Aydan's Life · Depression · Family

A Hot Shower and a Hotel Room for the Night

As I turn the hot water on and stepped under the shower spray I couldn’t help but cry. It was the first time since the end of February that I’ve had a hot shower, or a shower at all for that matter. We’ve all been bathing in cold or lukewarm water to stay clean these past nearly two months.

I couldn’t stand not to have a hot shower or at least a cold one anymore. I was to the point where I was in tears every time that I had to bathe because the water drawn up from out well is so incredibly cold; it’s nearly as cold as ice water. We gave in and got a motel room for the night after making sure all of our animals would be okay until the morning.

All four of us enjoyed that hot shower for as long as we wanted and now we’re feeling a little better and a whole lot cleaner. A huge bonus for us is that in addition to having electricity to charge all our electronics, we also have wifi for the evening. Check-out is at 11 am tomorrow morning and while we’ll be gone before then because we have animals to care for, part of me wants to just stay where I am. I don’t want to go back to a place that has never really felt like my home.

We will have to move from the four acres that we’ve spent our last two years at before too much longer. At the moment, we are praying that I get my disability because I am unable to work a “normal job” due to my slew of problems. (My ASD has a huge part to play in this.) My lawyers said that I should have it within six months, that was in July of 2015. If that doesn’t happen I don’t want to guess where we will end up, most likely homeless once again drifting as we were before.

I don’t like the thought of that, but what can I really do?

What are my other options besides killing myself?

I can’t stay in a place where my son and I have never been welcomed. Where I’m made to feel like my life is irrelevant and I’m worthless, no matter how hard I work.

I’ll never forget the words “people like that make me feel uncomfortable and I don’t like being around them”…people like that, she meant people like me. People that are different from the masses, people that have disabilities, people like me son. We’re different and therefore not wanted. At least, that is how I’ve felt since that day.

No matter how hard I try to be pleasant, how hard I tried to care and show that I cared about her health and well-being, I will never be good enough because I’m one of those people. No matter how much I do for her, or how many times I fix something of hers that is broken I remain those people, like a foul tasting fruit of a word spit out in disgust.

It isn’t fair to me and it isn’t fair to my son.

So we have to do what we have always done, move on and get by the best that we can.

But those are plans for the future, and worry as we may with them there is no way to make them anything other than wishes and hopes at this point. Hopes that my family can find a new home before my depression pushes me over the edge. Hopes that my family can find a way to sustain ourselves despite the overwhelming odds and disabilities that we face. Dreams that we can breathe easy one day and be happy again.

Hopes and dreams are all we have right now, aside from each other.


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