Time For A Break...Down

Most of my life hasn’t been easy and living in the homeless shelter was just a part of it, but lately it’s a big part. Whenever someone reads my blog or hears me speak of my experiences there it never fails that they tell me they’re amazed at how strong I was to get through it, and that they don’t think they could’ve made it if they were in the same situation. Most people would make it because we are all stronger than we think we are, especially when it comes to doing what we have to do to keep our families going. However, no matter how strong we are there are times when we just fall apart when the stress gets to be too much. I’m no exception.

We’d been in the shelter for about a week when things started crashing down around me. As positive as I tried to be, I felt myself falling apart and didn’t know how to stop it. I don’t recall what particular event set me off, or if it was even just one thing. So much was going on in our lives that I was having trouble keeping track of what was happening at that moment, much less what I was supposed to do the next day. It was after our dinner hour one evening and the kids were getting on my nerves with constant questions I couldn’t answer and requests I couldn’t fulfill; the new cell phone Sylvia had recently sent me suddenly wasn’t working so I had no means of contact with the outside world, not even access to the Internet so I couldn’t do my housing logs; I was nervous about my up-coming DSS and DOL appointments; and I was still driving the boys to school at that point so my money was running really low.

I was scared I was traumatizing my kids by having us live in the shelter, I was disappointed in myself for not doing more to prevent us from being in the shelter, I had no family in NY and only a couple of friends who were sticking by me, I had no job prospects, I didn’t know any of the people who lived in the shelter with us, and, as I stated in another post, the area where we lived wasn’t the safest place to be by any means. I had so many emotions running through me that I didn’t know how to separate them, but I do know that I was angry, extremely angry, at the circumstances that had led us to where we were, and I was even angrier at the fact that I had let it come to that.

I suffer from PTSD from events that occurred throughout my life and that night I was in serious sensory overload because of it. People talking sounded like they were screaming; the kids’ voices sounded harsh and piercing, even though they weren’t; loud noises sounded like sonic explosions; and every fear I had at that moment was sending me into a panic attack. Suddenly I was so overwhelmed that I went into a full-blown rant.

I started yelling at the kids to leave me alone, I was rifling through my belongings in search of any extra coin or dollar bill I could find even though I knew there was nothing there, I was crying so uncontrollably I didn’t think I’d ever stop, and I was pacing back and forth in our room because I didn’t know what else to do. I was yelling about not having any money, and not being able to feed my kids, and about nobody wanting to help me, and not knowing what to do to fix my problems; yelling and repeating myself over and over. I finally sat on the floor and cried in great convulsive sobs.

Suddenly H appeared at my door, at least I thought it was suddenly; for all I know she could have been standing there the entire time, however long that was. I heard her call my name a couple of times and then she walked into my room and took my hand. She led me into the staff office and talked with me. She gave me some tissue and waited for me to calm down. Her soft voice helped. She was so sweet and understanding, telling me that, while things did seem out of control at the moment, everything would get better.

She said that everyone who enters a homeless shelter has a period of adjustment and that it takes time for everyone to settle into a routine. She told me that the kids would calm down after a while and that my financial problems would straighten out as soon as my cash case was opened by DSS. And she told me that whatever had happened to bring us there was in the past and that I needed to concentrate on the future. I knew she was right; I knew that everything happens for a reason and that it would all work out the way it was supposed to; I knew it, I just didn't feel it. After a while I calmed down, thanked her and returned to my room to put the kids to bed.

Even though I knew everything would be okay I still had trouble sleeping that night. I had to get my phone fixed the next day, if I could, and I still had to drive the boys to school, and then I had to figure out my next step. I woke up still feeling depressed and had a hard time hiding it. I had to take the boys to school late because the AT&T place opened late and I didn’t have enough gas to go to the schools and to AT&T and back to the schools again. The phone became an issue with AT&T; they couldn't help me, I had to go to the place closer to the shelter. So I drove the boys to school and cried as I signed Zach in because I couldn’t hold back my frustration. Crying is my release.

At Ty’s school I was still crying and the lady at the entrance knew me and asked if I wanted to speak to the school counselor, who also knew me. I said I did and she walked me to the counselor’s office. The counselor was more than helpful. She listened to my problems and sprang into action. She allowed me to use her office phone to call Sylvia, even though I had to call long distance, so Sylvia could help me with the cell phone issue; she told me to take the boys out of school for the day even though I’d just dropped them off 45 minutes earlier – she said everyone would understand given the circumstances; and then she followed me to the gas station and filled my van with gas from donated gas cards she was able to get from some sort of fund the school had set up for families in need.

I was more than grateful for all the counselor did for me and I couldn’t thank her enough. I got the boys and headed back toward the shelter to find the AT&T store there to get my phone fixed; which I finally did. Even though I was feeling a bit better with a working phone and gas in my van I was still so unsure of everything else. I couldn’t stand feeling like that, like everything was out of control. I knew it would all eventually turn around for the kids and me, which it did as we all now know, but it took a lot of hard work and drawing on the inner strength I knew I had inside me.

Through it all, though, no matter how strong I seemed, I had, and still have, my bad days just like everybody else. None were or are ever as bad as that day, and I hope I never have another day like that again, but I never know what may happen. What I do know is that even the strongest of people need to break down occasionally just to be able to rebuild and come back even stronger.

Until next time…peace to all.