You may have noticed that things have been light over here. Pictures rather than words. I have a good reason. Every time I open a word document, the blog posts fly away in the face of the overwhelming scream coming out of my head. The panic and terror of the new and unknown. The feeling of anger at being MISTRUSTED. The feeling of stupidity at that anger.
In four days I attend the closing of my first house. The past few months have been full of “your finances are ok, but not GREAT.” “Your debt to income ration is really high.” “Don’t spend anything on anything not NEEDED.”
How the fuck do you know what I need? Have you seen my credit score? Have you seen the national average? I’m a fucking golden girl! My debt is laughingly low! Seriously, compare me to my classmates who have done what I have. Who have had the life I have had. Not to brag, but I have been through hell and back with this economy and I have SURVIVED. I have not been completely intact, but I have been scratched not gutted. Judge me when you have judged my peer group! Judge my credit card groceries when you judge my peers credit card LIVES. I have done so much in the three years since I stopped being unemployed, to be judged as harshly as it seems is tough.
They say this shit to everyone. I know. They are not mistrusting me. They are only judging me based on a spreadsheet they have. This does not remove the feeling. This does not remove the anger of putting life on hold to appease a faceless corporation.
There is a prize. There is logic. I need to bring these all together within my cracked little mind. Right now the feelings that surge are barely kept in check. My meds and my logic are trying to drown out the shouting anger and bleak despair that this process has wrought.
In four days my brain will have other things to obsess over. In four days I get to feel nausea over signing page after page of legalese. In five days I get to breath.
In a week I will post a recipe. I will post pictures of a new home. I will paint and buy a desk and a closet system and I will welcome my babies to their own yard.
In two weeks, I will be me again. I hope. I can only hope.