It’s hard to keep your sanity on the street and I know my streets are bad now, but there are streets even more horrible. America does have some things left, but as I look around it wouldn’t take long for a tank to cruise downtown. They always say it can never happen here.
My nails are already dirty, too long, broken—jagged, like me once again. It’s amazing how dirty your nails get really quickly. People might have thought talking about having my little cuticle set was silly—I Tweeted about it. It was the first one I ever bought for myself, last one was my ex’s Aunts when I had to clean her house after she went into Assisted Living.
There was mostly garbage there; no fancy linens, china, or any family heirlooms. It was done deliberately as I spent months cleaning, fixing up another house, buying things, paying; I was always paying, only to be told she wasn’t going to put the house in both our names. After all their promises, I was told not only would it not be mine, but I had nothing and would be put on the street. This was 2yrs after we moved in to what I was lead to believe our first “single-family home,” the home we just left after 20yrs of work was a 2-family, but I had put my heart and soul into it and loved it. The garden was in full-bloom, and I never should have left. My ex would eventually violently put me out of there too, all our properties!
I used the little cuticle set, an old Avon one already falling apart, feeling pampered and believing things would get better. I thought how nice it was to have a little set. I was never one to afford things for my nails preferring to put money into fixing up our properties. I knew how brutal it was to be poor having grown up that way, but I had finally reached a place in life that I had some modest success and affording things like that was now possible. I wasn’t one to get my nails done, but I loved the little set. It was gone after all the personal items in storage were taken when they forced me into Jail and the a psych ward.
I bought my first cuticle set in Maine, trying to feel human after renting a room that turned into a nightmare. A scam that once I was lured there with promise of a new beginning turned horrible. Another abuser that wanted a sex-slave pretending he wanted a girlfriend. I was assaulted, robbed, and of course the cops jailed me. Rich, connected predators are loved there by the Police Station just like in my hometown.
Once my bedroom door was violently kicked in, with what seemed like 5-6 officers with I think 3 pointing their guns at me, it was difficult by that time to tell, I went into shock, as they yelled in that commanding voice to “put my hands up!” I can’t believe how quickly I went into shock and felt if I did I would be killed. My iPhone was loosely held in my hand and seemed like in slow motion it was going to fall out as I said, “I only have my phone.” I felt about 12yrs old talking to my mother.
I had watched so many “Hands Up Don’t Shoot,” Protests, had seen so many videos of people, mostly black being shot point-blank after putting up their hands and repeatedly saying they had nothing on them, asking what they did wrong, and repeating they did nothing, and being shot—I froze and felt helpless. I didn’t know what to do. It’s like that deer in the headlights feeling that now after experiencing it so much I can recognize it as Trauma, but that doesn’t mean you can make it go away once it starts—it’s awful and can days to deal with.
What I first experienced after being Sexually Assaulted, it took 2yrs for the shock to lessen. I slept most days, my breathing erratic, my ability to stand for any length of time; very short without being dizzy and having to sit down. I had a seizure when it happened and had bouts with the Trauma of it ever since. One time a “Panic Attack,” so bad I forgot how to get home, like not remembering how to drive a car after being a good diver all my life. I never had one that bad since, but the anxiety has to be managed. I’m grateful it’s not as bad as some I read of talk about, but it’s still very difficult nonetheless.
I look down at my nails, too long it’s hard to type. My toe-nails hurt, shoes are always too small for my size 11 feet, there was a time you couldn’t even buy that size for girls. My toe-nails need cutting, they grow fast. I was always told I had “pretty feet,” by Men, but now they were pretty bad. My little cuticle set left at the Abandoned House, a pretty one from my favorite store, Marshall’s”
I had been going to the gym, showering, doing my nails again, and believing that there was hope—human again! In NYS after a month in an Abandoned property your legally a “Tenant,” I’m not a lawyer, but even with a “Public defender” it never made a difference no matter how much I pleaded I was innocent—had done nothing wrong and just wanted my home, a home again!
With the “Eviction Moratorium,” in place I believed that finally the law would protect me. I went into shock when once again I was violently arrested, this time facing what looked to be 3 guns pointed at me, in the dark, with high-beams lights pointed at me—I had no power on and no lights. I thought I would be killed.
I had let my guard down, leaving things I needed in regular places around the “Abandoned House.” Things like toothbrushes in the bathroom with toothpaste, soap and shampoo in the little cabinet. My can-opener, bottle-opener, utensils, in the kitchen drawer along with some important papers in a journal on the counter with my new iPhone12 packaging and box I needed to return my old iPhone7. My old boots by the door and so much else I put around thinking this would be my “home” at least until after January 15, 2022 when the Moratorium had to be looked at again by Congress or whoever made the decisions. I had only started following the movement. Evicting people in the Winter is brutal. I had now been homeless a couple of times in the Winter and it was another awful experience, but for now I had believed I’ed be somewhat safe. Little things can mean so much when you have nothing.
I have been violently removed from places with nothing then robbed of just about everything. Had things dumped on my Lakehouse deck that didn’t include things like; furniture, kerosene heater, generator, and so much else. Snowblowers, lawnmowers—we had a few sets! Small things like 4 sets of pots and pans. I couldn’t even boil water now. Things like; nail file, Kleenex, towelettes, toothbrush—a mirror. Things I have had to buy again after each eviction—there’s been over 20 now! I’m losing count and this one has been the most violent!
Each one has gotten worse as I lose more and more until there is nothing left now, which I was told was the plan. My modest success made it take a little while, but after 10yrs since I was Sexually Assaulted and told the violence would be “unrelenting,” and this time, I would have, “no way out!”—we are there.
Each part of my successful life violently destroyed. Each item that marked it; things like a new car, nice furniture, clothes—gone. I’m still struggling with the intangibles that if I think about too long can prevent me from getting up and trying to live. Days of constant sobbing are over when your on the street, but I was grateful I had those initially before I was violently first put on the street. I spent 2yrs living in the 2-family I loved before being made homeless.
The Cuticle set is silly, but they told me repeatedly I was delusional to think I was a “Professional.” I had been once since leaving college after my last entry-level job—there had been many. Professionals are old-school, I guess now. Remember shoulder pads for us “girls,” seems quaint now and sad. If I worked hard could have my own apartment, provide for myself, and have a nice bathroom, where my nails could be kept clean and pretty. Small things that allow us to feel human; the homeless aren’t regarded in that way.
They aren’t human, certainly not people, and deserve what they get! Things like doing your nails are selfish, like a cigarette if you get food-stamps. I had to use food-stamps as a little girl and remember the constant judgements. It’s never considered that the pain of poverty makes having something like nail-polish even more of a need. Wealthy will tell you with contempt that’s a “want!” of course they have never experience having nothing and a $2 bottle of color can make a horrible day more bearable.
I look down at my nails and they look like it’s true; your incompetent like they alledged, of no value—welfare whore! dirty again, but as I sit writing there is a dollar store next door from Stewart’s, yes I’m back to going there. They are all we have downtown, but maybe I can get some nail things. My heart-broken once again. How many times? I’m losing track. I don’t have much good news, but I’m alive and so many aren’t. I’ll check out their nail things and thank God for the little Dollar Store as I watch our downtown collapsing and think of all those gone. Maybe I can get another toothbrush too. I hope your downtown is moving forward in these dark times and your having hope after so much pain and loss, especially if you have lost someone to violence. Bless you for reading me—you give me hope and I’m grateful to all of you!
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