If you’ve read my previous posts, you know that I’m weaning from a life altering medication. In two short years an antidepressant turned me into a manic, track-jumping locomotive. In two years my altered brain left me homeless twice. I had destroyed relationships, my credit score, and my reputation. I even lost my sweet, loving, supportive little dog.
I was homeless on Christmas Eve 2016. While the rest of my family was enjoying a gift exchange, I was sitting in my car in a dark, empty parking lot. I was screaming. I was crying. I was banging my head against the head rest in my car. I was less than a mile from my daughter’s house, but I had no place to go. I was no longer welcome at the home of my only child. The home I left two years before was 200 miles away. I was alone. Scared. I was broke. I had no one. I didn’t even have access to my gun. What the hell was I going to do? Why, why, why? Why me? Why?
I had been renting a room from a “friend”. Ten days earlier he took my rent money, spruced up his home a bit for the next room mate, and kicked me out. This was the trigger for the opening scene of my journey. I had spent four days in the hospital. I had missed four days of work. Someone else was enjoying Christmas with my rent money. I couldn’t get a room. All the restaurants were closed. My heart was broken. I needed food. My car was packed with all my belongings. I had no place to sleep.
How the hell did I get to this point? Why? There was no one in the universe but me. Nobody heard my screams. Nobody cared. Nobody knew. I was at the bottom of my own soul with no way out.
Turn the page. There is nothing more to see here. Just turn the page.