On educated impoverishment – Rev. Roxanne Cottell

August 17, 2014, No Comments, Written by , Posted in Uncategorized

-From an email.

I read with a sick sense of delight, your essay about those whose lives float always in the balance between eating and buying tampons (vs. using a “pad” made of toilet paper…been there, done that, and still have to do that sometimes), which very well explained what it is like to live in poverty. Linda, I live in poverty. I am the mother of three kids, one who spends his days seeking out employment that he will never find while trying to get the classes he really wants at college and still maintaining his GPA let alone a social life. My only daughter has it set in her mind anymore that the only reason anyone her age- 15- should go to the mall is to hang out because she knows that her parents cannot afford to spend a mere ten bucks on her day with her friends. The little one is 9, and he does not realize that it is not normal for them, his parents and the dog to live in my parents’ double-wide mobile home, where we have lived since December of 2008 when their father ended up having a massive two sided heart attack.

This correspondence to you is not to give you a sob story, even as that may well what it sounds like. It is further evidence of what you yourself have observed as being the truth of the impoverished. Here is my observation of what I personally have gone through these last five years. Make absolutely no mistake in that poverty is not easy. I am educated. I also write. I am an ordained person who keeps a regular blog. I am an activist, championing those whose lives are marred with abuse at home and violence in the streets. This is another thing about poverty that no one thinks about – the fact that it is the truth that we here in ghettoland have to not only worry about feeding ourselves, about putting gas in the borrowed car, about who is sleeping on the floor tonight…me, or my kid? About how we will keep our hair clean with  hampoo from the dollar store. About how we will manage to keep the dog fed, even if it is on table scraps that we can scarcely afford not to eat ourselves. Poverty is difficult, because violence is such an issue with it, because it is not in the wealthier neighborhoods that it is made so obvious to the world as much as it is reported on telelvision news. You only hear about such things happening in wealthier households when someone bothers to say something without the benefit of an attorney present to tell his client when to shut the fuck up. We who are poor have to deal with honesty all the time. We cannot afford to be liars. We are already thought of as such, and because of this, we are also who cannot be or will not be trusted to be someone’s employee. Because we cannot be trusted as someone’s employee, we cannot get decent jobs, even with a college degree (BS- Behavioral Science, thank you very much). Because we cannot get decent jobs, and because all of the jobs that we do not qualify for we also cannot get (because we will cost too much at an hourly rate, because we are educated and should be fairly paid as though we are educated), here I sit, no job, living with my parents with my baby daddy and three children where I sleep nightly on the living room floor which doubles as my daughter’s bedroom.

The reason that I know now the poor are more likely to be mentally ill is because it is an everyday thing to worry. It is an everyday thing for me to worry about if there will be food for dinner, or if we will have to do like has been done on more than one occassion, which is that I sometimes, and shamefully so, hope to the Goddess that my kids will each be invited to eat dinner with one of their friends’ families. Besides, with all of the other things that I have to think about, those who would assume the very worst of people like me, I promise, could not ever live like this, ever. I don’t want to live like this. I want things back to how they were but that seems like a distant idea because unless someone has the forethought to think as you have and has bothered to look at what is truly there and is more prevalent in the lives of the poor in this country, I am assumed to be a drain on the economy.

I am a drain because I am educated and that alone makes me employable, at least in the eyes of those who have the very jobs that people like me used to seek out. When you have been told enough times that you are not what is needed, and yes, it is, in part, due to not only the “professional appearance” one must have when interviewing, but also the very energy on the collective face of the educated and degreed poor that makes the assumption of drug addiction and mental illness the assumed truth of us. The reality is that I have to deal with this very thing. I have to deal with the assumptions, and I have to deal with the emotional issues that I have because of the feelings that always happen that tell me that, even though I know I am every bit as worthwhile to anyone as I am to myself, I stil have to deal with hearing “no, we have filled the position.” That alone has caused me to stop looking for these invisible jobs that somewhere in the vicinity, someone else who also needed the job, ended up getting the job.

And so ensues the tears. And it is the tears that I cry, everyday now, that feel like lead falling out of my eyes. The tears tell the story of my own feelings of futility, of hopelessness and of people just not giving a good god damn about anything that does not equate to their own bottom line. I can tell you that the State of California’s GAIN/Welfare to work program sucks ass because it only addresses the needs of people who have never had any intention of working, of getting ahead in life, of supporting themselves. It does not do a thing at all for people like me who end up needing the program anyway because eventually, after having to go through so much for so little, you get mad, and then you cry, and then you need to see a shrink.

