Keeping Warm
Woke up this morning–cold. The temperatures up here in the Adirondacks dropped last night. I had that sweaty feeling you have when your body temperature drops, but you're trying to stay warm. The fight between balancing the two temperatures, you're internal one and the one on the outside. I knew right away that something wasn't right and that I should not have been that cold. I checked the heater and turned it up. I hope it keeps up with the coming cold temperatures. Winter will be arriving soon here in Upstate New York and I'm grateful I have a room in my mother's garage. Technically I'm still homeless, but I'm not on the street like so many others. I feel like a teenager again staying with family even though I'm a midlife women trying to put my life together after a brutal divorce. It's certainly not what I had planned, but then everything I planned has been turned upside down and inside out.
We are called the "Hidden Homeless." Staying with family, couch surfing or with friends, most of us manage to get by. I still have a hard time thinking of myself as homeless. It usually gets me up early most days even though I can sleep longer. The anxious thoughts start and I have to get up and keep busy. It helps calm me before the ruminating starts about how I ended up homeless start in. A little meditation helps before I have breakfast, but if I don't act fast I can get caught in those loops of anxiety, especially 3–4am when they seem to be the worse. Before sunrise, the coldest part of the morning, right before the dark turns to light when I can be gripped by fear if I'm not careful.
I never thought I would be homeless. I was extremely frugal, saved and thrifted for years. I built a career and worked hard on having rental property. After I was blinded-sided by a brutal divorce, I was to learn so much in my life had been setup to deceive me. It has taken me the past three years to sort it all out. It was extremely difficult. Navigating a complex divorce plus finding out so much of the marriage was a complete lie. The deception was there from the start. When the divorce started I was accused of being crazy, doing nothing and put on the street. It was harrowing to say the least. I slept in my car numerous times and tried unsuccessfully to get various apartments. Making me look incompetent was part of his grounds, so I was often evicted and made to look like I could not manage on my own. It's a small town and it wasn't that hard. We are only two or three people away from making a connection with others and in a small town that gets even easier. Someone always knows someone and someone is always connected to people you know. That can be a wonderful thing, but it can also be deadly. I was to find that out in a brutal way that my divorce was to leave me homeless and destitute and all done on purpose. What I thought was a decent life in spite of the emotional abuse turned into so much more, so many horrible lies, so much more than just verbal abuse. So much more than being with someone who drank too much. I was told repeatedly that nothing was mine and I would be left with nothing. The shock almost killed me. I learned about Economic Abuse and how deadly it is. Today I'm alive and grateful to be moving forward once again. It's all we can do at those times in life when you have no idea where you're going.
My credit was also destroyed, so I will probably never own a home again. I miss my home every day. Moving a lot as a kid, I worked very hard to have a home as an adult. Heat was always one of those things I preferred rather than fancy jewelry or expensive trips. I would purchase a cord of wood each Fall and look forward to fires at the lake where we had a lake home. Keeping the heat on at home was also a preferred gift. I remember times as a kid, we were not able to afford the oil for the furnace. It was hard for me to be cold. I dreamed when I grew up of being able to work and afford enough heat.
I miss my dog. He was such a comfort all the times we were homeless and had to move. He kept me warm nights it was so cold I thought I would not make it. He was my best friend. He was taken recently when I was jailed. There is an ongoing smear campaign that continues. It has been going on a long time in my small town. To paint me as an incompetent, mentally ill person that did nothing our entire marriage, which I have found out recently never existed. It never existed not because I was "crazy," but because it was setup from the start to just use me–to benefit from my successful career, labor and money. To live off me and then when retirement came only one of us was going to retire–owning numerous properties that were all generating income. I'm the one being forced to start over with nothing. Forcing me to be homeless and destitute. To continue the control even after the marriage is over–all with the courts approval. I'm not allowed to "get on my feet."
I've been watching the ducks leave for the South recently. I love watching them each Fall going to warmer places. I missed them leaving the past few years. I had been dealing with so much shock and trauma in my life that I was not able to contemplate small blessings like that. Their large V-shapes and honking noises reminding me that Fall is just about over and Winter is on the way. I appreciate their reminder. It's such a beautiful way of knowing that Fall will be leaving soon. Time to get all the guilts out–warmer coats, boots and gloves. Time to take stock of how good or bad the pantry is this year. How much is on hand to see through another Winter. I loved collecting wool things and my assortment of items is next to nothing this year. I lost everything I had in storage. All part of the continual harassment to make sure I don't get on my feet. I have recently been doing a lot of Tweeting about Economic Abuse. I know now a large part of my marriage. I'm forced now at midlife to start over with nothing. The threats were that I would be left "homeless and destitute" and that is just what happened. I still struggle with the shock of it, but writing has always been my way to make sense of the abuse and sharing it with others might just do that again. I can no longer keep a huge amount of journals on hand. I had 20yrs of them and they were all taken. So writing online is part of my new way forward–sharing my journey with you. Heading to the thrift shop to get some wool scarves, gloves and hats will be also. I'm grateful for the Salvation Army. In lean times between Art jobs, I would often supplement my wardrobe from there. They have always been a blessing.
