Which way, black cat?

I’ve been absent here for a time. I got that job I interviewed for in April. Almost instantly the load of working 40-45 hours a week meant I just couldn’t write anymore. This felt absolutely shitty after such a surge in writing as I’d had here this spring, but I was also thrilled to be making money for the first time in so long!

About two months after starting the job, the friends I had been staying with asked me to leave their home on one week’s notice. I wound up spending a night at my mamaw’s old house, getting sick from the mold and having all kinds of memories of last fall trigger. I called the crisis line of a local women’s shelter that night and was granted a room there the next day. I stayed about four months at the shelter. 

During those four months I healed some, began taking walks on the weekends and doing photography of the decay around my town. I bonded with a couple of the ladies whose stay overlapped mine. 

But I also began to feel a terrifying strain from the combination of working full time and living in a setting where it was super-difficult to get time alone! I could tell breaking down was coming. With quickness. So with quickness I saved up money and busted my ass to secure housing. 

As I was moving out of the shelter, staff kept remarking I didn’t need to feel rushed to move out. I kept lying and saying I did not feel rushed. The truth was, I knew damn well I was rushing: the break down was just over the horizon by that point, and I knew if I didn’t get my own space pronto it would be a long time before I had another chance to do so line up for me!

I moved into my apartment with about a week left of September, and the next day began to have my break down. For 10 days I couldn’t leave the apartment; could barely even look out the window. I was terrified of everything. I couldn’t bear the sound of the bathroom fan; couldn’t bear the feeling of a bath (which I usually love). Could hardly eat. Spent a lot of money ordering pizza because it was the only thing I could fathom eating. Missed six days of work. 

Went back to work October 2, still in breakdown. Worked all day that day. Next day went to work and after two hours I knew that was it. I resigned that day. 

As that day went on, I became increasingly less verbal. Before I would come out of it that night, I almost went non-verbal. 

After that day though, I felt more hope than I had in a long time. I felt as if something amazing was somewhere on the horizon if I’d just keep my eyes open for it. 

Since then I’ve been hired to do freelance news writing for the local paper (awaiting assignments). I made a new friend online who consistently blows my mind with the encouragement and inspiration he offers me. I started seriously writing poetry again & feeling that part of me rise for the first time in ten long years!

Financially I’m at a struggle but I have confidence I’ll somehow work it out without my life crumbling apart as it had before. 

I’m grateful for everything and everywhere I’ve ever been, but I’m also super grateful to be here now. 

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