Linda, I need to see a shrink, seriously.

It gets tiring, crying all the time, and then getting mad because you know that you are going to have to beg people to help you eat, of all things, and you cry a lot because you feel like a piece of shit and really, even as one has had her moments where she could have earned, quite neatly, the “Asshole of the Year” award, I challenge anyone at all to find a person who does not have momentary bouts of human being-ness. Everyday I want to, at some point in my day, or at least for the fleeting moment that the thought crosses my mind, not be breathing anymore, but the feeling leaves me the moment that I think about those three kids. But then that moment leads to the other moment that reminds me that they see me crying, a lot.

This was written by the Rev. Roxanne Cottell. Find her @ReverendRoxie22 or at her blog.

Loop – anonymous

August 17, 2014, 2 Comments, Written by , Posted in Uncategorized

Excerpted from an email –

Thanks for taking time to try and share the world we live in that exists past hope and without expectations. The world of grey light and quiet drudgery that we entered thinking it was a tunnel with a light at the end of it, then came to eventually realize was simply existence, not a tunnel that we’d emerge from. I live past any sense of regret or resignation, without sadness: my world simply ‘is’.
One comment to your post on HuffPo is running through my mind on a continuous loop: “Work hard, save money!” they said. Hearing that in my mind woke me at 5:15 this morning, angry and baffled. These people’s math is worse than their empathy for “poor-ness” or whatever the hell we have. If I somehow I manage to save for a year maybe I can fill a cavity or buy a transmission for my old car. In this year I HAVE actually managed to save a couple grand, more than I have had in one place in years. Know what that is for? College for my 16 year-old. Think for a minute what 2 or 3000 dollars looks like in the scheme of a college education and come back when you stop laughing.
I am 51. There is simply NO mathematical way things will ever change for me. I’ll work until I drop dead in five or ten years so my remaining time will be spent teaching my son to do everything the opposite of what I have done.
Unfortunately I have tried as hard and as consistently as I can to be truthful, apply the golden rule and most of all be kind to people and that’s been pointless. I am not wired to tell him that those were where I went wrong. So about all I have is false hope that things will be better for him. But not much expectation that they will.
Sadness is for those who compare what they have in their lives to what they want to have. For existential frustration to exist it must have a force to fight against, a wall to push against. Where I live there is nothing to fight. You just keep running in place.
At least it’s quiet here.

A note on launching, from Linda Tirado

August 16, 2014, 2 Comments, Written by , Posted in Uncategorized

When I wrote a simple expression of feeling, I saw what people really thought of people like me. And a lot of it was misinformed bullshit. Poor is a matter of money, not intelligence.

A lot of  people haven’t ever thought about how the math works. I watched a sitting member of Congress (on the Budget Committee, no less!) confuse SNAP and cash welfare. He thought they worked the same. Some people have no idea how life in the service economy works, because nobody’s ever explained it to them.

The only way to fight that kind of silliness is to talk about how things really work. This is a platform of shared experience. We’ll publish what you send us here. If you like, we’ll keep you anonymous. If you want, we’ll link you. If you want help editing, we’re happy to. I’ll keep posting emails as I get permission, and I’ll keep posting excerpts from other blogs. Please click through and visit those pages. They are all illuminating.

You can reach us at bootstrapindustries@gmail.com or by filling out the form below. Thank you for your time and your support. I hope that you keep reading and that you share these stories widely.

-killermartinis

They said he was worth $9 a week – anonymous

August 15, 2014, 1 Comment, Written by , Posted in Uncategorized

This is an excerpt from an email I received. I’ve edited for typos and formatting, and to obscure identifying information.

 

For me this all came to a head with the Affordable Healthcare Act. I thought – gee, I’m finally going to be able to get the health care I need, right? I’m diabetic with thyroid issues, kidney stones, fibromyalgia and so many more problems. Was nice to think, next year I won’t have to go to the free clinic, I can go into a real doctor’s office and be seen. Be treated like everyone else… And then the information was received – that we are TOO POOR TO GET INSURANCE. WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!!?!?! TOO POOR?? Oh, we won’t have to pay the penalty on our taxes (oh gee thanks) for not having insurance, and you can log back into the system after December 1st and see the plans you can pay to get, but you won’t get any assistance in getting them. Hang on… WHAT???!?!??! It took me days to process this. To realize that yet again I’ve been screwed.

