The Most “Wonderful” Time of the Year

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Bah Humbug.

I haven’t felt Christmas-y since 2013. In 2014 I was incredibly pregnant with Squeaks, in 2015 Poke and I had been split up for five months and I was dealing with JI’s behaviour, and this year we don’t have our own home and I don’t have any money to buy new presents for the boys or gifts for anyone else. It sucks. I’m so happy to not be homeless, and I am so happy that I have Squishy in our lives. I got a job and I’m only part time for now, but I am happy to be employed.  Overall, things are fine. Nothing is terrible.

I feel terrible though. JI keeps asking why we haven’t decorated, why there is no tree, why we have no lights. He wants to know if he is going to get a lot of boxes on Christmas morning. This is the second year he has been interested in Christmas, and I feel like I am going to fail him. I know that it is not all about the gifts, but when I have practically nothing to give but some old hand-me-down playsets, I feel like a bad mother.

In addition to feeling badly about not having enough things for the boys, I feel bad for just not being in holiday spirit. I have been trying very hard, but things have been rough around here lately, and I just don’t have it in me to be jolly. I am tired and stressed all the time. I have $40 to last me two weeks. I have no idea when my first paycheck will come. I feel like I am hovering over an abyss that could suck me in at any time. It’s so frustrating. This headache hasn’t gone away for almost a month.

But damn, as happy as I am for the things mentioned earlier, it would be really nice to get a break. I’ve been busting my ass for these kids and my family and our lifestyle for so long, and I have absolutely nothing to show for it. JI tells me that he loves Squishy more than me, and he wishes I would go away. Squeaks went from being a great sleeper to some kind of 3rd shift monster. Very little of the furniture and stuff in the house is mine; I’m simply existing in someone else’s world. It hurts.

There’s nothing to do but carry on, so carry on I shall. Keep smiling, keep being cheerful, fake it til I make it. Right?

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The Knife in my Back

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At the beginning of February, the mothers’ group I belonged to did something amazing for me – they collected $300 and tons and tons of groceries, including personal care items and diapers, for me and my sons. I was shocked and beyond grateful. Nobody had ever done something so nice on such a grand scale before. Yes, I’ve had donations given and friends and family have helped me with bills. On the day these women delivered, my house was literally full, from kitchen to living room, with stuff. I thanked them in our Facebook group over and over for the next several days. I couldn’t believe it happened to me. I used the money to catch up on the utility bills, and with the little bit that was left over, I went out to karaoke one night.

Fast forward about three weeks, and I’m kicked out of the group because two of the three admins have decided that I lied about something menial. Despite giving them proof that I didn’t, they don’t care, and they ban me. I’m shocked. Most of the members are shocked as well, and then I find out that this girl went on a rampage that week that I took off from society and banned a whole bunch of members. So, I didn’t feel so bad. Clearly they are the ones with the problems, and not me. I know I did nothing wrong, and I’m an adult, and I don’t need to prove it to them.

Fast forward another two weeks, and I’ve received my tax return. I paid back my parents, paid the bills current and up through May, gave Poke some money, bought myself a few items of clothing, and got myself a couple of tattoos I’ve been wanting for a very long time. I still have almost 20% of my tax return still sitting in the bank. But here’s what happened: It’s now been about five weeks since those women donated their hard-earned money to my cause, yet someone got wind that I got those tattoos, and they decided that instead of using my own money, I must have used their money to pay for them, to get drunk, and to hire a maid. It doesn’t matter that if I hadn’t gotten that $300 at the beginning of February, I wouldn’t have had electric or gas heat for March, it doesn’t matter that $300 wouldn’t even cover all those things they said I bought, and it doesn’t matter that charity is supposed to be done out of the kindness of your heart without restrictions and expectations.

I was never bullied as a child, and I’ve always been thankful. I had plenty of fodder for which to be bullied, but it never happened. Unfortunately, this left me unprepared for adult life. These women are bullying me hardcore. For almost three days straight they sent me private messages on Facebook, texted me, commented on posts in another mothers’ group and tagged me, and even went so far as to attack me in a public forum on a subject completely unrelated to the situation. It is disgusting. Many, and I mean almost all, of these women claim to be Christians. They talk about loving God and praising Jesus, then turn around and call me a cunt. It’s been incredibly hard on me, even getting to the point where I thought about committing suicide just to get some relief from the emotional pain they were causing me.

Luckily I have real friends I can count on, and when I reached out to them they were there to help me and keep me from going to the dark place. I was able to recover in a matter of hours. I wasn’t going to say anything, but I did, and I’m so glad. They made me realize that there is something seriously wrong with those girls, and that they must truly hate their lives if they need to sit around all day and think about me and my situation. I mean, in the end, I know they’ll never believe me because people would much rather believe the bad than the good. But I know in my heart that I did the right thing, and that’s all that matters.

I wonder what Jesus would think of your behaviour.

Already Getting Trolled!

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So, as you all know, I started a go fund me to try and save the house from being foreclosed on. I discussed this on my website, and within an hour, someone from Poke’s fan club was shitting all over me. They had lots of my personal information so I know it was someone in his life. I really don’t care. They are blinded by their pride.

My thing is, I absolutely think go fund me campaigns are pathetic. I really do. But this is my last resort. My husband fucked up EVERYTHING, refuses to work, doesn’t even want to see his children, etc. This house is in HIS name and he doesn’t even care. Do I want to take charity? NO. But I also don’t want to lose my home either. My kids have had enough fucked up shit happen in their life, being homeless is the last thing they need. It makes me so fucking angry that I am constantly made out to be the bad guy in this situation, when this situation wouldn’t even be happening if it wasn’t for that pathetic human being I call my husband.

The comment suggested I move out, get an apartment, get a “real” job, and “take care of business while my husband gets the mental help he needs”. Clearly Poke has been lying to you, whoever you are, because he was supposed to get the help he needs between July and December. Instead of doing that, he got two different girlfriends, grifted money from his estranged father, and started selling drugs (as well as increased his usage of illegal drugs). He made the choice to not get help, he made the choice to quit FOUR jobs, he made the choice to let his mother talk shit about his child, he made all the choices. I stood by him for years trying to help while he actively self-destructed.

It’s times like this when I’m sorry I didn’t let him commit suicide. It would have been so much easier to deal with his death than to deal with the bullshit he calls life.

Expensive Being Poor

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And the car is off the road but I never had a car. And I pay more for my food ’cause the supermarket’s too far.

It’s expensive being poor because everything costs more, knocking on a closing door, it’s expensive being poor, someone throw me down some crumbs I will eat them off the floor, it’s expensive being poor but I look good when I get desperate.

And the box is on the fritz, it’s a black and white, or was, I tried taking it to bits now the picture’s just a grey fuzz.

It’s expensive being poor because everything costs more, someone pick me off the floor, it’s expensive being poor, how can I live with what I did when the cinema’s six quid? It’s expensive being poor but I look good when I get desperate.

Let the good times roll Into a bottomless hole with job, friends and future my ideal home furniture, let the trumpets sound as my house falls down.

And the dust begins to clear and I’m lying on the ground, and I’m standing on a path in an unknown part of town, and the path leads me away over hills and out of sight, in the blazing sun by day and the hanging moon by night, and I wind up in a place where I never have to count, and I never see the waves as I push my leaking boat out.

It’s expensive being poor because everything hurts more, knocking on a bolted door It’s expensive being poor. Someone throw me down some crumbs I will eat them off the floor, it’s expensive being poor, but I look good when I get desperate.

© TV Smith