The Crash I Didn't Know I Needed: An Escape from the Rabbit Hole and the Bills That Never Die
I didn't choose creative poverty.
I didn't just fall; I was sent spiraling. I was tripped by someone who had no business sticking their leg out while I was minding my own business, walking my path - and I've been falling down the rabbit hole ever since.
Ever since my business closed, I haven't behaved like most adults do. I've been stuck in a limbo, unable to work or even face the world outside my door - indisposed and, as a natural consequence, poor as dirt.
My contribution to the household was a basic barter system: housekeeping for a roof over my head.
Like a servant from another era, given a bed and food but no salary. I carried a heavy discontent about not being paid, but what could I do?
I knew my work was substandard. My health condition had stripped away my coordination; with my hands losing their dexterity. I struggled with the simplest things.
If I couldn't even hold an eating utensil properly, how was I supposed to manage a mop or a broom?
For years, I was lost in the dark, drowning in my own misery, until the pandemic brought the entire world to a grinding halt. Strange thing happened to me; that global crash was actually one of the most peaceful moments of my life. Like I can finally catch my breath.
It felt like an equalizer effect. I don't know if that's the right way to put it, but the pressure just wasn't as great as before with everyone else was finally as stuck as I was.
Photo by Corinne Kutz on Unsplash
Because I'd lived in my own lockdown for years, I wanted to see how others navigated the digital world I was so out of touch with. How they built home offices and worked remotely, digesting every bit of news, good or bad.
I was seeking something - I didn't even know what - without any idea how it could apply to me.
I was like a spy gathering information while hiding in the shadows; or more accurately, a stalker scrolling through a feed, even though social media was - and still is - daunting to me. It was my interest in the war in Ukraine that finally led me to a writing platform and became my way back out.
I began to write about what happened to me; it was a therapy for me. Speaking openly about my condition brought a flood of revelations.
When the White Flag movement happened, a local DJ reached out with a care package that I am still so grateful for.
While people I knew - and even total strangers - stepped forward to help, I also watched an exodus of those I once thought were close.
Asking for help was a brutal process of slamming doors. I learned the hard way that help isn't a repayment for past kindness; if it were, I'd be wealthy from collecting debts instead of doing everything else.
The truth is, I was desperate for ideas and emotional support even more than material or monetary aid - and perhaps, in that way, I asked for too much.
To anyone reading this: don't lose hope.
Those you rely on might fail you, but the ones you never saw coming will be the ones who stand by you.
Eventually, the support I received helped me get started with basic equipment.
Everything I owned - the laptop and the rest - was old and had been dormant for too many years; it just didn't work anymore.
I was down to a single, dying phone to manage everything. I used it to write, slowly exploring the digital world for gigs that I can manage.
My progress has been excruciatingly slow.
Even a few years down the road, I still get thrown back by roadblocks and disturbances. I've made progress, but I still have to work harder than ever - because bills and deadlines are a part of life until the day you die.
©Britt H.
Thank you for reading this.
More about the person behind the writing in My Introductory Post
If you’d like to support my writing — you can consider buying me a coffee here Any support holds immense significance for a disabled neurodivergent like me.
The writing challenges are sponsored by @wakeupkitty Steemit witness @wakucat- Tales & Stories (6 UVF/Steem/SP)
In a situation like the one you describe, I received help from a complete stranger I met on FB. I don't know if this is a basic rule of life for all people, that in difficult times, people close to you, and those you could otherwise or thought you could, logically, rely on, pull away, as if misfortune were some contagious evil that could be transferred to them if they interact with someone who has had something like this happen to them.
This affected me in a very special way. And I no longer consider myself to be the good person, always ready to help, that I used to think I was. But there is always hope. Help comes most unexpectedly, along unknown paths, through unknown people, always incognito, always quietly, always from people who don't want anything in return.
And I'm not the person anymore who could give advice or encourage anyone after all this, but I can tell you one thing: Hang in there girl, because we have no other choice! And know that you will always receive support, you already know it yourself!
Oh, those bills those endless bills. Don't ask about amounts I paid, does bills I had to pay, and not one of them was mine. The bitterness it leaves you it behind that how much you could have done with all that money if you only had... not be that kind, not be that good of trust.
Good family exists. Honest family access helpful does and to same for loyal family. I know because I am that family member, but I never been rewarded with the same kindness, same aid, let alone respect.
Those in need remember me and turn to me even if it's after years, but at the same time there is no one I can turn to. In a way it grew that way. It's simply said: you manage l, you always did and next they turn their back on me.
In a way it was me who taught them that I manage. It was me who never asked for help, never said I can't play those bills, I don't make it unless...
With you I found the lockdown period relaxing. Till today I don't understand all those complaints. Complaints about visiting friends, grandma and going outside. All activities people never or rarely did.
The average person lives isolated, behind a screen and is way more anti social than you can imagine. All those computer addict people felt suddenly bored. Bored?
With you there's also a part who found a way to stay alive, make an income and go for a #betterlife.
We would call it 'making up the bills" in this case reflecting on your life and working at all aspects. Since bills are not just about food and a roof above your head, but also about your mental and physical care.
Will strangers come to your aid? Definitely.
P.s. the part about being the house slave sounds very familiar to me. I refused the offer. No way, I wanted to stay under that roof (and I never returned).
🤗🍀❤️
From the dawn of time, artists have always faced financial hardship. Our art is extremely expensive, and it requires a considerable amount of time to create.
Keep creating. Art saves. Warm regards.
Now that you mention it, our art is indeed expensive in its own way. The cost of our creation comes from an exclusive material that others cannot buy: our own life experience
Thank you @michaelangelo3
Thank you @hive-166850
Thank you @freewritehouse