Economic Struggles

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I'm sure most of you are like me and wish a money tree would just sprout up in the middle of your home/yard.

Since the likelihood of that happening is pretty slim, I've had to look for ways to make our budget stretch. I'm big on clipping coupons and watching for sales. I've also gotten really into thrift shopping. It's more like a treasure hunt to me, and I'm always excited to see what I can find.

This weekend my fiance and I stopped in at a local thrift store on the way home from a date. We didn't have much time or a clear idea of what we were looking for. Sadly, he didn't find anything that he couldn't live without. 

Me? I struck pay-dirt! I found a novel that I read as a young teen that has always been on my "books to own" list as well as a summery t-shirt dress. 

Finding fun deals makes me happy. A cracked but well loved novel on my bookshelf makes me even happier.

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What's your Happy?

Don't think you have one? Look harder. Something will make you smile today. 

We want to know! 

Share it with the world on your blog and then link up below, tweet it out (hashtag #DOHMonday #WithTheBand) or share it on Facebook. Whatever you want to do, do it. Just find a bit of happy in this Monday! 

One of the best feelings is knowing you can be sure of something.

Last August, my boyfriend and I moved into a tiny apartment in a new part of town. A few weeks later we got a dog.

Because we are young and our finances are still crazy, we accepted a lot of hand me down furniture and whatnot. We had one of those bed frames on wheels that collapses. My father picked it up for about $10. My boyfriend kept his clothes in a Rubbermaid storage container.

Although I was really happy to be living with someone I love completely, my whole life seemed ready to be picked up and moved at any given moment.

That feeling no longer exists.

After recovering from a couple of really big and unfortunate expenses, I finally went out and bought a real bed frame. No more wheels for us! I also got my boyfriend a dresser so he doesn't have to snap his clothes into a box anymore. It opened up a bunch of under the bed storage, so now we can free up some more space where we need it. Honestly, this took care of a lot of anxiety I had been feeling.

We don't live in the biggest or best apartment but it's ours for now, and I want it to feel that way. This was both a tiny and huge step forward for us. A bed frame and dresser doesn't seem like a huge deal, and in the grand scheme of things it's not. But it is a more permanent solution. It recognizes that we're here and we're happy. It even inspired my boyfriend to be more willing to put money into fixing up what we have.

I've never been one to believe that money fixed everything, but in this case it allowed me to feel secure and comfortable. It was a way for me to say that we're here to stay.

And this is all I've ever wanted.

In the course of the last four days, I have read every post on this site (thank you OCD). I was searching for resources regarding mental illness deriving from childhood sexual abuse and Google was kind enough to direct me here.

I've always thought that my issues were inconsequential. That I have had no worse experiences than any other soul on this earth. I've shared some of my experiences with a select few people, and the look on their faces has always puzzled me. This is my life, what is there to be shocked about?

Back on point. Spending these last four days reading about all of your joys, heartaches, pain and recovery has jostled a few memories of my own. Some things are always at the back of my mind, but others have been dredged from the depths.

Let's start with my diagnoses.

I've been diagnosed as Bipolar twice (but I contest it), Anxiety and OCD. The Bipolar was diagnosed during two full fledged breakdowns. The first was after a half-assed suicide attempt during a bad marriage at age 24 and the second during the first five minutes with the WORST PSYCHIATRIST EVER. Seriously. This guy grandly announced I was Bipolar after I mumbled it was a previous diagnosis.

But that's a story for another day.

I feel it's time to finally tell my story. I've avoided seeing this information in print for years. I've carried so much shame, self-blame and self-doubt that my soul is weary. While I'm not yet ready to delve deep into my experiences, this is a good place to start.

I was sexually abused by our 16 year old neighbor and his 15 year old sister somewhere between the ages of two and four.

My parents separated for work for six months and I witnessed my mother's breakdown when I was eight.

When I was fourteen, I had my first suicide attempt which was, thankfully, a rather pathetic one. When I was fifteen I had my first attempt at therapy but I did not say one word for the entire six sessions.

At seventeen I was raped for the first time at gunpoint by a "friend." The same year, one of my best friends committed suicide. I was the last person to speak with him. He told me that he was going to do it, but I did not take him seriously.

I made a second suicide attempt at age nineteen. Swallowed over 400 aspirin and ended up in the ICU for four days. There was some limited therapy to follow but I don't remember much about that. I told my parents at this point about the sexual abuse. It was the worst thing I have ever had to do in my life and 20 years later my mom still cries. It kills me.

When I was 24 I got married for the first time, and at 25 I had my first affair. I also tried to commit suicide for the third time. I was driving my car over 100 MPH on curvy back roads and attempting to run it into something. This landed me in a psychiatric ward for two weeks, with a Bipolar diagnosis. My marriage ended two years later.

At age 28 I was raped a second time by two men while I was drunk and in a foreign country.

When I was 29, I found out I was pregnant and had an abortion. The man that I assumed to be the father threatened to kill me if I even thought about having a baby while the man I am dating tells me that he will leave me if I have this baby. I was wrong. About it all.

I got married for a second time when I was 32, and it took all of three days for it to go to hell. Three years later I began having daily panic attacks, and within two months I am unable to leave the house. I developed paranoia and severe depression. I started seeing the WORST PSYCHIATRIST IN THE WORLD. Because of this man, I lost my job.

Shortly after losing my job, my husband told me that he really never loved me and that he just used me to get our house and the money I made. This does not assist with my recovery. He raped me. I moved back in with my parents.

After three more years, I was finally free of that man. I was broke as hell, and my credit was ruined but I was extremely happy.

Now at age 39, I have been out of work for two months with an injury. I am thankful that I have support, but the depression that started last April has blown up. I feel lost.

