The Ultimate Loser

I fucked up big time and I can’t go back and change it now. I never should have moved from where I was. After ten months of research and phone calls, I’ve come to find out that nobody has a fucking clue what’s what in any form when it comes to, pretty much, anything. I spent all that time making phone calls to different agencies to find out what I had to do to get what I needed once I got out here. Not one place gave me correct information and now I’m paying for it.

The people within the school district couldn’t give me information that I needed because nobody seemed to have any answers and kept referring me to other people who didn’t have any answers. The pre-school only attends for two-and-a-half hours a day; Dolly will be out of the house for a total of three hours. Nobody bothered to tell me that when I asked. In Independence she was in school for five hours a day. At least I could’ve worked at Quik-Trip or something while she was out of the house. I have less time now than I did then.

The State didn’t tell me everything I needed to know about benefits, either. According to the information I received when I got here I have to be applying for work in order to get benefits; nobody mentioned that when I called – numerous times. The problem is that I still can’t afford daycare. I might qualify for daycare assistance but in order to apply I have to have a job. That’s a big fucking catch-22. I can’t get a job without the daycare assistance, but I can’t get the assistance without having the job. What the fuck?? Plus, nobody bothered to mention to me that the Section 8 voucher wait list was closed indefinitely. I’ll have to make a trip to the Housing Authority to see what other options I have. Let’s just hope I get correct information once I get there and the morons that work there don’t just give me a bunch of bullshit.

I also think I wasted my time getting a fucking Degree in Paralegal Studies. I spent three long years working my ass off for a degree that I can’t use. I graduated last year and won’t be able to even work in the field. I have to get an income generated by doing something else so that I can afford a place to live, then I’ll have to maintain that income to pay the bills and get out of the system. I’ll never have time to find any other work; nor will I have the time to start a business doing paralegal work on a freelance basis. Even if I could I wouldn’t have the money for the research materials. Maybe, if I’d had correct information from the State to begin with, I would have known what I was up against and wouldn’t have bothered to move here.

Zach isn’t doing well with it either and it’s making me regret my decision more and more every day. His behavior with me is out of control to the point that I don’t even want to be in the same room with him. He gets out of control with his anger (and it’s getting worse) then he apologizes and expects everything to be okay again. Later in the day the same shit happens again. This is the exact pattern of an abusive person; and the exact pattern of their dad. Zach hasn’t spoken to Paul since he brought them back and his reasoning is that he didn’t like the way Paul yelled at him one day. When Paul asked about why Zach won’t talk to him, and I responded, he tried to put it all on Zach, even though I knew the truth – Paul doesn’t know I know, though. So, what does Paul do? Yesterday, before their first day of school, Paul called them to wish them luck and I asked Zach to speak to him. He did and, wouldn’t you know it, Paul tells Zach he bought them a new Xbox game (to make up for his mistreatment of Zach). Paul can’t stand having anyone angry with him so he buys their forgiveness. I really wanted to tell Zach why Paul actually bought the game but I figured it’s none of my business.

Regardless, Zach won’t control his anger and I actually had to restrain him tonight and hold him on the floor so he wouldn’t break his bowl. It’s his bowl so I should’ve let him just break it and then deal with only having one; but it was the thought that, next time, it could be something more valuable than a plastic bowl purchased from Dollar General. I should not have to restrain my seven year old because his anger is out of control. I know it’s my fault, too; that’s what makes it worse. Had I just kept them where we were, and maybe just moved to a different area, he probably would’ve been fine. Maybe he would’ve still been treated badly by Paul over a vacation, but it would’ve been a really long time before he had to see Paul again, not just the month that Paul promised them.

I just can’t believe that I actually put faith in myself, and trusted the system to actually help me. I took what people told me and worked with it, rather than questioning every single word they told me – like I usually do. I just wanted a change so badly that I was willing to believe whatever I was told. Again, that’s my fault and not something I can change or take back. I do know that I’ll never trust people again when it comes to them giving me information. I’ll call numerous people asking the same questions over and over until I am completely sure that there is no deviation in the answers. I’ve also lost a lot more faith in the so-called Universe for not steering me in the right direction, and for not stopping me from making such a colossal error in judgment. Apparently, the only one I can count on is me; and, judging by my most recent error, I’m not so sure I can really trust myself to do the right thing anymore. Whatever.

Tomorrow I’ll get up, get the boys off to school, get showered and dressed, and go out searching for housing. That’s the first thing I need to do. Maybe if the kids are in their own place, they’ll settle down a bit and I won’t have to fight with them constantly. It’s doubtful but worth a shot. Besides, it’s a necessity. I’ll just keep hounding people until they give me what I want. They won’t have a choice but to comply, because, if they don’t, they’ll have to listen to me call them constantly day in and day out, whether they like it or not.

I’m tired now, though. I’ve cried until I don’t think I can cry any more, but I’m sure once I stop typing the tears will start all over again. I’ll just have to face it that, regardless of what I want, I’m going to be living in shit for the rest of my life. I just have to hope my kids can do better for themselves than I can do for them. I don’t want them hating their childhoods the way I hate mine. At least I’m still here for them to take out their frustrations; my mom died in 1998 so I can’t even bring up all the bullshit she put me through; I can’t rise above it, either. I guess that’s as it should be, though. My life is a test to see just how much shit I can deal with in one lifetime. I know, lots of other people are worse off then I am; I’m still convinced that I’m destined to be the loser that I am today.

Until next time…peace to all.