We didn’t used to be poor. My husband and I both worked full time jobs in the mental health field as caregivers. We took care of the people that most don’t want to even see out in public. My husband had a nervous breakdown and had to quit his job, so it was up to me to support us. Things went well for a while. We invested more into our retail store, that site in our front yard and sales were good for a while – good meaning about $100-200 a month. It kept gas in the tank so I could continue to drive the hour to work. And then my kidneys shut down and I was in the hospital, then I was out of work for 6 months. That store kept food on the table and paid the bills as best we could. I borrowed to make ends meet.

I got back to work, found a job closer to home but it meant a pay cut. When comparing pay cut to  cost of gas, it was simply logical to work closer to home. I’ve been at this same job now for 8 years. My husband’s daughter graduated high school and moved in with us. Everyone was happy, we thought. We struggled but we still managed to make ends meet, and we even managed to go on a trip to the beach. Sure, we had to camp because it was cheaper than a hotel room, but I got to see the ocean, see where my husband grew up.

My husband’s mother died of breast cancer in our living room. We brought her into our home to care for her after her diagnosis (this was her second bout.) It was traumatic, it changed the dynamic of the family. I didn’t think my husband would survive it, but he did. I talked him into applying for a job at our new superstore when it opened. He not only landed a job, but he got better pay than most shift managers. He was happy, he was active, he was making friends! And then his back went out… and he was out of work for several months, eventually going back part time and fighting his way back to full time again.

Then that fateful day when he was hurt permanently. Workman’s Comp ruled our life. All the tests, driving five hours to another city to get into an upright/sitting MRI machine. All the medications, the hallucinations (seems he’s allergic to medication for nausea), the addictions to high powered pain medications. But even through all of this he kept on going and went back to working part time, because he knew we needed the income, all the while praying that the lawyer would get us a good settlement. In the end he had a small breakdown and quit his job. The corporate Workmans Comp valued his life at $9 a week and gave us a settlement based on that value, expecting him to live another 20 years. Shocking to know that his life was valued so low. During all of this and before we got the settlement, his daughter moved out and stopped speaking to us, her local friends and all the family on her fathers side. He was devastated. He lost his mom, estranged from his brother for a long time and now his daughter as well.

We tried to spend the money in an intelligent way. Of course we blew some of it, everyone would. However, we paid off the bills, the van and the clothes washer I was paying on. We had our store’s building enlarged. We had a tin roof installed over our existing leaky roof (I actually took a bad fall, injuring my back, because of the leaky roof) and we added on a covered porch.

So here we are. He’s trying to get disability – we’re on round two and we contracted our lawyer to handle this round. His depression is terrible – in fact he had his third breakdown this past week. My hours were cut last year when Obamacare was announced – funny how ironic that is. My hours being cut for a benefit that I’m too poor to even get. So every week I rob peter to pay paul to keep the lights on, phone on, insurance on the van, food on the table. When the van broke down several times I took out loans that now take half my pay automatically. My mom had her third stroke and I decided that for Thanksgiving this year we’re going to go see her. It’s only a 6 hr drive, but that’s $160 in gas that I don’t have, so I borrowed more money. It’s only money, right? I’ll make more… but the thought of not seeing mom and her dying… It’s only money.

I’ve tried hard to not think about our situation, about the last 10 years, but finding about being too poor for insurance last week just brought all of it to a head and I’ve been thinking about the dynamic of being poor. I remember emailing my boss about the health insurance info and commenting about “the futility of it all.” Add to all of this is the holidays – the constant pressure to spend spend spend because it makes people HAPPY! No, it doesn’t. It makes them poor, it makes them depressed, it makes them desperate.

So that brings me back to your post. Words still fail me when I think about your post. You could have been describing our lives. How I work my job and come home and work online, trying to make more money to pay the bills that will need more money to pay next month. I know that we’re not the only people in this situation, but we don’t talk about it. We try to “keep our chin up”, find ways of distracting ourselves, or simply go to sleep. 

The spoon theory of being poor

August 15, 2014, 1 Comment, Written by , Posted in Uncategorized

The point I’d like to make is that we all need to be less judgmental of other people’s choices. I read news stories about people in poverty or in debt, and they are always followed by a string of comments about how the person deserved what they got because they made a poor choice, and what did they expect.

