First real post comes from after the Cain.

Yes, that right. I finally got the strength and courage to leave my abusive husband of 18 years, move across the state, become independent, get a cute lil apartment and guess what happens? A fucking Hurricane takes it all way 😥 Today as a Facebook post I wrote:

I woke up feeling severely depressed. I wanna go back to my own apartment. I wish I could live in it while they rebuild around me, but it’s inhabitable. I don’t want to keep packing up my stuff and moving it from here to there. I had a stablity. My own lil place to go home to. Now it’s gone.

My aunt Fran is helping me transport my stuff back and forth from here to there and then back again. We’re both exhausted. That’s why I detest asking for help. I detest having to need help. Yesterday aunt Fran, her husband and I toted what we could up and down my apartments narrow wet, and soggy carpeted stairs dragging out anything we could (and they’re not in the best shape or age to be doing that. It was very dangerous because the construction men were working on the roof nailing and pounding. Shingles were falling to the ground around us, and nails were everywhere. One of us could have stepped on a nail or a piece of glass.

Maybe I’m stubborn, but I just can’t leave behind 18 years of memories. Most of that stuff we toted were belongs I brought here to Iowa from Texas; my son’s baby albums, my old high school and college graduation diploma, and trust me much much more.

I looked around the parking lot thinking why isn’t anyone else ding this? Why aren’t they panicking to get their memories out? As a matter of fact I asked the office manager as we were finally loading up and you know what she said? “Theyre not worried about it because they have renters insurance.”
My response was ” How is renters insurance going to pay for the memories you brought with you? ” She just shrugged her shoulders. I’m pretty sure her home or apartment wasn’t affected as badly as all of ours, so of course she can shrug. 🙄 I didn’t finally leave my husband after 18 years, fill a UHaul truck up with every shred of myself from youth to adult plus my only babyboys memories as well (baby books, picture albums, football jersey, etc) just to sacrifice it to the Hurricane God. I couldn’t give a crap about the furniture. I just wanted those memories. Non of which included my unhappy marriage, but the only person I lived for anyway, my only son. ❤️ I can’t help I’m sentimental.

Aunt Fran and I grabbed what we could, and I’d hate to think about it what we left behind or I’ll tear again. I’m not sure what I what to do now. I hate burdening people and moving into their “space” when I had my own space almost two weeks ago. I’ve learned not to expect or count on anything from anyone because if you do, you’ll get let down.
Life sucks! I hate you life 😠 I think I’m going to call the Distaster trauma crisis line today. I just can’t do this. This is just too much. 😥

and it really too much. If I wanted to up and move it should have been my choice not a fucking hurricane. Now I’m like.. lost. Like, WTH!!? All my shots gone. I didn’t have much, but damn.

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