The snowbirds are leaving here soon too. People that head to Florida to escape the cold or some other warmer place. Some of us locals stay all Winter here on the Lake. I'v always stayed here in the Winter. When younger I loved to ski. The Adirondacks can be hard in the Winter, but also beautiful. I know starting again is going to be extremely difficult. It's not easy building a life. It's not easy losing everything. I check the warm things I have and there isn't much, but I am grateful to be given another chance to create something else. I wasn't given the time to enjoy all the success I achieved before it was brutally taken away, but success is mostly about the project and process and not the final outcome. It is far better to be working than sitting on your laurels. Better to have a project than looking around for another one–not knowing what to do. Having a dream is better than achieving that dream in many ways. Working towards something is often more rewarding. I know, I know you say and I do that too–success is about idle time. Time to have fun and not do anything. I had hoped for that too, but that is not the case for me and probably for most people. Life is hard–mean, rotten people take what does not belong to them.
I remember when I turned 50 and had achieved what I thought was my dream. I had my Art Studio and was going to paint and put things on Etsy. I had a small graphic design business I had started and it was earning money. I was overjoyed that my dreams had come true. I was semi-retired and this welfare kid was grateful my hard work was finally paying off. I remember one afternoon realizing that these dreams had come true and wondering what I was to do now? How could I have felt that way when I was going to work on those things. I was going to do graphic design and paint from home–my business. I can only explain it by saying that I had arrived at that place of success, but felt in arriving had left something large rather empty. It seems counterintuitive. I read somewhere that once you arrive "there" there is no there. I felt the same way. I look back now and tell myself I would have painted and did the graphic design–my feelings didn't make sense. I know that part of it was because I had achieved that dream. I had been painting, doing design and working in the field for the past 20yrs. I had been doing watercolors on and off for years also. Shortly after I wondered about all this, I was arrested out of my home and put on the street. All the things from my small Art Studio were boxed up and put in storage. All of it now has been stolen. Part of the ongoing threats to put me out of business and make it so I can't get on my feet. I have no business now. I have no paints, easels or brushes. I had vintage paint brushes from college that I loved and had saved. Numerous paintings, photographs and designs–twenty years worth. It was all taken. All my computers, equipment, and software gone too. Everything to run a successful graphic design business. All gone!
I was freezing in my car wondering what was next. How did I get here and how in the hell was I going to navigate this phase of my life. After all the shock, heart ache and barely surviving it–I'm starting again. This time there are no paints and paintbrushes and probably no fancy computer software. There are only words. There is only a small room, some heat and a small laptop. My vintage G4 computer gone as are other MacBook pros. I will miss them all. There is still me and the blank page, but the creative process will be different now. In some ways kinda exciting now that the shock and trauma are gone. It fits a sort of Thoreau fantasy I've had along with Anne Sexton, Sylvia Plath and Virginia Woolf. The words start to flow, as my fingers move in a different way compared to using Photoshop–I feel alive once again. Instead of making Photoshop actions, I will be making paragraphs that convey my story. A tall task to accomplish, but then what the hell. Turning 50 is a time to change things up, to explore new areas and to discover new skills. Of course to fall flat on your face also, but failure gets easier with age. Who cares, you're old I tell myself on those days when it's easy to let go of being young. It's those other days when I'm cold and scared and wondering what the hell am I going to do now.
The ducks are gone now. Their honking sounds trail off in the distance. My room is warm again and my fingers have kept moving. I look up and my page is no longer blank, but filled with words and that feels good. It feels so good that my problems fade in the background. It helps quell the terror that comes from looking for a job in a small town and being told you're incompetent and crazy and not going to get one. That everyone knows you are and that's just that! That "They" have decided and there is no sense arguing with "Them!" Reading numerous rejection emails and knowing that these threats of making it so I can't get a job here are still very real. I commuted out of town my entire career for work, but my car was also taken. I love it here. The Adirondacks are beautiful, but progressive we are not. I experienced this violence first hand recently. After not being political most of my life, find myself determined to live my life in spite of the threats not to. The Adirondacks are wild and need to stay that way, in the same way women ought to be allowed to live their lives. Knowing that writing is all I can do for today and maybe that will eventually be enough.
