Facing Eviction After a Long Bout of Unemployment

Hi everyone,

This isn’t easy for me to write, it’s actually taken several weeks to muster the courage, but I’ve reached a point where I can’t move forward without help. Life has thrown more challenges my way than I can handle alone, and I hope my story resonates enough for you to lend your support.

My name is Angie and this is a story about my lifelong struggles with mental illness.

I was an unwanted child. I was brought into this world unwillingly. Let me just say that I got here just before Roe v Wade was passed. I was reminded daily of how unwanted I was. “I wish you were never born!” “I should’ve put you up for adoption!” There were beatings, harsh words, and other punishments that I don’t care to mention.

I never knew my birth father. It was a big secret that if I asked about it, I was punished. When I was very young, we never stayed in one place for more than 2 years. I was always the new kid in school. Kids would always want to know about you – where you came from. I had no idea. They asked if my father was in the military because we moved so much. I said yes, which is not true. They asked if I was Italian because of my dark hair and blue eyes. I said yes, which I didn’t know if it was true or not. I found it hard to make friends and I was bullied all throughout school. And then at home I’d get bullied some more.

When I got to middle school, we moved again - back to the place where my mother was from. I didn’t know why it was such a hard decision to make being that my grandmother was ill and needed family there to help. My grandmother, the odd duck that she was, was the only person who ever loved me. When I was growing up, I always flew back to spend summers with her. I was happy to be there to take care of her. I was 15 when she passed, and I knew that I no longer had anyone on my side to protect me.

Things became worse at home for me after my grandmother died. My parents kicked me out and I stayed with a friend for several months when I was only 15. I had no money and nowhere to go. I didn’t call the police because I knew I would end up in foster care along with my siblings. My parents eventually let me come back, but I had changed. I was no longer going to put up with the abuse. I told my mother that if she hit me, I was going to hit her back. And one day, I did. I was 20 years old and they kicked me out again with nowhere to go. I had been working and trying to save up for an apartment, but wasn’t ready to move out yet. They didn’t care, so I found a traveling sales job with a magazine crew and I left.

This job was not a safe environment. Just more abuse from different people. But I had nowhere else to go. After 2 years of travelling, I begged for my parents to let me come home (even though I didn’t really want to be there). It took convincing, but eventually they agreed to have me back. That didn’t last long and I found myself scrambling to find a place for myself to stay after they kicked me out again. This time, I was gone for 4 years without speaking to them at all. I wasn’t sure I would ever go back. I had a decent job and had been dating a man seriously for a couple years. Until one day he decided to hit me. Not knowing what to do, I called my parents and they let me come over to be safe from him. Any port in a storm, I guess. It doesn’t make sense, I know. My 20s were reckless and tumultuous to say the least. I made a lot of bad choices just trying to survive. I had never known a place where I was safe and loved aside from my grandmother’s who was no longer here.

My 30s were not a banner decade either. I was struggling to figure out my own identity. I didn’t really have any roots and I didn’t know where I wanted to go or how to get there. I went about trying to be loved in all the wrong ways. More bad choices and abusive relationships. I went to school not really knowing what I wanted to pursue but the availability of online classes had now made college more accessible and flexible. After I graduated with a BS, I worked in my field for a couple years before the recession of 2008 hit us and I was laid off. I never completely recovered from that and found only mediocre jobs after things got going again. My 30s ended up leading me down some very dark paths. I was alone and unsuccessfully navigating life. I cut ties completely with my parents. They never loved me and only made me feel worse about myself and I couldn’t have that in my life anymore.

In my 40s, I had finally matured but still struggled with any real purpose or goals. I had been in survival mode for so long that I didn’t know any other way. I decided to go back to school. A friend suggested I work with a county agency to see if I could get assistance with my mental struggles. They sent me for a psychiatric evaluation to see if I qualified for the service. I was diagnosed with severe depression, severe anxiety, and severe PTSD. I knew I was sad, but had never really considered the extent of my troubles. My unstable employment history left me uninsured for the better part of my adult life, so healthcare of any kind was a luxury. I felt like I finally had a plan and some support. With great difficulty, I finished school again and graduated. The year was 2020. Isn’t that a bitch? Instead of finally starting a career that I actually wanted, I was isolated from the world for a year and a half. I felt helpless and hopeless all over again.

Also in my 40s, I learned my birth father’s name. I never contacted or met him, but I figured out why it was such a hard decision to move back to my mother’s hometown years earlier. I came to discover that I had family there. Father, brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins. All over the place. And I had no clue. I did reach out to the surviving brother and after some period of texting and calling getting to know each other, he traveled to meet me. We spent the evening in a local tavern just chatting and having cocktails, learning about each other’s lives. It was really nice to finally have some connection. We kept in touch for a while, but when the pandemic hit, he just kind of faded out and stopped calling. I’m not one to reach out to people since I’ve been so grandly rejected so many times, so I just left him alone and haven’t heard from him since which makes me sad. I am grateful we had the chance to meet, if only once.

So here I am now, in my 50s. Post pandemic employment has been a hellscape. I’ve had some of the worst work experiences I’ve ever had, and that’s saying a lot. To top it off, my menagerie of mental conditions have now been joined by ADHD and menopause. The ADHD was always there, just never diagnosed properly. It’s certainly added to the complexity of my issues, but at least now I have some clarity as to why things have been this way for me. Pretty much everything I do is a trauma response. I just want to have a peaceful, quiet, stable life. But stability seems like a pipe dream when you’re surrounded by so much chaos and worry.

So why have I started this campaign for myself? Well, I lost my job several months ago and am now facing eviction. Past due bills are piling up. I’ve exhausted all my credit and savings. This is not stability. I’ve applied for so many jobs I’ve lost count and have only had 5 interviews. I have another interview tomorrow actually and I feel pretty good about it. But I can’t put all my eggs into one basket. I fear there’s a bit of ageism at play with my job hunting struggles. I need help. Urgently. Your donations will help me to pay rent, bills, student loans, car insurance and repairs, daily living expenses, and veterinary care for my two beautiful cats who keep me going and are my ultimate comfort and support. I will also use the money for important treatment for my mental conditions. I have been seeking out therapists in my area and even though I have marketplace coverage, I still can’t afford the extensive therapies that I need to heal and get to a better place.

Through all of this, I have started writing a book to tell my story in its entirety and let my voice finally be heard. I’m hoping that this book will be a cathartic form of healing for myself, but also a tale of familiarity for others who are struggling so they know there is hope and they are not alone.

I want to thank you for taking the time to read this. Asking for help is never easy for me and I am humbly grateful for your consideration. I promise to keep you updated of my progress and events as they unfold.

Your support is greatly appreciated.

With gratitude,

Angie