Living around the corner from my husband wasn’t ever going to work. What I’ve grown to learn in my time away from him, is he still wanted to control me in certain ways and have the upper hand. I think he wanted me at my mother’s condo so he knew when I was and wasn’t around. It became quickly apparent that living there wasn’t going to work, for a multitude of reasons. I couldn’t be around the corner from my husband. I couldn’t live with my mother. It clearly bothered her, my depression and my state of being. I felt guilty about my state of being but I couldn’t be any better than I was. I tried to engage, I tried to be interested, but I couldn’t even fake it. My light for life and love had gone out. It had been stomped out.
So, I decided to try and find somewhere else to live. For anyone who thinks the housing market is tough, they should try the rental market. The rental market is just as bad, if not worse. They want credit scores on applications. They want you to have specific kinds of credit. They want references of your past landlords. That’s IF you can get into somewhere to look at.
I looked at maybe half a dozen places, filled out applications. I needed somewhere big enough to house a couple of kids, the cat and myself. It didn’t need to be anywhere really fancy. It had to be nice enough. We live in a city, technically speaking, but it has a country flair to it. Most of it is nice, but there are certainly less than desirable parts of it.
Everywhere I looked, I lacked something. I didn’t have up to date rental history. Not the right kind of credit. I didn’t have any loans, my student loans are paid off, I own my car outright. I had been gainfully employed at the same place for 18 years. I clearly wasn’t going anywhere. I had references.
I looked at somewhere in one of the not as nice parts of town. The landlord and I seemed to click. I told a little about what was going on in my life. The apartment was newly renovated. I was way down the list for possible tenants. It seemed very unlikely that it would happen.
It did though. I got an email on Christmas Eve morning it was mine if I wanted it. I could pick the keys up that night and give my deposit. It lacked appliances (there was an appliance shortage) and the second bedroom was smaller than what my walk-in in closet was, but it was going to be mine. My new home.
I paid the deposit and got the keys. I had an empty apartment to fill. I had nothing to fill it with. Everything I owned was in my house. Where my husband was. Where my heart was. I had to figure out if I could fill an empty void in my heart and make this place feel like home for me.
I scoured online yard sale sites and second hand stores for furniture. I was going to buy as little as possible. I had practically a whole house filled with furniture. I figured if nothing else, what I bought for this place could be given to the kids when they started going out on their own. I had bought a mattress for my mother’s house, with a frame, so I had that.
The first thing I bought was a loveseat. I would come over after work and on the weekends and just sit on it. I wouldn’t do anything but cry. I couldn’t picture living without my family. I couldn’t picture trying to make anywhere a home without them. I couldn’t make the jump to move into the apartment.
I knew I couldn’t stay with my mother. It was almost as if everyday got worse with her in a way. That my depression was growing deeper. My weight continued to drop. I had started to throw up involuntarily after dinner, mostly. Probably because that was when I ate the most, which wasn’t saying much. I was nauseous constantly. I agonized. I trembled. I was wasting away. I pined for my husband.
The biggest opportune thing in my mind was that my kid would be home from college for a few more weeks over the holiday break after I got the keys for the apartment. I thought they would be overjoyed that I had somewhere of “my own”. Especially since they kept telling me to “grow up. Get over it. Move on,” when I could barely hold a conversation. Instead I was met with disdain. They told me not to bother moving in before they left because it didn’t matter since they wouldn’t be staying with me at the apartment. Since they made such a stink, I opted to not invest in any furniture for their room prior to summertime.
I had collected the bare minimum furniture once they went back to school (a bed, dresser, couch, television, dining table) I still couldn’t quite make myself leave my mom’s. Everything felt too sad. Nothing felt right. I would come to the apartment and sit at night and then go back to my mother’s. I came up with excuses. I didn’t want to stay but I couldn’t go. I had no reason. I just couldn’t quite do it. I would sit alone at the apartment and cry at night. Go to my mom’s, get ready for bed and cry there, wishing sleep would come. I finally just decided I had to do it and went.
I learned that I had lost the ability to step foot in a grocery store. This was, and is, a complex issue for me. Due to covid, I had not been out in stores much, so I did question if that was the issue early on. It’s deeper than that. My husband and I grocery shopped together generally, precovid, or he went. I didn’t/don’t know how to shop for one person at this point in my life. I was a family of 5. I am a notorious overbuyer at the grocery store. When you have three teenagers, it’s not such a big deal. But when it’s just you staring at the shelves, it’s suddenly the most daunting thing you’ve ever taken on. I’m writing this now, 5 months since I’ve been in my apartment. I have gone in the grocery store twice. Both times I have had panic attacks and had to abandon my grocery cart. I had gone a third time but I saw my husband and her in the parking lot there. I’m sure after some tryst together before she had to run home. I threw up in the parking lot that time. I haven’t been back to the grocery store since.
So, it’s just me and the cat in this apartment. We moved in, knowingly without appliances for the first month. (I got half months rent for the first month. I had a mini fridge and hot plate if I needed it) With the national shortage, the delivery date kept getting pushed back. When they finally got here, the stove didn’t work. There wasn’t the proper plug in for the dryer in the basement. I wasn’t destined to have appliances. We had to wait for a new stove to be delivered and get an all in washer/dryer. Once the second stove arrived, it became obvious there was yet another electrical issue.
There was never anything as exhilarating as boiling water for the first on that stove. Something that is taken for granted; I was able to do again. I ate pasta the first night I had a stove again. All in all, it was over 2 months I had no stove from the time I had properly moved in.
The neighborhood. It leaves something to be desired. At least from what I’m used to living in. When I first got to the apartment, it was winter. One of the houses across the street actually had piles of trash in it. Apparently, it had been a hoarders house, but it’s been sold and it’s being worked on. They have filled dumpsters of trash and taken them away. The house hasn’t been touched. On the outside at least. When they finally “cleaned the house out” they literally put trash in the front yard and put up a sign for “free”. It mostly sat untouched.
They deal drugs on the street corner. I can see them do it out the window. They don’t bother me. There’s nothing violent about it. It’s just a transaction that happens. Outside where I live. It made me uneasy at first. Now it’s just a fact. I think the most disturbing thing about it is it’s right by a three family house that all have kids that live in it.
The people behind me have a camping hot tub set up in their yard. They listen to music in it loudly late at night. They argue late at night too, which I can easily hear in the apartment. They also have a projection screen which they watch on the back of their house. They give no consideration to the fact there are neighbors who are close by. Across the the road, they mow the lawn at 10pm.
Summer break has come and my kid won’t stay with me. They barely will talk to me, because they feel like they don’t have a home anymore. They want me to “grow up and get over it”. I wish I could kid. This doesn’t feel like home to me either. It’s empty. I have no belongings. My family is missing. My walls are white and bare.
I keep thinking the tears will stop but they don’t. My heart is crushed. My soul is broken. I can’t sleep well, but it’s improving. I have pillows on what used to be my side of the bed. I wake up panicked from nightmares most nights and can’t go back to sleep. I always wake up looking for him. I don’t know what it will take to make it stop. I know what a bad person he is but still, I love him. He was my person.
Never had a white picket fence 