Woke up this morning–cold. The temperatures up here in the Adirondacks dropped last night. I had that sweaty feeling you have when your body temperature drops, but you're trying to stay warm. The fight between balancing the two temperatures, you're internal one and the one on the outside. I knew right away that something wasn't right and that I should not have been that cold. I checked the heater and turned it up. I hope it keeps up with the coming cold temperatures. Winter will be arriving soon here in Upstate New York and I'm grateful I have a room in my mother's garage. Technically I'm still homeless, but I'm not on the street like so many others. I feel like a teenager again staying with family even though I'm a midlife women trying to put my life together after a brutal divorce. It's certainly not what I had planned, but then everything I planned has been turned upside down and inside out.
We are called the "Hidden Homeless." Staying with family, couch surfing or with friends, most of us manage to get by. I still have a hard time thinking of myself as homeless. It usually gets me up early most days even though I can sleep longer. The anxious thoughts start and I have to get up and keep busy. It helps calm me before the ruminating starts about how I ended up homeless start in. A little meditation helps before I have breakfast, but if I don't act fast I can get caught in those loops of anxiety, especially 3–4am when they seem to be the worse. Before sunrise, the coldest part of the morning, right before the dark turns to light when I can be gripped by fear if I'm not careful.
I never thought I would be homeless. I was extremely frugal, saved and thrifted for years. I built a career and worked hard on having rental property. After I was blinded-sided by a brutal divorce, I was to learn so much in my life had been setup to deceive me. It has taken me the past three years to sort it all out. It was extremely difficult. Navigating a complex divorce plus finding out so much of the marriage was a complete lie. The deception was there from the start. When the divorce started I was accused of being crazy, doing nothing and put on the street. It was harrowing to say the least. I slept in my car numerous times and tried unsuccessfully to get various apartments. Making me look incompetent was part of his grounds, so I was often evicted and made to look like I could not manage on my own. It's a small town and it wasn't that hard. We are only two or three people away from making a connection with others and in a small town that gets even easier. Someone always knows someone and someone is always connected to people you know. That can be a wonderful thing, but it can also be deadly. I was to find that out in a brutal way that my divorce was to leave me homeless and destitute and all done on purpose. What I thought was a decent life in spite of the emotional abuse turned into so much more, so many horrible lies, so much more than just verbal abuse. So much more than being with someone who drank too much. I was told repeatedly that nothing was mine and I would be left with nothing. The shock almost killed me. I learned about Economic Abuse and how deadly it is. Today I'm alive and grateful to be moving forward once again. It's all we can do at those times in life when you have no idea where you're going.
My credit was also destroyed, so I will probably never own a home again. I miss my home every day. Moving a lot as a kid, I worked very hard to have a home as an adult. Heat was always one of those things I preferred rather than fancy jewelry or expensive trips. I would purchase a cord of wood each Fall and look forward to fires at the lake where we had a lake home. Keeping the heat on at home was also a preferred gift. I remember times as a kid, we were not able to afford the oil for the furnace. It was hard for me to be cold. I dreamed when I grew up of being able to work and afford enough heat.
I miss my dog. He was such a comfort all the times we were homeless and had to move. He kept me warm nights it was so cold I thought I would not make it. He was my best friend. He was taken recently when I was jailed. There is an ongoing smear campaign that continues. It has been going on a long time in my small town. To paint me as an incompetent, mentally ill person that did nothing our entire marriage, which I have found out recently never existed. It never existed not because I was "crazy," but because it was setup from the start to just use me–to benefit from my successful career, labor and money. To live off me and then when retirement came only one of us was going to retire–owning numerous properties that were all generating income. I'm the one being forced to start over with nothing. Forcing me to be homeless and destitute. To continue the control even after the marriage is over–all with the courts approval. I'm not allowed to "get on my feet."
I've been watching the ducks leave for the South recently. I love watching them each Fall going to warmer places. I missed them leaving the past few years. I had been dealing with so much shock and trauma in my life that I was not able to contemplate small blessings like that. Their large V-shapes and honking noises reminding me that Fall is just about over and Winter is on the way. I appreciate their reminder. It's such a beautiful way of knowing that Fall will be leaving soon. Time to get all the guilts out–warmer coats, boots and gloves. Time to take stock of how good or bad the pantry is this year. How much is on hand to see through another Winter. I loved collecting wool things and my assortment of items is next to nothing this year. I lost everything I had in storage. All part of the continual harassment to make sure I don't get on my feet. I have recently been doing a lot of Tweeting about Economic Abuse. I know now a large part of my marriage. I'm forced now at midlife to start over with nothing. The threats were that I would be left "homeless and destitute" and that is just what happened. I still struggle with the shock of it, but writing has always been my way to make sense of the abuse and sharing it with others might just do that again. I can no longer keep a huge amount of journals on hand. I had 20yrs of them and they were all taken. So writing online is part of my new way forward–sharing my journey with you. Heading to the thrift shop to get some wool scarves, gloves and hats will be also. I'm grateful for the Salvation Army. In lean times between Art jobs, I would often supplement my wardrobe from there. They have always been a blessing.
