Trigger Warning -- Losing my home, furniture, and books #16

I was grieving when I had to move out of the apartment I'd lived in for five years. I had two bedrooms—one I'd turned into a second living room with a couch and a bookshelf for all of my magic DVDs and books.

As I was moving out, I had to throw many of those books and furniture away. Again. I tried giving these things away, but no one wanted them.

What humiliated me most was how inexpensive the apartment was—utilities included—and I still couldn't afford $1,000 a month even though I was working six days a week. In my parents' generation, I could have taken any minimum-wage job and afforded that apartment. Now I was losing it despite doing everything I was supposed to do.

I had the rental car for only as long as it took to move what I could transport to the new house. It's impossible for me not to think about how the US treats its working class when a majority of jobs don't pay well enough to meet even the minimal basics of life. I felt defeated by a system that punishes you for already being down.

I had known it was going to come to this after my ex bandmates did what they did to me.

I'd figured that by moving somewhere cheaper, I could start over and rebuild.

I was wrong.