Why not use a soap opera intro? My life is basically a soap opera anymore anyway.
Today is the 2 year anniversary of me moving back home. Mark your calendars, people! This is the day I failed at being an adult. I moved back in with my mommy, too poor to provide for myself and my kids. I moved back to my childhood city, a place I never really wanted to move back to. It feels very much like the past twenty years were a waste. Seriously.
I’m back in the same city I lived in before I met him and we started moving all over the country. I’m working yet another low paying job. Hell, I’m probably actually poorer than I was twenty plus years ago because back then I knew I made shit for money. I didn’t have a big car payment or a cell phone payment. Mainly because cell phones were only just becoming a thing back then and not many people could afford them. I drove a Suzuki Samurai because even new it cost me a mere $188 plus change each month. I didn’t even have cable because I couldn’t afford it. I didn’t have an email address at that point in my life so there was no internet bill to worry about either. I also didn’t have two children to support. Back then I knew I couldn’t provide for a child on what I made. Today I don’t have a choice. They were thrust into this situation, too.
Sure, there have been definite changes. I have a job finally. As I’ve said many times before it pays my bills and that’s about it. Thankfully, CF has been paying child and spousal support, which is another change. When I moved here he was busy trying to convince everyone he suffered from PTSD and was opting not to pay his court ordered support. I met the love of my life thanks to my blog. That’s yet another amazing change in these past two years. I no longer cry every day. I no longer beg for death. So that’s good, I guess. My daughter is about to leave for college, which will leave the house minus one. My son is ready to begin his sophomore year.
I also want to point out that I am infinitely grateful for my mother’s generosity. I know that there are people out there in the same situation who don’t have a parent to turn to. My mother took me and my 2 teenagers and my 3 dogs into her home and allowed us to live with her instead of forcing us to live out of our car, or in crappy subsidized housing somewhere. She also does my laundry and cooks most nights, so living at home is not without its perks.
It’s still an interesting anniversary to mark. Two years since I sold off what I could, packed up very little of what remained, and left the rest behind. Two years since I left my own home, my own bed, my own room. Two years since I was forced out the new town I lived in and the state where I was born. I’ve now lived back at home as long as I lived in my last house.
Two years is an interesting amount of time to live somewhere. It’s enough time for you to start to get a feel for things. It’s enough time to start to develop a route when you drive. You look for the familiar. It’s enough time to get a hair stylist, a doctor, a dentist. You know the town. You know the restaurants. You know the schools. You get to know more people. You become more involved. Things become a little more routine.
And then it’s all ripped out from under you. In my case it was made a tad more complicated by the fact that my husband was cheating on me with his cousin and had financially cut me off right after the one year mark.
I’m not in the same dark, dismal place that I was when I moved here two years ago. Yet, I can still remember those final days. I remember going through my house and putting price tags on almost everything I had ever owned in my lifetime, in order to hold a garage sale so that I might have a little bit of money to pay for the truck and to keep us afloat while I looked for a job. I remember selling off my furniture, most of it less than a year old, and watching as strangers departed with little pieces of my old life. I remember renting that U-Haul truck and driving it back to the house. I remember checking in at Wal-Mart repeatedly to get boxes; the entire time I was married to CF we never had to worry about it. His company always paid to pack us up and move us. I remember driving to DC to pick up my brother who was coming out to help move me back. I still remember going to KFC and buying chicken for our last meal in the house. I remember loading up the truck and my brother cautioning me that we might have to leave some stuff behind. I remember the cars, mine and my mom’s, being loaded with more stuff. Rock Star and I drove together with all three dogs, while my mom and her dog went in her car, and Picasso and my brother drove the U-Haul. I remember crying as I left my neighborhood for the very last time. Finally, I remember pulling into my mother’s drive, knowing that everything I had lived for the last twenty years was over and done. This was it. This was home now.
Maybe one day this will be nothing more than another day. Sadly, at the two year mark it’s another reminder of everything that was lost and will never be regained.