The snowbirds are leaving here soon too. People that head to Florida to escape the cold or some other warmer place. Some of us locals stay all Winter here on the Lake. I'v always stayed here in the Winter. When younger I loved to ski. The Adirondacks can be hard in the Winter, but also beautiful. I know starting again is going to be extremely difficult. It's not easy building a life. It's not easy losing everything. I check the warm things I have and there isn't much, but I am grateful to be given another chance to create something else. I wasn't given the time to enjoy all the success I achieved before it was brutally taken away, but success is mostly about the project and process and not the final outcome. It is far better to be working than sitting on your laurels. Better to have a project than looking around for another one–not knowing what to do. Having a dream is better than achieving that dream in many ways. Working towards something is often more rewarding. I know, I know you say and I do that too–success is about idle time. Time to have fun and not do anything. I had hoped for that too, but that is not the case for me and probably for most people. Life is hard–mean, rotten people take what does not belong to them.
I remember when I turned 50 and had achieved what I thought was my dream. I had my Art Studio and was going to paint and put things on Etsy. I had a small graphic design business I had started and it was earning money. I was overjoyed that my dreams had come true. I was semi-retired and this welfare kid was grateful my hard work was finally paying off. I remember one afternoon realizing that these dreams had come true and wondering what I was to do now? How could I have felt that way when I was going to work on those things. I was going to do graphic design and paint from home–my business. I can only explain it by saying that I had arrived at that place of success, but felt in arriving had left something large rather empty. It seems counterintuitive. I read somewhere that once you arrive "there" there is no there. I felt the same way. I look back now and tell myself I would have painted and did the graphic design–my feelings didn't make sense. I know that part of it was because I had achieved that dream. I had been painting, doing design and working in the field for the past 20yrs. I had been doing watercolors on and off for years also. Shortly after I wondered about all this, I was arrested out of my home and put on the street. All the things from my small Art Studio were boxed up and put in storage. All of it now has been stolen. Part of the ongoing threats to put me out of business and make it so I can't get on my feet. I have no business now. I have no paints, easels or brushes. I had vintage paint brushes from college that I loved and had saved. Numerous paintings, photographs and designs–twenty years worth. It was all taken. All my computers, equipment, and software gone too. Everything to run a successful graphic design business. All gone!
I was freezing in my car wondering what was next. How did I get here and how in the hell was I going to navigate this phase of my life. After all the shock, heart ache and barely surviving it–I'm starting again. This time there are no paints and paintbrushes and probably no fancy computer software. There are only words. There is only a small room, some heat and a small laptop. My vintage G4 computer gone as are other MacBook pros. I will miss them all. There is still me and the blank page, but the creative process will be different now. In some ways kinda exciting now that the shock and trauma are gone. It fits a sort of Thoreau fantasy I've had along with Anne Sexton, Sylvia Plath and Virginia Woolf. The words start to flow, as my fingers move in a different way compared to using Photoshop–I feel alive once again. Instead of making Photoshop actions, I will be making paragraphs that convey my story. A tall task to accomplish, but then what the hell. Turning 50 is a time to change things up, to explore new areas and to discover new skills. Of course to fall flat on your face also, but failure gets easier with age. Who cares, you're old I tell myself on those days when it's easy to let go of being young. It's those other days when I'm cold and scared and wondering what the hell am I going to do now.
The ducks are gone now. Their honking sounds trail off in the distance. My room is warm again and my fingers have kept moving. I look up and my page is no longer blank, but filled with words and that feels good. It feels so good that my problems fade in the background. It helps quell the terror that comes from looking for a job in a small town and being told you're incompetent and crazy and not going to get one. That everyone knows you are and that's just that! That "They" have decided and there is no sense arguing with "Them!" Reading numerous rejection emails and knowing that these threats of making it so I can't get a job here are still very real. I commuted out of town my entire career for work, but my car was also taken. I love it here. The Adirondacks are beautiful, but progressive we are not. I experienced this violence first hand recently. After not being political most of my life, find myself determined to live my life in spite of the threats not to. The Adirondacks are wild and need to stay that way, in the same way women ought to be allowed to live their lives. Knowing that writing is all I can do for today and maybe that will eventually be enough.
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