I had a massive - and I mean MASSIVE - meltdown on Thursday night whilst at the grocery, standing in front of a box of Scooby-Doo Mac 'n Cheese. Yes, that's a real product...here's a picture of the ridiculousness...
As I stood in front of dozens of Scooby-Doos grinning at me, my eye fell to the price. $1.37 One dollar and thirty seven cents. One hundred and thirty seven pennies. That's it. Not even the price of a cup of decent coffee. And I couldn't afford to buy even a single box. Not one.
Struck/slapped/crushed by the sudden, absolute realization of precisely how utterly broke I am, I fell off my tenuous perch and fell without net or parachute of any kind, deep, deep into the void. I walked out of the store and into the parking lot, got in V's car, and crashed. I didn't sob, I made not a single noise, I just sat there with the tears rolling down my face, quietly, definitely dying. At one point, my mouth opened and a strangled wail of pure despair issued forth. After that, I couldn't move or speak...I was barely breathing. Somehow, I got home, where I sat silently in my chair...no sound penetrating from within or without. I felt DEAD.
When I was 18, my parents and I went through a Christmas without money. I remember it well, and how depressing the shops with their dazzling array of treasure were. As poor as I was, I had the good sense to step back and really look at what was important about Christmas. As I was absolutely not a Christian (at the time I was practicing Witchcraft - with a decidedly dark bent), I knew it wasn't about their religious portion of the holiday. And I knew that the crass commericalism in ready evidence wasn't what moved me, either. And as I moved through the days of that bleak Christmastime, I finally figured out what was important to me: the lights, the music, the greenery, and the food. Sure, presents are WONderful...I aDORE them, even have a piece of my personality named for its feeling for gifts "The Present Whore," but after that Christmas, I knew they weren't essential for a happy yule, but food and music and pretty lights were.
And here I was, forty years later, unable to buy food. Total, complete, absolute despair set in.
Now it's important that I take a wee break here and defend dear sweet V. He funds our lives at the moment, and he does it very well. But without my financial contribution, we run a mere $20 excess per month. So when we exceed that amount, the only place that can give is the food budget. So, dear reader, I'm trying to make you understand that the onus is not on V to improve this situation, tis decidedly and forthrightly smack atop my shoulders.
But how did it come to this? I mean, having FAR more than enough money is still a vivid memory of my life not that long ago. But then, so is my terrible fall into the abyss, and therein lies the full tale. It's hard to grow when you're hemmoraghing, you know? I spent fifteen plus years bleeding out, in critical care, every day renewing my intent to live. I may even have died some of those days. But now I'm mostly alive again, and ready to LIVE, but. BUT.
*deep sigh*
There's no conclusion to all this. I don't KNOW from where or what the answers are, but I'm wide-freakin' OPEN to all the possibilities. So come on, life, bring it on! I'm ready to participate again, if you'll have me back.
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