How Do You Live?
That's the question I get asked whenever the subject of unemployment comes up. I've been out of work for five years. "Are you looking for work?" is the next question. And when I answer "no", I get the look. They don't say it out loud, but the look says "wow, you must be really lazy".
You used to be able to make a good living as a temp, going from office to office, till you found the right fit for a permanent placement. I did it for years, both in Madison and Seattle. The last job I had was in the fall of 2008, shortly after we moved to this apartment. It was just a month long temp job, one of only a handful of gigs I'd had that whole year. Luke had a job that ended around the same time, and the economy was taking a nosedive. By the end of the year, all the temp work dried up.
We had plenty of savings and planned to ride it out. Financially, we had a lot of things going for us, no kids, no house, reasonable rent, old car, no credit cards, no debt whatsoever. We enjoyed exploring the area, got into tidepools and roadtrips. I walked a lot.
A year passed. Luke got bored. He decided to finally finish his degree. I was upset with him at the time. How dare he incur debt, when there is so little hope of us ever getting jobs! But he needed this. He loved school and excelled at it. He'd also gotten into park restoration, and tailored his schooling towards it.
Me, I just coasted along. Not working. Not sleeping. Feeling guilty. I stopped going out on walks. Slowly, very, very slowly, almost imperceptibly, I sank deep into depression, and I remain there today. I gradually lost the ability to do things. Making a phone call is incredibly difficult. Having to call a stranger is now terrifying to me. Even calling someone I've called before (like pizza) is an epic thing I have to work myself up to doing.
Being social is harder, much, much harder. I rarely leave the apartment. Not because I'm afraid to, but because I have no particular place to go. And that's on me, because I'm really not in a place where I can seek out people to do things with. I want to, I desperately need to socialize, but I just can't make it happen myself right now.
So here we are, five years with no work, and our savings is nearly gone. I look at the homeless people in our neighborhood park, and wonder if we'll be joining them soon. I'm awake all night, sleeping all day, and basically non-functioning. But you wouldn't know for looking at me. I look like normal people. I'm great at pretending I'm normal people. I sidestep the unemployment questions as best I can, even after I get the "you're lazy" look. "How do you live?" I just tell people we don't own a house, and we've been super frugal all this time. I mean, it's true we have been frugal, but I don't tell them how miserable I am, and how frightening and bleak our future is, and that I think of little else as I stare at the ceiling, trying and failing to sleep.
We still have enough money where I could go to Wiscon. But I may need some help. The hotel is spendy. (I already get the sixth floor deal) Airfare is insane. Wiscon has a member assistance fund, but I don't know what I could ask for. $50 bucks? $100 bucks? The whole plane ticket? I have no idea. Just going to the website and finding out anything about it is terrifying to me. I haven't been able to do that yet. People have already offered help and suggestions. How do I even act on them? Depression makes doing simple, necessary things really hard, like asking questions and interacting with people who might possibly help me.
My depression says things like: Why do I deserve help, anyway? I'm not a writer. I'm not a rock star of the science fiction, technology, academic or blogging world. And I'm not really that interested in talking about race or class. I used to run the Tiptree bake sale, but that was ages ago, and now someone else does it better. Who the hell do I think I am, anyway?
I want to go to Wiscon for the simple reason that I've been going to this convention for 28 years. I need to see the friends I made back then, and the new ones I made just last year. I need it as much as I need air and water. It's a social shot in the arm that keeps me going.
Anyway..
I've been wanting to say something, anything, for a long time. But depression says "they're all going to think you're stupid and lazy and worthless if you tell them the truth". Still, just saying it so someone besides me and Luke can know what's been going on might be helpful. We'll see.
Here goes..
You used to be able to make a good living as a temp, going from office to office, till you found the right fit for a permanent placement. I did it for years, both in Madison and Seattle. The last job I had was in the fall of 2008, shortly after we moved to this apartment. It was just a month long temp job, one of only a handful of gigs I'd had that whole year. Luke had a job that ended around the same time, and the economy was taking a nosedive. By the end of the year, all the temp work dried up.
We had plenty of savings and planned to ride it out. Financially, we had a lot of things going for us, no kids, no house, reasonable rent, old car, no credit cards, no debt whatsoever. We enjoyed exploring the area, got into tidepools and roadtrips. I walked a lot.
A year passed. Luke got bored. He decided to finally finish his degree. I was upset with him at the time. How dare he incur debt, when there is so little hope of us ever getting jobs! But he needed this. He loved school and excelled at it. He'd also gotten into park restoration, and tailored his schooling towards it.
Me, I just coasted along. Not working. Not sleeping. Feeling guilty. I stopped going out on walks. Slowly, very, very slowly, almost imperceptibly, I sank deep into depression, and I remain there today. I gradually lost the ability to do things. Making a phone call is incredibly difficult. Having to call a stranger is now terrifying to me. Even calling someone I've called before (like pizza) is an epic thing I have to work myself up to doing.
Being social is harder, much, much harder. I rarely leave the apartment. Not because I'm afraid to, but because I have no particular place to go. And that's on me, because I'm really not in a place where I can seek out people to do things with. I want to, I desperately need to socialize, but I just can't make it happen myself right now.
So here we are, five years with no work, and our savings is nearly gone. I look at the homeless people in our neighborhood park, and wonder if we'll be joining them soon. I'm awake all night, sleeping all day, and basically non-functioning. But you wouldn't know for looking at me. I look like normal people. I'm great at pretending I'm normal people. I sidestep the unemployment questions as best I can, even after I get the "you're lazy" look. "How do you live?" I just tell people we don't own a house, and we've been super frugal all this time. I mean, it's true we have been frugal, but I don't tell them how miserable I am, and how frightening and bleak our future is, and that I think of little else as I stare at the ceiling, trying and failing to sleep.
We still have enough money where I could go to Wiscon. But I may need some help. The hotel is spendy. (I already get the sixth floor deal) Airfare is insane. Wiscon has a member assistance fund, but I don't know what I could ask for. $50 bucks? $100 bucks? The whole plane ticket? I have no idea. Just going to the website and finding out anything about it is terrifying to me. I haven't been able to do that yet. People have already offered help and suggestions. How do I even act on them? Depression makes doing simple, necessary things really hard, like asking questions and interacting with people who might possibly help me.
My depression says things like: Why do I deserve help, anyway? I'm not a writer. I'm not a rock star of the science fiction, technology, academic or blogging world. And I'm not really that interested in talking about race or class. I used to run the Tiptree bake sale, but that was ages ago, and now someone else does it better. Who the hell do I think I am, anyway?
I want to go to Wiscon for the simple reason that I've been going to this convention for 28 years. I need to see the friends I made back then, and the new ones I made just last year. I need it as much as I need air and water. It's a social shot in the arm that keeps me going.
Anyway..
I've been wanting to say something, anything, for a long time. But depression says "they're all going to think you're stupid and lazy and worthless if you tell them the truth". Still, just saying it so someone besides me and Luke can know what's been going on might be helpful. We'll see.
Here goes..