Steps forward

I have a gofundme and a PayPal set up for help.  I have a “we will survive” goal, and a “we’ll be alright, kids” dream.  If all the promised money shows up in my bank account, the car will get fixed and I can start working on the next critical bill.

Friday, when I was running around, I noticed the “check engine” light and the emergency brake light both turned on.  It didn’t go off again when I restarted the car.  After an hour of this, I took it to the dealership and begged for a quick look at what was wrong.

The alternator is shot.  $500, please.

Yah, you just heard my head hit the desk.  We just paid $500 for a different repair a month ago. Don’t mind me, I’ll just repeatedly hit my head on the desk.

By then, he had told me the car payment was my problem.

By then, he had closed our joint account and had taken the few dollars we had in it and took the bulk, for himself, and gave me the actual remains.  $20 went for him for food, the other $17 was in an envelope he gave me.  That money would have lasted us the weekend with the coins I had squirrelled in my wallet until he got paid on Tuesday.

My problem.  Oh boy.  Onto the phone calls to the lessor for the car to pray that I can have a month’s grace while I sort all this out.  I beg. I plead.  I’m not getting the month’s grace.  So I beg for something.  Arrangements may have been made, but at an extra cost to me.  If they screwed up and try to pull it in a couple of days, fines, fees and more.  Either way, between the payment and the repair, I’m screwed.

I need the car to get the kids to school – the teens can’t take the bus up the hill the elementary kids do, because it’s “walking distance” even though it’s a vertical climb of about 100 feet.  I don’t know what the grade is, but it’s a huge climb.  They can walk home though.  I still need the car to get them on bad days and if they’re sick and and and… Basically, the transit around here is very limited, and I can’t guarantee to get them there and back in time for school if they have to bus it.  We live in a small town, with basic transit, but not what is needed for us to be independent of a car.

I need the car to grocery shop.

I need the car to go to counselling and more now, thanks to him.

I need the car for job hunting.

I’m hooped without the car.

I hope he does good by me and the kids and gives me the car payment like he told others he was going to.  Thanks to very generous people, I have enough for the repair, but not for the payment.  I have to wait for the money to transfer to my account.  That could be today, tomorrow, or next week.  Please let it be tomorrow…

I really need the car…

I hope he does right by me and pays the payment like he told people he would.  He wouldn’t want to end up being a liar and not pay it.  That wouldn’t look good in court.

He showed up on Saturday when I was out job hunting and getting stuff for the kids with the little I still had and some gift cards I was given.  The officer gave my son his card and said they’d be back.  I called back and told the officer some hard truths about my husband and why I wanted a police officer there.  In truth, he was the one who wanted the cop there for his protection.  Why would a man who knows kung fu and how to get his wife to submit with one grab, be scared of her?  He’s nearly broken my wrist so many times just grabbing it, and not even in anger.  Yes, he’s that strong.

The officer told me that anything that was in dispute was not going.  My son’s claimed the computer, so that was not going.

The officer is going to make some referrals for me for more resources.

Spitfire hasn’t been the only shoulder that has offered to be soaked by me.  I still haven’t cried.  It’s more a relief than anything else.  I’d like to thank everyone who was generous with their time, and especially their pennies, to help me get through this.

I really need to thank those that have supported her.  Spitfire did not need the extra stress of not knowing what was going on with me.

I fainted Saturday night.  Well, not exactly fainted, but was guided to the floor by my son and my older daughter ganged up on me and told me to go to the ER.

Once there, a litre and a half iv into me, and more stuff stuck into me.  Poked, prodded, two visits, and the kidney cyst I have was shown to have grown.  Not a huge amount, but grown enough that it’s going to need more investigation.  I left with a new prescription for pain relief that, ironically, isn’t a pain pill nor a mood stabilizer, which is what I normally get by doctors who look at IBS and think that the patient is either attention seeking or drug seeking.  I was told to keep on doing what I was doing for dietary support and to come back if I felt bad.  According to the nurse that gave me my iv, my face was “ashen” and I was not in good shape.  I had passed out on the chair they had me sitting on and was almost falling over forward.

I didn’t even feel her give me the iv, that’s how out of it I was. Right in my elbow, right above where they took blood an hour earlier.

I might have a diagnosis for my wounds on my legs that will lead me to getting help there.  No, it’s not diabetes.

8kg lost.  That’s about a stone for those British inclined and about 14lbs or more for those who still use imperial.

That’s what I’ve lost since ejecting him.  I’ve gotten a dietary supplement in order to make sure I’m getting nutrition in me.  Yes, loosing that much weight this quickly is not good, but I have a lot to lose.  I’m twice the woman I should be.  Let’s see if I can be half as much once more.  I’m essentially at what my lowest weight ever was, but in kilograms, not pounds.  If I could make that pounds instead, I would be laughing.

Spitfire’s reclaimed her girl.  I’m back in the blue arms that soothe me.

Said by someone I care about: “you are a strong woman, that has been beat down so long you don’t think you are worth it, and I am seeing you finding your power.”

The irony, while I was job hunting… if I had this one certificate, I would have been hired on the spot at two places I tried.  Time to contact the registrar and get it reprinted.

I belong to Supermarine Spitfire.  I am hers.  She never hid our relationship from my husband and has always put the family unit in the equation, not just the two of us.  She is my guiding light, and I’m proud to be hers.

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