Broke

I wish being broke was more romantic.  I wish it inspired me in my creative endeavors, namely: writing.  I wish it felt liberating.  Finally! I've shaken off the yoke of the reliable paycheck!  Alas, this is far from the case.

To clarify, I use the word "broke" because I am lucky enough to have a fiancé who can take care of me.  I have a roof over my head and food to eat, and even Netflix! And if somehow that fiancé were to disappear, I have generous family and friends who would doubtless take me in.  A lot of bad things would have to happen to a lot of good people for my safety net to fray and break completely.  And this is the primary distinction I make between "broke" and "poor".

I'm sure I've written about losing my fulltime job due to chronic health problems in previous posts.  It was quite a blow, but it wasn't all bad.  After all, the job was exacerbating my symptoms and turning me into a sobbing basket-case, and aside from that, I just really really really hated everything about the gig.  After some intense initial turmoil upon losing that job, I secured unemployment and some charity healthcare through Wheaton Franciscan that covered my doctor's visits at 100%.  I even found a somewhat affordable way to purchase my prescriptions through Med Advocates.  There were resources for me where I had feared they would be nothing.  But now, I've exhausted that precious unemployment benefit and my Community Healthcare has expired.  I have applied for the Government Healthcare, but I make too little to afford even the least expensive plan.   I have been informed that I qualify for Badgercare, but it will be months before that is in place for me. 

When unemployment ran out, I understood that working 5 hours per week teaching water aerobics was not going to cut it as far as paying my bills went.  I inquired about picking up some hours at the front desk to supplement my meager income.  For the past month and a half, I've been working a whopping 15 hours/week at the YMCA.  The water exercise classes are generally well-tolerated, but I still have to call for a sub occasionally on high-pain days.  The desk work has been so-so.  The first half of my 4-hour shift is pretty ok, but the last 2 hours get progressively worse pain-wise and with my joints coming out of place.  It becomes difficult to smile and make pleasantries with the members as I find a locker key for them or return their card.  It's such a simple, straightforward job and I feel foolish and pathetic struggling with it.  As the pain escalates it becomes harder and harder to quiet the voice in my head reminding me: "You graduated from college and you are struggling with a minimum wage job meant for high school students.  You need to work these hours to pay your bills, and you are leaving work because of the pain?  Who is going to pay your bills, Tracy? Who?  Dion?  He's already paying for everything.  Can't you just suck it up?  Oh great, you're crying again.  Wonderful.  Everybody has to drop what they're doing and do your job now because you're crying and have to go home."  These thoughts and much worse echo through my head as I trudge to my car and somehow drive home, knowing if I can just get under those covers I can cry myself into the sweet oblivion of sleep.

As I'm writing this I'm saying to myself: This.  THIS is why I don't write anymore.  Because I feel so sad and guilty and worthless that this is all that comes out.  There is no message of hope.  I have nothing particularly interesting to say.  It's all gloom and doom with feelings of guilt for not "counting my blessings" when so many people have it so much worse.

I don't know.  Maybe if I keep writing about the miserable stuff I can type and cry my way to the other side where I can see the entire spectrum of life and humanity.  The bad and the good and every single thing in between.  I'd love there to be gentle nuance and openness to varied voices and perspectives again, not this tunnel-vision of despair.  Because it's not just inaccurate, it's BORING. 
If any of you are still reading this, I ask you to bear with me.  I think there is still something bright and promising inside of me and I'm trying to coax it out.  But it scares real easy.  And I can't really say that I blame it.