Monday, October 5, 2015

Nightmare Inducing Furniture, Routine on Repeat, and Vera

Trigger/Content Warning (TW/CW): this blog post contains mentions of an abusive family and a rapist. Reader discretion is advised.

I should be giddy as fuck for tomorrow: I start training for my first official job (even though it's consistent volunteer service) as a library page (or, assistant) at my synagogue. I should be fucking thrilled that I have made it this far since November 2013.

However, I feel completely sad and heartbroken. Because after 15 months, I haven't changed much in the one thing I need to correct: my spending. The only thing I have learned is how to plan and what to expect down the road (like, for the next 4-6 months).  Nothing against my friends or chosen family members, but I want to pay it back, forward, and sideways so bad I can taste it when I salivate thinking about it.

After trying to get a secured credit card (a credit card where I put in a certain amount, the bank matches that amount, and I use it and pay off the balance every month) failed, the Internet directed me to a site where I can get a payday loan. Like an amateur exotic dancer, I was desperate and applied.

I was about to be free from the payday loan quicksand in September until a couple of things happened. The first thing was that I discovered that my bedroom furniture was subconsciously contributing to my PTSD nightmares (it looks seriously more fucked up on screen). Between overnight babysitting 3 cats and 1 dog back in March and recuperating at a caretakers' residence in September, when I slept at each place: boom! No nightmares.

I decided to experiment with my own bedroom furniture. I cleaned out both the nightstand and the dresser and threw them out. When I went to sleep that night, yep; no nightmares. At least for the first three nights. The nightmares came back the fourth night, and they disappeared again on the fifth night.
So I need to get rid of the bed for mental health reasons (they are just as fucking important as any other health reasons, so there). And because Patience and I have been working somewhat well, I decided to cut myself some slack and ordered a new bed set.

Since I'm a very tiny studio apartment, I am downsizing from a full to a twin. This way, it will give me more extra space to decorate my place space the way I want it, and not how somebody else wants it.

The second thing was when the spark plug in the Madamobile went on the fritz a week after my surgery. Even though the repair was financially manageable on my end, I don't have funds to pay for a major repair, should one come down the line. And for me, that's embarrassing as hell.  I have owned this car for 11 years without a savings pot in case of an emergency.  I'm not happy about that behavior of mine. I want to change that.

Believe it or not, I was going to take personal financial management classes at my bank around the corner (actually, about a mile from where I live) back in July to get my monetary shit together. But then there was this unexpected spa resort retreat I went to for a few days, fucking up my nearly nonexistent routine, and making me miss the classes.

Wow, I must be mad: I have been saying "fuck" a lot on this post. And I should be mad. At myself. For having such horrible spending habits since 1999, several months after I graduated from high school, starting with my first ex-fiancé.

So now, I sit. I'm waiting for a mattress in a box to arrive tomorrow (it was supposed to be delivered on Saturday, but some logistics service couldn't find the apartment number on the address sheet; asshats). I have enough gas for maybe two rounds of visits to and from synagogue. I itch to get rid of my current bed because the last thing I need to see in my dreams are my abusive family, the last paying job I had, and my second ex-fiancé/rapist.

All of my bills are paid in full (with the exception of my three store credit cards; I pay just a few dollars above the minimum payment on time each month. I am going to get them paid off before June of next year when Medicare kicks in, or else I'll be damned).

In a sense, I don't want to be bailed out anymore because that will just enable my bad spending habits.  If I have to sell the car because I need the money, I will do so. I have come to a place where I can pretty much go anywhere and everywhere on the public transit system; it's also hella less expensive than doing the upkeep of a car.

This is my moment of truth: I don't want to live payday to payday anymore. I've had enough. I've bitched about myself regarding this ad nauseum for too got damn long.

Here, I'll shout it with you. Ready?


There. I feel a tadbit better. Not much, but noticeable.

How's this for adjustments?  I am at a place in time where, for the first time, I have what I need. And it's not just materials. I have found peace in staying at home rather than always trying to run away from it.  I am no longer in any physical pain (and I'm down 15 lbs from my all-time highest weight).  I am no longer scared of travelling to the West Side (of Cleveland and Cuyahoga County).  I am now eating more portion controlled meals and less fast food (that is the most shocking part; my cravings for fast food have dropped since the surgery).

Now, I need emotionally-attached personal finance management. That way, I'll be ready to save more and spend wisely when I do secure a part-time paying job (obviously one that doesn't interfere with my SSDI).

Game on, brats.

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