Nikirj lives in a tiny house. There is one wall between the living and the sleeping areas, dividing the rooms. She describes it as the "thin veil of sanity." I feel like I have one of those walls between me and everyone else right now.
I grew up poor. It makes me nuts when people say they are "poor" and get all keep-up-with-the Joneses about financial shit when they have large TVs, DVD players, stereos, x-boxes, multiple cars, multiple cell phones, high speed internet, kids in extra curricular activities.... come ON! That's NOT poverty. I am talking POOR. Not dirt floor poor, but holes in the windows, ceilings and doors poor. No a/c in the South poor. Intimate friends with 10 year old hand me down clothes poor. No food in the house poor. Break-an-arm-no-electricity-next-month-staying-with-Grandma poor.
It stands to reason then, that one of the Big Two triggers for me backflipping into anxiety land is financial stress. Want to watch me trip? Wait for when I screw up financially.
This month has been rough for me because *I* made an error on our bank account. A big one. A purty one. A REAL BIG FAT ONE. Combined with my insurance company acting up (idiots!) and th eperson who sold us this house not paying her taxes last year (grrr), the month ofMay was a Perfect Storm of financial duress. I am wigging my behind out.
Will we get it done? Yes. Will it effect the rest of our lives? Probably not. But it could effect the next four or five, and that is what I have to be smart enough to avoid. Nothing can prevent us from refinancing this house, nothing, or we will be in big doodoo when the AROM loan comes up for adjustment. FUH LOGGING myself is exactly what I am doing righ about now.
So anyway, my thin veil of sanity is fluttering in the wind. I am trying not to snap at my kids, I am avoiding my friends as much as possible and certainly not driving too many places when gas is at 3.25 / gallon. It's driving me a little bit nuts that I am flashing back to my childhood when I am no where near any danger of that ( I think!), but that's the nasty little nature of PTSD.
Again! Yay for happy pills!