(I went from living in this grade listed building, dating back to the late 1800’s in London, UK, (as well as being independent and supporting myself), to becoming homeless within eight months of moving to the US).
Picking up from where I left off (see “Our Disastrous Trip To New York Whilst Heavily Pregnant“), after *Steve had returned for me in West Virginia, we were fast approaching his friend *Peter’s house. As we got closer, gloating, he said “See? I do have friends. Something you don’t think I have”. OK Mr. Crazy, that was random. To be honest, I just couldn’t care less any more. I just wanted to register with a hospital, and make sure my kittens were OK. Each day that passed felt more and more like my baby was coming. The stress was really grinding me down – as well as Steve. The pain was unbearable. Every time I told him I was in pain, he’d tell me to stop complaining because I was having a ‘text book’ pregnancy. Even with me being in this state, it was always all about him.
Unsure of what to expect, once we pulled up on the driveway, a bad feeling hit me. There was quite a bit of junk outside. I was praying the inside would be better, bearing in mind, I could possibly have to bring my new born baby back to this house. Honestly, meaning no disrespect, the place was not fit for me, let alone a baby. Turns out his friend *Peter didn’t own the house at all as he had previously stated. He’d just been paying the mortgage for a while. His mother, father, cousin and dog lived there with him.
When I told Steve how unhappy I was because we needed our own space, he said “It’s a roof and four walls”. It suited him because they all smoked (God knows what, plus he had been lying to doctors and nurses that he had quit smoking). There were ashes everywhere in every room. There were cobwebs on the shower and around the bath area. And then some. It was not for me. It was not for my baby nor my kittens either. But I had to be grateful, apparently. He’d leave me alone in the room for long periods, come back in smelling of alcohol and cigarettes/smoke, knowing it made me feel sick. He simply didn’t care.
(To living like this with four weeks left to go before my son was due. These pictures show the “four walls and a roof” Steve was talking about. These pictures were I had tidied the best I could, without Steve’s help).
We tried to update our driver’s licences from Georgia to New York. We didn’t have the $65.00 per person to do it. He needed new tags, but refused to get them before we left Georgia and we still couldn’t afford them where we were. (So in the end, we had to pay a late fee as well later on). We had very little money, and with that, we had to buy ramen noodles to make sure he ate, but generally had enough money for him to get his junk food fix. I, on the other hand was still eating once every two days. Admittedly, Peter and his family did offer me food, but I didn’t feel comfortable eating from them, nor eating their food. We hadn’t given them any money. Steve didn’t think we should anyway. I had become so accustomed to not eating by now, although I prayed my baby was getting all he needed from me. My stomach would hurt and rumble. I was so hungry.
Our next stop was for Steve to get Unemployment and an EBT card/Food Stamps. It was a horrible experience. The place stank. It was dirty. It was just awful. We kept being told to come back the following day. Petrol/gas was low. We had no money to fill up the tank. Yet, he seemed content to continue down this route. Anyway, after filling out all the forms and getting all the information they requested, we were told he couldn’t claim in the state of New York; he’d have to go back to Georgia as he was a resident there and his last place of work was there also. What a waste of time and what little money we had. But I was glad this was the case. Up until this point, Steve wanted us to stay with his friend until things worked out for us. How long would that have taken? We couldn’t keep living off of them. I suppose that’s the sort of person he is though. He’ll use anyone he can gain from. I, on the other hand have always been one to pay my own way, so was not comfortable with his ‘master plan’.
Steve would act like a victim outside of the room in front of them. Once back in the room, with the door closed, he was back to his true nasty character. Jekyll and Hide comes to mind.
November 11th. Veterans Day. As if he deserves to be called a veteran after I was the one who fought for his chapter to not go ahead. Steve and Peter got to eat for free. I stayed in the room whilst they went to TGI Fridays and had decent food. I received a bit of left over salad. By this point, I didn’t care. I had to eat. I was feeling faint already from lack of food.
November 14th. Steve’s birthday. I didn’t even wish him a happy birthday. After all the gifts he’d received from me and all the things I had paid for, I finally had nothing to give after he had stripped me down to nothing financially. Serves him right. Even if I had any money by that point, I wouldn’t have given him anything. All I wanted was to have my baby safely and leave the son of a bitch. For good.
The next day was pay day from the army. He was still being paid down to December 4th when his contract would end. (See “Heavily Pregnant, Hungry And Homeless”). Steve had decided it was time to leave as things weren’t working out for us there. He did an internet search on possible places we could go. Marietta, Georgia was decided. Once again, somewhere we’d never been before. At 02:00 am, his wages showed in our bank account, which was less than expected, but we left regardless. Without saying goodbye to anyone. I felt like a low life. If he had listened to me in the first place and 1) saved money and 2) stayed in Georgia, we wouldn’t of suffered the way we did. We should have had at least $22,000 saved, which would have covered so much for us. This is even with us treating ourselves to dinner, clothes, movies, etc.
Broke, smelly and homeless, we headed back to Georgia.
Why me? Why did I have to keep suffering like this?
Once we had got back to the state of Georgia I told Steve we should send Peter’s mother a cheque for $125.00 once we had a bit of money come in. It wasn’t much, but it would be a small contribution for our eight night stay there. He said no, why should he. Peter was a liar, them and the house was dirty and the reason they were broke was because of all the expensive cigarettes and weed they smoked. He also added that Peter’s father has just gotten out of jail for heroin and was crazy. He continued by saying it would be a waste of money sending it to them, besides, they hadn’t actually done anything for us. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Yes they did you loser! When I told him it was the principal of the matter, he still refused. I felt awful. I had no money myself, so could do nothing about it.
He never did send the money. Even now, I’d still like to send them some, but unfortunately, I cannot remember their address.
(*Not their real names)
Blog of a Mad Black Woman 