Well not quite… but I feel like a displaced family after a natural disaster.
Don’t worry, we still have a roof over our heads thanks to my inlaws, and the kids are being taken care of just fine. It’s just not what I’d say is “ideal.”
It all started at the beginning of this year. Our landlord came over and taped a statement to our door. A polite way to say “Pay your fucking rent, please.” I noticed that we owed over a grand, but I figured Christopher had a plan and he was working with the landlord about it all. I was kinda concerned at this point, but not worried. Yet.
I mentioned it to Christopher, he said he was sending some money, not to worry, he had it covered. I dismissed the whole issue, and figured he knew what he was doing.
Then we got another statement. No rent had been paid.
Growing increasingly more concerned I asked Christopher where the money was going? Why wasn’t he paying rent? What was going on? I got the run around that we had disconnects that came up on certain bills and we had to pay them, blah blah blah. So rent got put on the back burner again. He was planning on telling the landlord what was going on.
Let me rewind and add that in the end of January the IRS yanked over $9000 of our tax refund from us for my student loans. I guess we’d been behind in rent long enough Christopher was planning on using our taxes to catch everything up. But that all fell thru when they yanked our taxes.
The last statement I remember seeing said we owed over double what the first one said. I was starting to panic and freak out. Christopher assured me that he was working with the landlord, and maintaining contact. I was getting upset about the whole thing and by now conversations about the rent were causing arguments and would end pretty heated.
But still, he assured me. He had a plan.
Meanwhile, I reconnected with an old boss of mine on FB and he offered me a job (first outside job I’ve had for about 10 years ). Things were starting to look up and we were excited to have some extra money in the house. I was gonna be able to work whatever hours I’d like, and I’d be able to work from home. I could even bring the kids into work if I’d like. I was feeling confident that even if he wasn’t paying the rent with his paycheck, that I was gonna start paying it with mine. We’d be caught up in no time. Getting this job opportunity dropped into my lap like that breathed life into me, and gave me a breath of fresh air. Life was definitely looking up.
Then, one night in the beginning of April, while I was cooking dinner, at around 6pm or so, I hear a knock on the door. I yelled “hold on…” and wiped my hands and walked toward the door.
An unfamiliar face greeted me at the door. “Can I help you?”
He asked if I lived here, and if my name was such n such. I told him I did indeed live there, and yes, I was the person in question.
He handed me some paperwork.
I looked down expecting another one of those garnishment letters, but immediately had the air ripped outta my lungs and immediately felt like throwing up.
We were officially being evicted.
That word looks so vicious to me. Mean. Cold. Heartless.
I’ve never been evicted in my whole life. I’ve always had a place for me and my family to stay. I’ve always taken care of my kids. Always. I’ve never once not had a clue what was going to happen.
And contrary to popular belief… they don’t have to give you 30 days. We were given less than 2 weeks to find another place and get out.
We had court on my birthday (YEA Happy Birthday to me!)- and the judge gave us an extra 48 hours grace period to get the rest of our stuff out. Everything out by April 15th. We didn’t have time to grab everything. We left so many things there. So many memories. So many things I wished I could take but we didn’t have room in the storage unit. I lost almost all of my owls. All of the beanie babies I’d collected over the years. Gone. So many of the kids’ toys, and clothes, and other knick knacks and furniture. Gone.
I feel like a tornado hit my life.
And I’m hurt. How could he do this to our family and lead me to believe everything was okay? How could he not tell me so that I could try to help fix everything? Why did he wait until I was served with an eviction notice to let me know how bad things really were? I guess this is what I get for trusting him with the bills.
So now, we are cramped into one bedroom at my inlaws, that has a double bed, and a dresser and closet filled with someone else’s stuff. I have a makeshift desk made out of TV Trays for my computer, and we are living out of suitcases. Prospects are less than stellar. And on days like this, I have to remind myself that I should try to smile at least once during the day.