Tag Archives: depression

Brother, Can You Spare A Dime?

I’m now entering what Sir Alex Ferguson, one time manager of Manchester United Football Club once famously described as “Squeaky bum time”. You see, ever since early February, when my hours were cut in half, I’ve been living on borrowed financial time. When working 40 hours a week I was earning enough to cover my bills and leave a bit over, sometimes, at the end of the month. Not so now. I did a quick calculation and as things stand at present, I will have to move out at the end of April.

I’m applying for jobs like crazy to no avail, I’ve sold my wedding and eternity rings, cashed in all my change and cut my spending to a bare minimum. I’m living off what I have in the fridge and pantry and with the exception of essentials, only  buy food for the kids. All this is not really going to help, but what are my options? I will have to find some way of paying for a storage unit and keeping gas in the car, but how long can I keep that up? My job contract runs through August, but if I’m living in the car – which is a very real possibility – how long can I keep it? If I lose the job, the situation becomes exponentially worse, and I don’t see someone like me lasting long on the streets.

I’m 52 and in fairly reasonable health, but without my meds, I’m sure to go into a tailspin. Those of you who knew me at school will attest to the fact that the un-medicated NWSD is not the kind of person who can cope, even when well fed and housed.To make matters worse, it means that I will lose contact with the kids. I can’t spend time with them if all I have is the car and nowhere to take them. I won’t have access to laundry or washing facilities, and having worked downtown, I know how quickly people deteriorate without access to basic services.

Unless I can find a job by the end of March, I am royally fucked. Seriously, this is an existential crisis that shows no sign of resolving itself in any kind of positive way. I don’t have a social network on which I can fall back, and I’m by no means certain that my sweetie will be willing to take me in until I can get a decent paying job and get a place of my own again. I would hope that she would, but if she took me in and I didn’t find a job before the money ran out, there’s no way she could support both of us on her wages.

Just writing this is making me depressed, so I am going to sign off now.



































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Ouija Board, Ouija Board. 9/17/12

I had this all planned out in advance, and then I got a reality check that put everything into perspective and pretty much showed me that no matter how much shit I think I’m going through, it is like comparing  a bird giving your car the white badge of courage to a Fukushima sized wall of shit coming at you at 90 MPH. I thought I was on an emotional roller coaster, but it is a ride on the Disneyland train by comparison.

That being said, I will continue and let you put it in context.  Ladies, seven million years of evolution have left you with the knowledge that about 12 times a year for about four or five days at a time (14 days in the case of someone I know), your emotions are not entirely your own. Nothing you can do about it, but at least you and the people around you know it is coming and know, pretty much, what to expect.  During the past couple of months, I have been experiencing some mood changes of my own.  However, I  have had pretty much no control over them.  I feel  as if someone is sitting in front of an emotional Ouija board and is moving the glass around as they wish. Angry, depressed, frustrated, morose, angry, stunned, desperate, numb, resigned, whatever takes their fancy.  My moods  have been changing on an hourly basis, and I don’t know how I am going to feel from one moment to the next. The slightest thing can set me off and there is no telling what that thing might be.  Curiously enough, the one thing I haven’t experienced is tears. I guess to some extent I have had several years of grieving, if indeed that is the right word, for the fading away of our marriage.

In one way, I’m happy to see it go.  I’m scared about the future for sure.  I can deal with ambiguity, but seeing as there is so much still to be decided and/or organised, I worry about my future, especially in the short term. Some of this will be the subject of future posts, so I will try to stay on topic. My kids are, on occasions a bit of a challenge, Both are high spirited and so fucking smart it scares me. My son is headed for a PhD from MIT if I am any judge – even at 8 he was asking questions about black holes and on Sunday in the restaurant he was asking about nuclear weapons and events such as Chernobyl and Three Mile Island. My Daughter read all of the Harry Potter novels before she was seven and is sharp as a needle. Even having said that, there are times when they drive me crazy. Dinnertime is particularly difficult, as they are both tired and have little control, so it often devolves into a melee of disobedience and unacceptable behaviour. I find myself thinking “I can’t wait to get away from all this madness. I won’t miss it for a second”. To some extent this is true, as dinnertime often results in me having an attack of reflux just from the stress. But then I think “Do I really want to have dinner alone every night from now on?” How do I manage that polarity?  There are times when I want to shout at the kids “Yeah?, well guess what? in a couple of weeks, you won’t have to listen to me at all, because I won’t fucking well be here!” I  have also given up on some things. To quote Albert Einstein, “If a cluttered desk is the sign of a cluttered mind, of what is an empty desk a sign?” In my sons’ case, for desk, read room.  I have done everything I can to get him to clean up his room, but for the last 8 weeks my attitude has been “This is no longer my problem. I won’t have to look at it for much longer, so why should I waste my breath?” It’s a dreadful thing, I know, but why should I bother any more?

I apologise for rambling on so, but it is after 11pm and I’ve had four pints of Pilsner Urquell and am still stone cold sober.. I’m dreading telling the kids, but it has to be done at some point. How do I cope with that? I’m still going to be a part of their lives, but how do I cope with my first night away from the house?

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