Imagine, for a moment, that the last six years of your life have pretty much been this:
[Star Wars: Princess Leia’s “Help Me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope” holo on repeat.]
And the person you’re talking to has understood your plea for help. They really have! They’ve been sympathetic, and tried to help with things about the house and with the kids and with Adulting…but they haven’t really understood yet why you keep repeating the same thing over and over again. When you’ve said that you’re depressed because you can’t go outside (allergies, hives, difficulty breathing) and masks aren’t an answer (I tend to freak out with things strapped to my face, long story, but it also involves Maine). They don’t get why you’re so anxiety-ridden/stressed about having to wear long pants and long sleeves and layers 12 months out of the year now, as your immune system is so utterly worn down that it can’t regulate body temperature, so if I go sleeveless, I get chilled, even if it’s 90 degrees F. When I break out in hives indoors, when I get horrific inflammation from what should be safe foods (which causes brain issues as well as intensely painful ulceric issues), when I’m losing my vision, when I have to take all of these supplements because I can’t eat local food, when I do everything possible to live here and I’m still slowly suffocating…yep, Princess Leia is still on repeat. Then it become discussions about how I’m borderline suicidal because of all this but I’ve been sitting on it (displacement, not dissociation) because I have kids and a mate who need me. That I’m actually in a state of constant despair that I also displace because Podlings. That I want to cry all the time but I’m so used to feeling this way that I can’t. Obi-Wan Kenobi the Mate nods, but he still doesn’t get it, even though he wants to fix it and make it better. He does! He just doesn’t actually do anything that would make it better.
Saturday morning on July 8th, the Mate woke up to the sudden realization that he is watching me die. Not only that, but it would be a slow and utterly miserable death. And he was just twiddling his thumbs and letting it happen.
Suddenly the “You’re my only hope” track repeat became
[Star Wars, Princess Leia’s hologram: “This is our most desperate hour.”]
The Mate went from “I know we need to leave but for Reasons we can’t right now” to “We are getting the absolute fuck out of Maine because I will not let this place kill you.” And he is entirely serious. Intense and driven. The escape dates are set and not to be changed because to change them means that he might keep finding excuses to stay, and he will no longer allow that to happen.
[Rose, Doctor Who: “You don’t just give up, you don’t just let things happen. You make a stand, you say no!”]
We’re going to St. Augustine, Florida. That’s home for me, and the Mate didn’t hate it (despite hating heat) and the kids fell in love and wanted to be outside in a way that they don’t want here. (I’ve always found it odd that they don’t like being outside here, but…maybe not so odd, given that it’s starting to drag their health down, too.)
Our set leaving date is July 21st. Yes, this July 21st. Thirteen days from now. We are seriously on the fucking move to move. He really means it, and I’m right there with him because I wanted to go home years ago.
Of course, escape is not cheap. This really is our most desperate hour: we need your help.
We need a full-size moving truck (omg 26′ fuuuuck) to be able to move everything, even compactly packed. No stuff gets left behind!
We have to cover the cost of four different hotel stays: Here, because the mattresses will all be packed and two of us have back injuries, the sort where if you sleep on the floor and try to drive the next day, you just want to whimper; Trenton, NJ as the first stop; Fayetteville, NC as the second stop, and at least one night in St. Augustine on arrival because Must Fall Down and Sleep because by the timing needed, the moving truck has to be unloaded the next day.
We need a post office box in St. Augustine to be able to get our mail transferred. (If they make me drive down there in person to do this, I will scream, because how can I change my address without a fucking address??)
We will need at least one month’s rental on grabbing a vacation rental (waaayyyyyy cheaper than a hotel) until we are sitting in a proper rental property that accepts cats, because we’re not leaving them behind, either.
Even with all the free boxes I’ve been scoring after making friends with the Pet Department Manager at Wal-Mart, packing supplies are expensive. SO much tape. So much bubble wrap. Oh hey I need a special box for Micah’s dresser mirror. Mattress covers! Fuck a doodle.
This is sort of why I’ve been trying to sell posters and what shinies I could make when not utterly flattened, because…we need to go. We need out, and I hit desperation several years ago.
Without help, this might well describe out success rate:
[Cat missing a jump]
I don’t want to miss. I need to go home because I’d like to live. Please. I will get down on my hands and knees and literally beg. Please.
[Simpsons: ”I need you to take care of me, to put up with me…”]
We’re trying to raise enough money to survive, to get out, because that
way we can thrive. Right now, this isn’t thriving. This is barely
surviving, and it’s pain.
I’d give you guys the world in return for helping us, but mostly what I have to give to you is words. I have stories that I can give you like pouring rubies from a golden vase. I’ll grant you all the words I have within me, to the best of my ability, to tell the stories you want to read because they make you feel like you’ve come home.
The current house is going on the market. Buyers will have a second floor that is now structurally rebuilt, but they can customize it however they like.* (Yes, that is all we could afford to do after you guys were so helpful in February. We were able to get the structural repairs done…and that was it. Depressing shit, yo.)
Some detail about the medical stuff below. Let’s just say that @thebibliosphere and I call each other our beloved Clone Sister for many, many reasons. Tags #thedeadcat speaks or #state of the deadcat will grant you more info.
Steel Phoenix Studios 