Why am I Doing This?

My father suggested that I start a blog because I'm passionate about writing. I think that he's been watching too many movies. He countered with I just need to move forward on everything. He doesn't want me to settle for anything. Those were his words: "don't settle for anything."

I know that the accusation has merit. I have been settling. I settled for a job that I eventually grew to hate because it was a nice stable paycheck that covered my bills. I had beaten the odds, after all: a person with bipolar disorder who had held a job for longer than six months. Never mind that I felt its tedium almost immediately, I had managed not to be fired for not being able to focus or keep track of all the little nuances that it entailed. I settled.

Then they fired me for not being able to keep track of all the little nuances that it entailed.

I was crushed. I tried to find positives about it and succeeded for the most part. The environment had been really stressful, especially the last few months since my faith came out to the team at large. Well, that was over. I had been only seeing Lily three days a week. Hey, now I could see her every day and read both the girls bedtime stories!

But there was no way I could afford a house now, not that I really could before. I didn't qualify for a loan on my own, due to having no credit score. If someone tells you that having no credit is better than having bad credit, laugh at them. There are programs for people with bad credit; there are procedures. If you have no credit, then the only answer you will hear is "no thank you".

I spend months applying for every job I came across and each one gave me one of three answers: "you are not qualified", "we cannot accommodate you", or horrible silence. If people were hiring, it didn't matter because they weren't hiring me.

I even applied for disability, something that I've been staving off for years. I didn't want to be one of those statistics. I want to work. I enjoy being useful. I just need to be able to shift freely between tasks and be able to call in sick occasionally. Between the migraines and the down cycle, I'm not always fit for work.

I spam out my resume to every available job in my vicinity. I can't drive (my meds give me random dizzy spells, so it isn't safe), so my vicinity is limited to my immediate area. As months passed without a job, I branched out after a promise from friends and family that we'd work something out. I started duplicating job applications. Still, I received nothing for my efforts.

Now I've exhausted my unemployment benefits. Well, it's nice to know that I no longer statistically matter. Unemployment is now down just a tad bit more.

The last of my benefits went to rent this month--rent that my landlady is claiming that she didn't receive. Considering that she's also claiming that I falsified documents when I moved in (because she cannot find the private government facility that I worked at), I'm not prone to believe her. She didn't know what the Department of Homeland Security was when I moved in, and still didn't understand when I tried explaining why I didn't know the address. I have my doubts about this woman's intelligence.

Come to think of it, this place was settling as well. We had to move out of the tiny apartment that we had been living in before this place, and this place was right down the street and accepted our cat. Alex saw it, and the landlady didn't require any kind of application. We were signing papers within twenty-four hours of calling her.

Sure, there was only two grounded plugs in the entire place, and it was wired extremely oddly--oh, and I mustn't forget issues with the plumbing or the driveway--the point is that it was a roof over my family's head. That was a good thing. Yeah, it was close to the maximum of what I could afford, but it was an entire house with a large yard to ourselves. Plus, it was easy walking distance to an elementary school! Really, it's a steal.

Except now, it's over.

None of our friends or family are able to take all of us. The family that I had fought so hard to forge (eleven years with the same person--take that, statistics!) will be forced to separate in order to survive. The girls and I will be moving in with my mother while Alex will be on his own.  I don't even want to think about it, but I can't think of anything else. Every statistic is against us. We started out young, and both from single parent homes. I have bipolar disorder, a very severe case. I have tried so very hard to do the impossible.

And now...and now, it's all falling apart.

Dad says that I have plenty to blog about between all the things that have happened to me and my family. I just need to pick one. How does one pick only one facet of themselves? Do you pick your family? Or your disability? Or is faith more important? Should I chronicle my misfortune in every depressing detail, so that others may be miserable with me?

Then I came across a post on Facebook about every writer having a unique voice.

So that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to move forward in my own way, with my own voice. I may not be heard amongst the din of others shouting, but at least I will have said my piece.

I will settle for that.