My shrinky-dink
says that I needed to write out my (numerous) problems because as a
writer, I process things once they are written down. I have difficultly judging things that are free floating in my head. This is what came out last night. I put my thoughts out into an open forum where anyone can read because I believe that a burden shared is a burden halved. Even if no one really comes to read this.
It's
11:45pm and I'm writing. I should be in bed, but I've put this off all day as I didn't
want Jeremiah to see me upset should I lose control of my emotions. Here's what today looked like: I fixed three meals and washed up after
those meals. I folded a load of laundry, did some school work with The Kiddo without him devolving into self-injuring because of an incorrect answer, took him to the park to run out all his pent up nervous energy,
and then got him an Epson salt bath so he could detox from the meds
he is on.
In addition, I wrote a letter to his father.
It took me four hours, sometimes I was interrupted by Jeremiah
and sometimes I surfed around on Facebook and Buzzfeed because I needed
a break from what I was doing.
I was having to swallow my
pride and ask Jeremiah's absent father if he could "out of
the goodness of his heart" do something extra to help out with expenses. I'm embarrassed because I recall a person telling me, "You really should not be dependent on him or child support.
You should be making enough to take care of yourself. You chose this life, not him."
Also yesterday, I started an application for food stamps. And I am
filled with so much shame. "[It's pathetic] that you are living on
handouts and food stamps."
Have you any idea how degraded I
feel? I am doing my best to take care of my son, a child that I never
expected, was scared to have, was afraid that I couldn't love. A child
that has turned my life around.
Jeremiah is a child with special needs. No, he's not in a
wheelchair or is undergoing horrible rounds of chemo. He has an
invisible illness. No one sees him freaking out when I move the dish
drain to the opposite side of the sink. No one sees him screaming when
he encounters bugs or his inability to vacuum because the loud noise
hurts him.
He is a child that is
constantly worried, no matter how much I
try to calm his fears. He always announces when he goes to the
bathroom, can hardly stand to have me out of his sight, who tonight
worried that he had committed a mortal sin. He still won't tell me what
it is that makes him think that because "it's stupid and
embarrassing and I don't know how to say it and never mind I'm just a
stupid idiot." This coming from a child that can give you an accurate synopsis of Hamlet, Macbeth, Romeo and Juliet, and A Winter's Tale.
This is not a child that I can toss into school for 8 hrs a
day while I work 40 hrs. Sure, I would be making more than enough money
to pay all the bills, but at what cost? Him being bullied about his bug
problems? When a friend babysat him last summer while the cicadas were
out, a girl his own age threw dead cicadas at him for an hour. When I
picked him up, he was
twitching and stuttering. He said he wanted to punch her but
knew that you can't hit girls and he was too scared to tell the adults
in charge because "sometimes they yell at their kids and I don't want
them to yell at me."
Maybe I should let him punch himself in the face every time
he messes up a workbook problem while I photocopy memos. His
OCD demands that he do everything
perfectly the first time around. He has trouble making simple decisions,
like what he should eat for breakfast, because he's "afraid of making a
mistake."
So I try to work from home or pick up odd jobs. I probably
spend 75% of the day worrying how much money is in my account, but I can
take solace knowing that Jeremiah is in a safer environment.
So I have to sacrifice my pride and deal with some extra
anxiety to take care of my son. Isn't that what parenthood is about? I do my best to keep him out from knowing about our money issues.
I know as I write this I am saying it for my benefit alone, that I
am trying to reassure myself that I am making the right decision. So
why does it still hurt?
Why do I feel so much shame, disapproval, and
judgements when news reports showcase people like California surfer and aspiring
musician
Jason Greenslate. Greenslate, drives an Escalade and frequents strip clubs, shows how he supports his
beach-bum lifestyle with food stamps, while dismissing the idea of
holding down a regular, steady job. I know I'm not that person.
Media Matters reports:
According to the U.S. Department of Agriculture's (USDA) Food and Nutrition Service, the fraud and waste rate in SNAP is
roughly 1 percent, contrary to recent Fox
claims that the program is rife with fraud.
Unlike Greenslate, 41 percent of food stamp recipients
live "in a household with earnings," and use SNAP benefits to supplement their primary source of income. Furthermore, the USDA
reports that most food stamp recipients stay in the program for only a short period of time:
Half of all new SNAP participants received benefits for 10 months or
less in the mid 2000s, up from 8 months in the early 2000s. Single
parent families and elderly individuals tended to stay in the program
longer than did working poor individuals, childless adults without
disabilities, and non-citizens. Seventy-four percent of new participants
left the program within two years. This is an increase from 71 percent
in the early 1990s.
I work. I pay taxes. But why
do I still feel like a failure in my own eyes?
It's 1:15am and I'm exhausted.
This fucking sucks.