Well, it’s very easy to sit in comfort and say, ‘I would never do that’. But the truth is that if you had to live in those circumstances, you probably would do that, or something equally ill-advised. First, because often all of the options are bad. And second, because the ability to make good decisions is not a natural virtue — it’s an ability that fluctuates according to one’s situation. We are all Charlie, to some extent.

We also need to stop thinking of poverty as a condition that anyone could just work their way out of if they were really trying. Social mobility hasn’t been a statistical reality in America for forty years — and that’s not because people suddenly got lazier. It’s because the environment changed.

We aren’t all working with a full set of spoons, silver or otherwise. Some of us have physical challenges, some mental, some financial. You wouldn’t tell someone with cancer that they could get better if they were really trying, right?

Then don’t imagine that anyone could just shake off a mental illness, or pull themselves out of poverty, if they wanted to badly enough. We want to. Almost to a person, I promise, we all want to live better lives.

-Excerpted from an essay published on Pocketmint

Find Karawynn on Twitter @pocketmint

Perspective: Mac McGill on the reality of homelessness

August 15, 2014, 2 Comments, Written by , Posted in Uncategorized

I want to tell you about a guy named Mac McGill. He lives in Santa Barbara. And he’s been doing a lot of work to tell the stories of homeless people. I’d consider him an authority on the subject, as he’s spent a lot of time homeless himself.  He’s kind of awesome, and you should pay attention to the passion and the explanation and the conflicted emotions he is willing to share with the world if it helps. He is fiery and true, and a generous man with a lot of good insight. Learn from him.

 

Last night around 2 AM brutally cold winds strong enough to knock over many of the full trash cans that had been put out descended on Santa Barbara with absolutely no warning. At least not for us homeless. It was cold enough to wake me to where I had to scramble to pull my parka and overpants out of my case, and windy enough to make it difficult to do so. I had fully planned on going to my new job today, which is about aa mile and a half away. However, when I woke up the chill was penetrating enough that taking off my winter wear was not really feasible. It was quite simply to damn cold to even consider riding a bike without my parka and over-pants, but then what do I do once it warms up? My pack is already too full to accommodate them. It would be warm enough by the afternoon that wearing it really wouldn’t be an option, and I am already wearing dirty clothes, and the commute whether by bicycle or on foot already causes me to sweat pretty heavily. It will be days before I can do laundry. So I ask you what your willingness to endure all of that would be, and how often you even have to face decisions like this. I would quite happily bootstrap myself up if the opportunities were not only more lucrative, but even feasible given my circumstances. Exactly how many people want an unshaven employee who reeks of sweat and hasn’t slept well because of factors utterly beyond his control? The solution we are constantly given is to “get a job.”

Well, I have a goddamned job and it isn’t fucking working.

-May 6, 2014

Find him at http://macmcgill.wordpress.com/

Or on Twitter @MacMcGill7

Ferguson

August 14, 2014, 5 Comments, Written by , Posted in Uncategorized

I didn’t mean to start my blog today, or go live with the website. I was waiting until I could ready all the content and be quite impressive, really. This is important, so today it is.

Sunday, we all watched the aftermath of the killing of Mike Brown. Another unarmed young black guy, walking home. Killed by police, his body left lying in the street for ages, because I guess that’s how those cops roll. It didn’t seem strange to me that the people who lived there – who had to see their friend or family member or just that dude from up the block left on the asphalt – would be upset. Enraged, even. The anger seemed rational.

Last night, we all watched the police throwing tear gas and using rubber bullets and informing the few cameras in attendance to stop filming. And half of us watched it on Infowars, of all places. Why? Because that was at some points our only option. That was the media coverage. That and this one other guy who got an amazing live feed up for longer than anyone else. Otherwise, there was Twitter.

I’m not a journalist, I’m an author. I write about emotion and experience. More importantly, I write about things I have seen or felt. I try not to speak over people of color when issues of race are on the table, because I don’t bring much to that particular table. But I do know exhaustion, and weary grief at another unsustainable loss, and flashes of anger when something pushes you too far and you’ve had one too many indignities. That I understand. Not at all in the same way or to the same degree as the people in Ferguson, but there is empathy in marginalization, a common experience of nope, fuck this.

It occurred to me finally that my place was simply to use whatever platform I have. I’d prefer to leave the writing to people who know how to explain things properly.

And if you want to know what’s going on, go to Twitter and read #Ferguson.

-killermartinis

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