My Struggle With Money

The saying goes that love makes the world go round. I do not disagree. I’m equally of the opinion that money does the same thing.

Looking back, I was a middle class child. I didn’t have the most expensive toys or clothes, but I had plenty to eat, a safe place to sleep, and people who loved me. In my teenage years, I was quite spoiled. I moved up to designer labels. I took classes outside of school for art and theatre. I got a car at 16, promptly wrecked it, and got another one almost immediately. I went to college on scholarship with a stipend and still never wanted for anything. Was I happy? No. Not at all.

In my twenties, I moved in with a man. At first we both worked. He lost his job, and I could only find temp work. I started to know what it was like to go to bed hungry. We moved back to our home city, both got jobs, and things were okay again for awhile. Then he once again lost his job, and didn’t go back to work. I supported both of us on a Walmart wage. I learned the art of which bill to pay when, how long exactly it took for a check to clear at the bank, and if my pay deposit would win the race. Were we happy? Sort of.

Around 2012, I had a complete mental breakdown. I’d suffered a series of miscarriages. My boyfriend and I broke up. I attempted suicide and spent some time in the behavioral health hospital. When I got out, I got my own apartment. I went back to my job at a graphic design shop. I lived on my own for the first time since I’d left my parents. I could pay my bills without the juggling and there was food in the pantry. I wasn’t worried about the power being shut off. Was I happy? No.

After several severe mental struggles, I went on disability. I got married and we moved to a tiny town in Arkansas. There was never enough money. We both had to call home and ask for help. Both of us being on disability actually disqualified us for most relief programs because together we “made too much money.” Once again, we returned to our hometown and found a rental house. I found a program called Ticket To Work, which allowed me to make a certain amount of money each month and not affect my benefits. We struggled constantly to keep up with the bills and necessities. Thankfully we had our families’ help. Were we happy? I’d say not, since we divorced.

Once again I’m living alone, but thanks to Covid, I don’t have any additional income. I applied for food stamps, but my annual income of under $12,000.00 is too high. I’m 42 and my mother buys my groceries. Both my mental and physical health have gone to hell in a hand basket in a year. Am I happy? That’s a resounding fuck no.

I’ve been told by some friends that money doesn’t matter and it won’t make you happy. I know it doesn’t make me especially happy, having lived with money, but it sure makes it easier than living in abject poverty. My bills far outweigh my income. I replaced my 14 year old car two months before the pandemic broke out, then I lost my job. The thought of letting the car get repossessed or leaving my apartment and sleeping in the car has been a major debate in my head. Luckily, I still have my family that loves me and helps me. Unfortunately, so many people do not have that luxury. Am I happy? That actually makes me laugh at this point.

Can you be happy when you don’t know how you’re going to eat, get necessities, and pay rent every month? I guess there are moments of happiness. I’m not sitting around sobbing constantly, but I do my fair share of it. There are far more tears than smiles in my life. I might never figure out what real, feel it in your soul, happiness is. I do know it’s a hell of a lot easier to be happy when you’re not constantly trying to juggle money and decide what you can pay and how much you can do without.

“I’ve got my mind on my money and my money on my mind.” - Snoop Dogg