BROKEN BOOTSTRAPS

I despise the term resilience. I hate being told, “Pull yourself up.” I hate it when people who have never experienced long-term poverty assume that its all my fault. I have done everything possible to get out of this situation. I constantly apply for jobs and have been on numerous interviews. I don’t count the number anymore because it’s too depressing. Corporate human resource personnel have informed me that they don’t consider nonprofit work as real employment. I keep being knocked down. I don’t have the strength to get up anymore. My boots are crumbling and there are no straps.

I have cut back expenses to the bare minimum. I cringe spending two dollars. I turned off the heat in the house and shivered during the April cold spells. I’ve sought out help from a nonprofit but their WIA program is pathetic. The Minnesota Workforce Center is under funded and can’t provide a one-on-one counselor to assist. I don’t qualify for a lot of programs because I went to college or because I don’t have kids. I am over 40 and world considers me a has-been but I know that I am much more competent than I was ten years ago.

Poverty is more than just lack of money. It’s about lack of hope, which is far more dangerous. When people lose hope they can become destructive. Fear, pain, depression, and anxiety are the fuel. Poor people either hurt themselves or others because they know that no one cares about them. Why should they care about themselves or others? How dare politicians support the wealthy and let the middle class shrink. It will only lead to societal conflict.

I am not suicidal but I know that my existence doesn’t really matter. Very few people would notice that I am dead. Perhaps, dear reader, you may miss my odd entries but you’d soon find another blogger to fill your time. My family is crappy, my mother is dying, no boyfriend, my friends are busy with their lives, and no one wants to hire me. My cats like me but that is probably only because I feed them.

I just don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve started selling stuff to pay the bills. I can’t refinance at a lower mortgage interest rate because I’m only working part-time. I don’t’ have the money to pay for the closing costs anyway. My options are dwindling along with my hope. I suppose that I should just get rid of all my possessions and sell the house. I am a failure. An old fat ugly loser. Rejected at every turn. I should get rid of it all and disappear. No one would notice.

Waste of Space.
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