ll make it. Every day is a prayer that we won’t become homeless.
In my dreams, the best-case scenario is that I won’t get screwed out of J’s life insurance and can maybe buy a house somewhere. Chloe and Dylan will get jobs and help out, at least for the next two years until I get J’s survivor benefits from social security.
But there are a whole lot of “ifs” in there and I’m not good at living with that much uncertainty. It just leaves this knot in my stomach that won’t go away.