The Gods' Sadistic Joke (hey. It's eye catching, no?)

Hey. You guys wanted the story, yes? Be careful what you ask for.

So. I never really learned anything about money growing up. my mother was always broke, my Dad was nonexistant. But when I turned 18, I got harassed immediately by a particular credit card company.

Back int he days before 800 numbers to activate your card, they just sent it to you in the mail without you applying first or anything. The card was ready to go. Wouldn't have mattered, anyway. In this situation, the one using the card was my mother, who had my SSN number and such anyway.

Apparently this company had gotten very vague information about me sold to them from a book club or CD club or something. They had no idea i was only about 16 whent hey sent the card. my mom recognized it was from a credit card company and opened the mail.

She's not a bad lady. Really. She's severely bipolar (my brother and I have since had to sue her for power of attourney and stuff so we could get her admitted for longer than 72 hours at a time). During the time she got this credit card, she was very broke, very desperate, and also undiagnosed so unmedicated. She wasn't going to therapy or anything, because she wasn't concious of a problem. She just went day to day, seeming like a different person each day to her children, but not noticing the changes in her own moods or behaviors.

Myself again: I began working part-time at 16, then went up to full-time at 17. I had to quit regular high school, and enter an Adult Highschool diploma program. A year later, I moved out of state. My mother had flipped out several times at several different jobs. Publically. I couldn't handle her at all anymore, and the only person to take me seriously was a social worke, who felt it was neccessary to remove my younger siblings from the home.

I felt so disgustingly guilty for basically turning my mother in like that, but i thought their jobs were to HELP people like her, not just tear their lives apart. I couldn't live with the humilation of living in a small town where everyone made snide remarks about my "insane" mother, and I couldn't face her knowing her newest trials were my fault (I don't blame myself so much now, but I did then). So I did what any teenager would do.

I ran away.

I lived in an unheated garage paying $150 a week rent just outside of Philadelphia. I worked at a Dunkin' Donuts. I had lied about my age to get the job because I couldn't get a work permit without my mother's signature. the immigrant who owned the store apparently never checked me out. However, after about 6 months the health department shut the location down. I wasn't there for the inspection. I showed up to work a scheduled shift, and there was a sign on the door.

So I ended up being homeless. Then i also found out I owed income taxes because my former boss apparently hadn't actually been paying his taxes, but had been taking them out of my checks. I showed the stubs to a representative from the IRS, and the matter wasn't persued with me further. They really aren't as mean as rich people make them out to be.

Anyway, I went through a whirl wind romance with drugs that lasted about 4 years. Anyone else who has been there has an idea of how much of that 4 years I really remember. My rock bottom wasn't nearly as bad as the stories I've heard from others in recovery. As far as i know, i never robbed anyone, beat anyone, gotten chased down by a dealer I owed money to, stole from friends or family, or prostituted. I did, however, piss a LOT of people off. When I decided to quit, i had totally alienated myself from my family and friends, and none of my druggy friends were good for hanging out with if i wished to maintain my sobriety.So i was all alone.

Then I met my ex. He was sweet, really cuddly, and paid some sort of attention to me. Within a year I was pregnant.

The pregnancy was difficult. I had been working doing remodeling work for almost 2 years. I made pretty decent money by my standards and i liked my work. But my doctor informed me that it appeared that I may have placenta previa (a situation where the placenta covers the cervix, which can mean death to both the fetus and mother if the cervix began to dialate) so i had to go on bed rest. Obviously I had to give up my job. About 4 months later the ultra sound showed that while the placenta was rather low, it wasn't covering the cervix after all, and I was allowed to get off my ever-enlarging tush. I applied for a few jobs, and got hired by a movie rental place. the day after the interview I went into premature labor. The date was about April 14th and the baby wasn't due until the first week of July. Back on bedrest.

Meanwhile, my child's father was having issues of his own. He'd begun drinking heavily, and wasn't going to work. This made the bills and rent unmanageable. On several occassions he said some extremely hurtful things to me. I wanted to leave, but I wasn't in the position. My family wanted nothing to do with me, so i wasn't getting help there. I was totally alienated, and the only person I had was becoming strange to me, and I felt unsafe.

About midnight, two weeks before I was due to have the baby, the sheriff knocked on the door. My boyfriend still wasn't home, and the first thing that went through my mind was that he'd been hurt. But the sheriff informed me that we were being evicted, and that he was there to escort us off the premises. Soon after, my boyfriend pulled up. He'd borrowed a large truck from the furniture delivery company he was working for. He gave me this story about how he'd hidden the eviction from me because he didn't want me stressing out and hurting the baby, and backed it up with "You know how you get."

so we moved into a hotel room. I had the baby while we were still in the hotel room. He was born pretty severely jaundiced, and I had to take him in weekly for treatments with some sort of lamp. When i ran out of money to pay for the treatments, the nurse suggested i just sit outside with him under a tree, so he wasn't directly exposed to the sun, but got enough rays to help. They also decided that his jaundice was caused by a condition I had. Turned out I have Lupus.

