A heavy weigh felt like it was dropped on my shoulders as I
stood in front of a Wells Fargo ATM machine, withdrawing my last $20 bill from
my account. I took the money and quickly stashed it carefully into my wallet.
‘
This is it,’ I thought to myself. As I walked home, carrying the very last
change I have left to my name, I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of
calmness. With my shoulders still dropped and my head down, I wondered why I
wasn’t at the brink of tears. This $20 has to last me for the next 3 days until
I finally get paid. Wouldn’t that make one
nervous?
But I wasn’t crying. Nope. I wasn’t anxious or nervous, or even worried. Have
I finally become numb enough to not feel anything anymore?
It has been 6 months since I have been “let go” from the
company I had been working for since my move to New York City and 4 months
since I have been off Unemployment. I have been living—literally—paycheck to
paycheck, stretching every penny as far as I could, and have yet to secure a
real, full time job that’ll put me back above the poverty line. Has my life
really come to this? Yes. Do I feel like I’ve hit rock bottom? I don’t know.
Right now I can’t feel a thing. Again, no tears.
That same morning, I had an interview with a company I am
hoping to work for. The interview was informal and held over coffee at the café
inside the New York Times building. I couldn’t even afford my own cup of
coffee. It was $2.72. You have to laugh. It was 2 fucking dollars and
seventy-two fucking cents and my card got declined. In this situation,
you can't cry. You really have
to laugh. I'm still waiting to hear back about the job.
Two nights before that, I was woken up from my sleep from
completely crashing onto the floor as I realized the $30 bed frame I had bought
from IKEA a year ago had decided to give out and break in some odd pieces. ‘
SHIT,’ I said
loudly in my head as I scrambled to pick myself up in the middle of the dark. I
cannot afford a new bed, I told myself. But
who’s crying.
I’m not crying.
Some days before that, I found myself standing in front of
an angry, screaming hair client who was hilariously upset that her appointment
was 20 minutes late and wrongly blaming me for it. I’ve about had it with these
over-privileged, entitled Manhattan women. I don’t remember saying much to her
except wondering why I hadn’t vocally cussed her out and walked out on the job. But still,
no tears.
A week before that, a statement came in the mail from Sallie
Mae, threatening my account to go into default from my months of over
delinquency. The minimum payment has reach $1500 per month. Default means they
can now go straight into my paycheck each month and take out money. Is this a
laughing matter?
Absofuckinglutely not. But am I laughing? Yes. Why? I’m laughing to seal in the embarrassment. I’m laughing to
repel the rejection. I’m laughing to justify the disappointment. I’m laughing
to numb the pain. I’m laughing to push back the tears.
I am laughing to keep from crying.
