My Depression in Poverty

The world is changing. Do you remember the days when things were affordable? You could live alone and still afford utilities, gas, food, and trips with friends and family. Those days were nice for me. I remember before COVID happened, I had a small, awful little basement apartment that I was paying a grand for, and I was getting paid I believe twelve an hour at a little local gift shop. It was the first time I was fully financially independent, I had money in my savings account, and I felt like I was on the right path for my finances and my happiness. Then, Covid happened. I got laid off and had to get a new job. It was a terrifying time. A new job, a pandemic, and losing physical contact with so many of my close friends. I was getting paid more, but did that help me?

I fell into an even deeper depression due to a toxic work environment and not being able to see people outside of work. I was in that lonely basement apartment for roughly another six months, and I was getting tired of it. I figured I was making more money, so I definitely could afford a better place to live. My friends came up with a solution: move in them and save money by splitting rent. They lived about a 45-minute drive from my apartment, and I thought, why not? I missed my friends, and it allowed me to maybe save even more money by splitting rent instead of carrying all the responsibility. I moved in with them, but I was still traveling to my other workplace which was pretty far away. I tried to transfer stores, but my manager convinced me to stay at that store, and considering how little of a backbone I had, I listened and continued my work there. That was the downfall of my money. I didn’t have much privacy in my new living situation due to the room I was put in, and I was spending so much money traveling to my work and back.

My workplace started getting extremely toxic, and I was feeling drained. I worked hard, but it didn’t seem to pay off in paychecks or my mental health. I lost my savings, and I felt like I hit the end of my rope. I was in a relationship at the time, and we decided to move in together in a small studio apartment along with my cat back to the city I was living in. We both worked at the same place and were getting paid roughly the same, so I figured this would take some financial burden off my shoulders by sharing the responsibilities with someone else. I was very wrong.

I did not realize how financially incompetent he was at the time. It started showing the more we lived together and that I was fronting rent and bills more often than he was. My savings disappeared, and so did my patience. After a year or so, I ended things and told him to move out. So there I was, left alone with my cat in a studio apartment that I couldn’t comfortably afford any more. It didn’t help that rent was being raised without my knowledge until it became nearly unaffordable. I had gotten a new job since then, and it was the most I had been paid ever in my life, but I still couldn’t afford to live. I was struggling. Hard.

Time passed and I got into another relationship. It wasn’t good, borderline emotionally abuse, and also drained me financially. After about six months, I ended that relationship as well. Now, I’m in my first healthy relationship, and we are looking for a new place to live together. The problem? Money. Always money.

I lost my job a month ago and have just had my first job interview not too long ago. It’s a part-time position but I could be paid a dollar more than what I was making at my old job. I have to talk of shame with my father and ask him for money for rent, but sadly I still need to ask more because I won’t have enough to cover it, and I’m not even sure I’ll have this job. I don’t have a car, and finding a decent apartment that I can afford with my partner feels hopeless.

I haven’t slept well. I don’t eat well. My emotional and mental state is beyond repair it seems. I feel so lost. It feels as if I will never be able to move out of this apartment unless it’s onto the streets begging for change. No matter how thin I’m spreading everything, it seems like I’m never taking a step forward. I don’t have health insurance and can’t afford therapy. I’ve struggled with poverty and depression for my entire life, and it seems the cycle just continues into my adulthood. My birthday is even next month, and I’m not looking forward to it because of the stresses I am struggling with at present.

Many people will say that realistically, it will get better. These things will sort themselves out, and there is always a light at the end of the tunnel. It’s so hard to see that when you already struggle with severe depression that gives you a cloud on how you view life. You want to be positive, but it’s difficult through the tears and the sleepless nights. You drink more to numb the thoughts, you start thinking irrationally. You start wanting to run away and wondering if it is better on the streets than fearing losing the roof over your head every single day.

Now, there is deep-seated anxiety and deep sadness in my soul. Every day it’s hard to get out of bed and pretend to be a functioning person. I keep my fears to myself, but through my repeated anxiety attacks and breakdowns, it’s getting harder to pretend that everything is alright and that I have adulthood handled. Many people claim that folks my age just don’t want to work, that they’re lazy, but what happens when you see the pain I’m experiencing every day just trying to survive? Would you still say that? This dead-end road may continue on for a while, and I’m not sure what the solution is anymore.