He was about 4 months old before we finally found an apartment. The room had cost us roughly $210 a week, and they tried to up the charges when the baby was born. I had a microwave in the room that we'd managed to get from the appartment before the majority of our things were seized (furniture and stuff was going to be sold at auction to help repay some of my boyfriend's debts, but not the rent). I managed to get by on Ramen noodles and Easy Mac for those few months while nursing my son.

Since then my health has been on a downward spiral. I've had to go through chemo and radiation because of blood clots threatening to travel to my heart and lungs. I got urinary tract infections constantly. The stitched from when my son was born tore open several times from activities I didn't consent to.

The majority of my life with my ex was a nightmare. While I was pregnant I had seen some changes in him. I made myself think it was just the stress form the finances and being the only one earning money. He got worse as I got sicker. I made myself believe he'd get better when i got better.

I got better. He didn't. In August of 2004, he came home and grabbed me by my throat, slamming my head into a wall repeatedly as my then 13 month old son looked on. I vaguely remember being let go, and I heard my baby crying. I saw the shadow on the floor of my boyfriend holding my son. I heard him say "We'll call grandpa and never have to see Mommy again."

The next morning I tried to sneak out of the house. See, I had to try to do it carefully, because in our neighborhood he could have bashed my head into the sidewalk and no one would have stepped in or called the cops. So I just got the diaper bag, some ID, and my son's stroller. The plan was that if the jerk woke up, I'd pretend we were just going to the park so the sounds of the baby playing wouldn't wake him.

As I was carrying the stroller and our things outside, he did wake up. I almost froze. I don't know how I managed to get the lie out of my mouth, but I did, and it worked. My muscles were so tight as I tried desperately not to take off running with the baby in the stroller.

The first 5 pay phones I came across were vandalized and didn't work. When i finally found one, I called the police nonemergency number, and I met the cops at the park I said I was taking the baby to.

He was arrested at about 11 am, hauled out in front of the whole neighborhood in his boxers, and had been subdued and cuffed by a lovely female officer. I had been taken to the hospital to get checked out. Turned out I was still suffering the tail ends of a concussion, and had to be treated for inflammation of the tissue in or around my brain.

Then i was informed that if I wanted the charges against my boyfriend to stick, I had to showup to court. Ans he'd be there. Thankfully, the courthouse in that area had a daycare in it. So i didn't have to stand before the judge, next to my ex, shaking and holding the baby.

I got a restraining order, and I discussed various options for housing and such with an advocate from a local Domestic Violence agency. Now, in urban areas, they can't help much. Priority has to be given to clients most at risk, and even then they have to go on a waiting list. The injuries I had sustained from my incident weren't nearly as bad as some of the other women I had met at the courthouse that day. But every one of them I had talked to discribed their own "first incidents" as being sooooo much like mine.Thei intimate partners soundedlike clones of my son's father. I didn't want to have to wait until I had to get my jaw wired shut or worse before i got out. I contacted a bunch of my old druggy friends and found a place to stay with a girl that had actually been through rehab and had also been beaten by her child's father.

He found me. It had never occured to me that he might follow me home from work, but he did. He threw enough of a fit to scare my friend. She told me that it wasn't safe for me there anymore, and it wasn't going to be safe for her as long as I was there. It totally made sense, but I had absolutely no where else to go.

Except back. I spent three more week bouncing from one druggy friend's house to another's. How I managed to stay sober during that time, I have no idea. i guess when your self-preservation instincts regain their strength, and when your motivation for living is strong enough, the urges just don't hit anymore.

Anyway, after three weeks and I ran out of money. I had nothing to eat or feed my son, and had to find a new place to sleep every night. The ex managed to talk one of my friends into trying to "reason" with me. Said I could come back if I'd just apologize for having him arrested. I avoided it for another two weeks. Then I went back.

All was beautiful for the first 2 weeks I was back. Then the first eviction notice for the second apartment got taped to the door. I intercepted this one.

