We are going to step back into the present for this post. Unfortunately, it reflects my need for therapy more than it should! However, to help you understand it just a bit better I will give you just a tiny bit of background.
When I sold my house in 2006 and moved to FL, I was pretty much a bundle of nerves. The chronic pain of the migraines, combined with all of the stress, left me as one huge frayed nerve end. Thus, any time even a marginal amount of stress landed at my feet I lost it. And I mean lost it. We are talking total meltdown. It started with ranting and ending in a crying ball on the floor, couch, bed, whatever was closest. These also happened in public places because I was unable to control them. The DMV was one such place when I found out that there was an issue with my last name. Total meltdown right there. In front of everyone. When you are that far gone, you just don't care. Or maybe because you have no control over it, what is the point of caring? You can't stop it anyway.
I had one nearly every day at the house over my stuff. That lasted for about a month. Finally, I resigned myself to the fact that some of the stuff that I marked to come to FL got put in storage in GA and that was that. I could meltdown every day and it wouldn't change anything. Once I got used to the fact that I didn't know where anything was, it got easier. Then the meltdowns became restricted to more important things. Where is my debit card? Ahhhhhhh. Yeah, that kind of thing. It would have really helped had I been more organized. In time, that got better, too. How many times do you want to melt down because you misplaced something?
After the move to GA, I began melting down again when my migraines were SO bad right after we moved in. No surprise there. Ongoing chronic pain will do that. However, I had learned something after the first go-round with this and tried not to melt down over every little thing. I also tried not to meltdown in front of my mother all of the time. She always seemed to get the brunt of it in FL. They weren't directed at her; she was just the one witnessing me go off the rails and it wasn't pretty.
Yesterday was the big appointment with the bankruptcy attorney. It was the one to set everything in motion. They were taking down all of my information so that they could file it with the court. Honestly, I had not been looking forward to this all the way down the line, but I had hit a point of resignation about the whole thing. My dad could not continue to pay these bills. He didn't have the money. Everything was fine until we got to the part about my van. If I could go back in time and not buy this van, you have no idea how much I would do that. But, moving on...
The van is a 2004 and I got a loan from my uncle (via my grandma) for this vehicle. So, I was making the payments to my uncle as opposed to a bank or lending agency. This vehicle was also very upside down because it was the result of all The Operator's bad trade's throughout his lifetime (that is the long story part). In other words, I owed way more than the vehicle was worth. He would have gotten this vehicle in the divorce had I did not trust him to make the payments. Obviously, I didn't. Instead, he got my car which had no car payment, because I had paid it off. Ugh. You got some of the long story anyway. Sorry. Moving on...
Anyway, I started shedding everything I could shed a while ago. I knew that I needed to get rid of the van. I also knew it was going to be at a loss. So, my mom talked to my uncle about it. The actual value of the van is only $5,000 and I owe $15,000. Of course, that is about right. That is about how upside down my ex was... So, my mother took $10,000 out of her money to give my uncle and he said he would take the van. Well... when the subject of the van came up, the attorney said that the judge might very well decide to take the van back from my uncle, sell it, and use that money to pay my other creditors. The fact that my uncle was the lien holder on the van doesn't factor in because the van title was in my name. We had a written agreement, but because we are family, it doesn't really count. We went round about this several different ways. My mom asked several insightful questions. For instance, would my uncle get a portion of the sale from the van since he is also a creditor? No. After about five minutes of this she says something like she will have to pull another $5,000 out of her 401K to pay my uncle.
That is when I freaking lost it right there in that office. I was declaring bankruptcy because I am financially crippling my father. This is to save him from that. By declaring bankruptcy I am financially crippling my mother. She and my stepfather are hanging on by a freaking thread. They are talking about selling their house next year because they can't afford this one. They didn't anticipate all of the expenses, etc. They thought I would be working, etc.
And I went right over the edge. I've been there before. It's not a pretty place. In fact, it's dark and ugly and insanity rolls off the tongue. Your filter disappears and all of the things that hide in the closet and live under the bed come out and shriek in your ear. And you say words like "fucking" with strangers in the room like you would say "good day."
It's fucking ridiculous. It's fucking unfair. No matter what you do one of your fucking parents gets fucked. And all anyone cares about is their fucking money. And really the only solution to this whole fucking problem would be for me to swallow a whole goddamn bottle of my fucking pills so that no one would have a fucking thing to take from anyone anyone anymore. It's not like it would be any big fucking loss anyway.
Well that cleared the room of the paralegal. My mother just looked shell shocked. I am sure of it was the fact that she hadn't heard that much use of the word fuck in such a short period of time, or if she was thinking about counting my pills. Oh, I forgot about the crying. I ended my rant with lots of crying.
The paralegal comes back with the attorney who explains that they might not take my uncle's van, but they might. It depends upon the judge. So my mother says to me we should just start sending up positive stuff into the universe that the judge doesn't take the van. I am like, "Yeah, that worked so well with the key." We never did find the fucking key, for the record.