There is more, if I only could remember.

Thank you, all of you, for inspiring me to start this.

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Band Back Together has been nominated for Best Group or Community Weblog in the 2013 Bloggies! Visit their site to vote and check out the other categories!

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Relief.

As someone who lives with chronic pain, relief often seems a bit like the leprechaun's fabled pot of gold. It's a nice dream but highly unlikely.

Imagine my surprise, then, to find some welcome relief late last week. 

The manufacturer of my RA medication has a patient assistance program to help patients with low income and no insurance. I've been enrolled in this program since shortly after my diagnosis last year. This last month I had to reapply.

I've been on pins and needles waiting for news. This program saves us close to three thousand dollars a month. That's more than my fiance and I see in six months. 

Friday morning I got the news that I was approved for another year's coverage. 

And so, I'm happy. And relieved.

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What's your Happy?

Don't think you have one? Look harder. Something will make you smile today. 

We want to know! 

Share it with the world on your blog and then link up below, tweet it out (hashtag #DOHMonday #WithTheBand) or share it on Facebook. Whatever you want to do, do it. Just find a bit of happy in this Monday! 

Sometimes the funniest among us are those with the hardest of problems.

This is her story:

I'm pretty good at being the class clown and making people laugh around here. I'm usually able to come up with something positive or an uplifting story when the editors call for lighthearted posts.

So when it feels like life is dark, I have a hard time letting it be known. Of course, when the pain of staying the same outweighs the fear of change, I'll do something different. I'll reach out on Twitter, and sometimes I'll even post about it here with The Band.

It's one of those times.

Sunshine works in construction, which means that there can be great seasonal fluctuations in our household income. This year, we went beyond a fluctuation; the work dried up around Thanksgiving, which means the income went away. Literally, we have had three checks come in since Thanksgiving. Three checks that have not been enough to cover our expenses, much less The Christmas. We tore through the company's meager operating capital to survive the last couple of months.

I'm grateful that Sunshine has rubbed off on me. He firmly believes that the problems that money can solve are the good problems to have (if there is such a thing). See, we can always find a way to bring in more money; so if a problem can be solved by throwing money at it, it's not a bad problem to have. It's the problems that money can't solve that we don't want: health issues, heartbreaks, shit like that.

However, after around two months of being broke, it's starting to get scary. When I say broke, I mean broke. We are floating checks left and right (and the NSF fees for a business checking account make personal account NSF fees look dirt cheap), I am having to do fucking maths at the grocery store, we just put gas for our generator in my car for fuck's sake. We have no idea when the next money might come in, unless you count Sunshine's small quarterly check from the Bureau of Indian Affairs that's not due until the first week in April.

I could sit here and rail against contractors who use undocumented immigrants because they'll do the work for a third of the actual rate (because they don't carry the licenses and insurance coverages we do); I could scream and bitch about contractors that insist you act as their bank and do the work without getting paid for it until THEY get paid; I could gripe about homeowners that want you to rebuild their entire cracked & crumbling fireplace, hearth, and chimney but they don't want to spend more than $400 to do it (yes, somebody actually tried that).

None of that would do any good.

The first six weeks or so of this broke spell wasn't too bad. I've learned in recovery that if I just have faith, we'll be all right. This last couple of weeks, it's been getting harder and harder to stay calm. It's starting to feel like there is a pile of bricks on my chest; it's hard to breathe.

I'm scared, y'all. I'm a little bit angry, which is generally my response to fear or pain. Right now, it doesn't matter how much experience I have that tells me we'll get through this; the human psyche sometimes just does what it does. Right now, what it is doing to me is driving me batshit. And being so broke I have to do maths at the grocery store? Means that there ain't no stash of cookies hiding in the cupboard so I can eat my feelers. I'm stuck with them, which we all know sucks because FEELERS ARE BULLSHIT.

So I'm dumping this shit on y'all.

Because if there's one thing I've learned since I got clean, it's that pain shared is pain lessened. See, when I share my pain with others, it's like each person who I shared it with is now carrying a piece of that burden for me--making my burden easier to bear.

Now, before my sponsor can make me do it, I'm going to go ahead and make a gratitude list. And because you guys are gracious enough to help me carry my burdens, I'm going to share the gratitude list with y'all.

I am grateful for y'all. Y'all can't fix my problem, but y'all hold my hand while I walk through it. I am grateful that, in spite of the fear that grips my heart, some part of my rational mind still knows that this too shall pass. Walking through the fear sucks, but I know from personal experience that eventually I will come out the other side of it okay. Whatever doesn't kill me makes me stronger, right?

I'm grateful that, no matter how bad it gets, I am never alone. I'm grateful that most of you know me well enough to know that I really will get through this; that I am not completely lost in despair, I just need to get it off my chest. I'm grateful that we all know that I am a survivor, and when I sort of forget that y'all don't hesitate to remind me.

I am grateful beyond words that Sunshine spent most of 2012 paying shit off. It leaves us with pretty minimal expenses to have to worry about covering. Thank heaven we no longer have a truck payment, motorcycle insurance, a loan for his jeep, the tire company credit card maxed out, the forklift payment...

I refuse to think about the corporate insurance policies that renew in a couple of months with their monster down payments, I can't do that right now. I just can't. Instead, I have to be grateful that we are in that brief period where we're covered and the policies are paid in full. Denial isn't always a bad thing.

Every decision I ever made in my life was based in fear until I found recovery from my addiction. Today, I am grateful that I can share my fear, and y'all can help me live with faith.

And maybe soon, I'll be able to be the class clown again. I know I could sure use some humor, and I would imagine y'all could too.

Thank you for listening, the Band. Now, I need to go put on my armor and head to the grocery store to do some maths.