I got beat again that night. But then he called his Dad and asked for help. Arrangements were made for me and my son to move to Wisconsin. I met his family in Kenosha, and ended up in a very small town about 2 hours east of Minneapolis. My sona nd I stayed in a tiny apartment above "city hall" for about 2 weeks before the jerk came to join us. During the next four months I babysat several children to make some money. He drove around visiting friends, and had filled out all of two job applications. Meanwhile, my babysitting money went toward gas, and his father paid the rent, bills, and bought diapers. I got food through a food card the state gave me. then they sent a letter that the food card was getting cut off if he didn't get a job. So he finally got a job. Working nights.

I spent my days surrounded by snow. I couldn't even take the baby out, it was so cold. But I had to keep him really, really quiet, or the Jerk would go into a rampage. One by one my sitting jobs left me. Eventually the Jerk's father found out why, and confronted him. Told him he needed to stop acting like an @$$ befor ehe lost everything. The Jerk then went to work. when he came home, i was on the phone with his sister. he started going off, and she heard it all. I hung up the phone, humiliated. the Jerk was already angry, and my son was going for fridge. The Jerk grabbed him by one arms, and slammed his fist into the 2 year old's back. I grabbed my son away, and then let go just in time to get back handed. i flew backwards, through the cheap door, and down the stairs.

I got up, ran up the stairs, and hugged my son until he stopped crying. The Jerk kept yelling, but I ignored him. After he finally went to bed, i dressed the baby in his snow suit, got my coat, and left the apartment. I had no idea where i was going, I had no money at all, and I thought his family would all side with him.

They didn't. His Dad started over to my house apparently 15 minutes after i hung up on the Jerk's sister. She had called him and told him what she'd overheard on the phone. He didn't see me leave the house, but he saw my tracks in the snow. He said he followed my tracks until he had an idea where I was going and then caught up to me in his car. He and his wife took me several towns away to a shelter. The reported all they knew of the situation, confirming parts of my sotry to the cops. The cops arrested him, but my name wasn't on the lease so i couldn't return to the apartment.

It's now almost 2 years since I got out. I'll forever be greatful to the jerk's family for helping me, and to the shelter that finally gave me an option for getting out. I'm still sober (except on New Years or my borthday, and then I restrict myself to a max of four shots, no drugs). I've obtained my GED, and I'm now in my second year of college. I'm trying to catch up on my debts, but it's hard. I'm a single mother, going to college full-time and working part-time, and my son is being evaluated for Autism. I'm in an apartment, and on housing assistance. I'm seeing a therapist weekly, and I'm in experimental treatment programs that provide my medications for both Lupus and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I still have almost no contact with my family, and very little contact with any of my old druggy friends (though I've been exchanging e-mails with a few that are currently in treatment programs).

I've met an awesome guy. he's about 6 years younger than me, and I met him by interviewing him before having him babysit. So I feel like a little bit of a perv when i think about that. But he's an Education major, and he's awesome with my son, despite his problems. And he treats me like a princess, which is something I've had to get used to. We've been looking into buying a house together, so my son will have the room he needs for all the stuff I have to build to go along with his various therapies. The kid really needs a yard, a puppy, and a swing. But my credit is so bad I can't even get considered for a mortgage with a co-signer. It was looking like at least a year before i could get enough debts paid off to get a loan, and then the teeth my ex cracked finally got infected. I have to have everything on my upper jaw pulled, and the dentures were pretty expensive. That came out of our measely bit of joint savings. So now it's probably going to be 2 or 3 years, because I'm not going to be able to work in sales without teeth, and I won't be getting the dentures for at least 3 months. my place of employment was awesome, though. I got my two weeks paid vacation early, despite not actually qualifying for another month. they're also granting me medical leave, so I'll still have a job when i get back, though i might not get as many hours. I live in a state where they can fire you legally for any reason they want, so my employer making the effort to keep me like this is really touching.

So my life is getting better, albeit slowly. I'm patient (having a very strange and morbid sense of humour probably helps in this area). Meanwhile, I can still keep working at my other part-time job, with the Domestic Violence shelter that helped save my life and that of my son. And also my ex. I was getting pretty desperate during those last few weeks. who knows how this all may have turned out if I hadn't been able to get away, and gotten the help I needed to STAY away?

Now I'm playing catch up with the remnants of my old live(s) and sometimes it feels like i'm still paying for both my mistakes, and the horrors (both of the evictions mentioned earlier are on my credit record, which made it very hard for me to get an apartment). But most of the time it feels really good. I'm doing it mostly on my own. My current (and hopefully permanent) boyfriend helps a lot with my son, and a little bit with emergency money, but for the most part I'm doing it myself. I'm surviving without my ex or drugs. I'm not suicidal or insane (though the latter may be the subject of debate among some circles), and I'm persuing at least part of my dream for my future. For once, I don't really feel like I'm drowning.