I feel like a complete loser after what happened this morning. My automobile was repossessed. I sort of laugh and cry at the same time, but it brings me to the realization of how much my life needs to change. Here’s a bit of backstory…

I filed for bankruptcy earlier this year. I was allowed to keep my home and my car. The bankruptcy court allows a creditor to reaffirm major financial assets; in my case my car and my house. The court did not allow me to reaffirm the car since I owed more than what it’s worth; however, the bank allowed me to continue to pay on it. Well, for being a month behind, the bank seized the car from me earlier this morning. The bank isn’t obligated to communicate with me by law any further since, under the law, they were offering me to keep the car as long as I continued to pay. One month late meant they could come and seize the vehicle without notice. Since the court didn’t allow the reaffirmation, my financial responsibility to the car is zero. After I heard of the outrageous fees associated with being 440.00 past due (1840.00 altogether with late fees and towing costs), I laughed and told them to keep the car and good luck to them. I immediately set out to the Internet to figure out the best bus route to get to work this week. Yes. You are all probably thinking, “loser” right about now. Don’t worry. I’ve called myself plenty of that already today. Since I didn’t get invoiced each month, the due date slipped my mind. It’s my fault entirely. I own the responsibility for what happened. No one else is to blame.

My dilemma isn’t the car exactly. I tend to take experiences such as these and generalize them to the rest of my life. It’s not a good thing. I’m sure I’ll even write an article about it on my blog at some point to gain perspective. I’m not ashamed. I tend to believe I’m a good person. I’m not judgmental. I did have some financial problems back in the day that I needed to wash away with bankruptcy earlier this year. Since then I’ve been getting back on my feet financially and my credit score hasn’t suffered much where I’m worried. I own my home. I have a wonderful partner and two great kids which we both adopted together years ago.
The challenge I face is that, along with this latest installment, I am stuck in my life. I don’t know how to get out of my own way. I went to school for social work then did a masters in public administration and I want a new career. I want a change so badly I can taste it. I have no idea how to start to bring it to the level where my dream job could be a potential career replacement.

I’ve worked in social work since 1993. I thought it to be the best job for me. I did very well at it. I have a great knack for engaging people – even those with the most challenges. It’s a gift and a curse. I’ve worked in my state’s child protection department for fifteen years. Due to the overwhelming constraints at the administrative level, I needed to get out. I couldn’t take the political fight that it was becoming. It was sad to see so many children suffering due to budgetary and monetary cuts in places that required better services for such a vulnerable population. I transferred over to my state’s medical and psychiatric hospital. I found myself loving the patients, but most of the people working there shouldn’t be working with people – at all.
The latest challenge is watching how some nurses, nursing assistants, and physicians treat the patients. They’ve forgotten they’re human. They aren’t advocates. They don’t help. They complain. Their motto is, “the patient needs to change. I shouldn’t have to.” I’m frustrated. I’m tired. I’ve spent so much time trying to engage and encourage a staff of professionals how to interact with our most difficult patients, but they fail to listen.

The staff are a subculture of people who have worked there for years and due to the unions in place, they’re untouchable. They do the least amount of work. My dilemma is that I see such a disservice in my state’s social services agency. I’m so disheartened by everything I’ve been exposed to, that I need to get out and get out fast.

My passion in life is to write. In a perfect world I would write stories and magazine articles. I’m forty-five years old and I feel my time to prove myself, get started, and to show the world who I am, is closing in on me. I feel like my best years are gone. I feel distracted and beaten up; especially after the morning I’ve had with the repossession company. I feel so defeated and powerless right now that I don’t know what tomorrow will bring or where I should turn. I feel like every time I get one step ahead I am sent back an entire block.

I’m not lazy. I’m not a person who gives up. I just need direction. I need for someone to say, “Start here” and I’ll do the rest. I feel so far off the mark. I feel like I’m in Home Depot looking around for cheese.

This is it for me. I’ve had the dream to be a writer since I was five-years old when my parents bought me a typewriter. I’d write stories on onion skin paper, fold them up and hand them off to my parents. I’ve always been told my writing is impeccable and people can “see” what I’m saying. This post is not an example of my writing abilities. I’m writing through laughter and tears. I’m not tooting my own horn. I fail miserably at so much, but writing has always been my safe place. What I fail to say can be easily conveyed on paper. It’s my vessel to tell my story in my own way.

There are days where I keep plugging along on my novel. I’m writing other things as well in the interim to get my name out there. I can’t say no one has bitten because I haven’t really tried to put myself out there. Again, I’ve been distracted by everyday life. I didn’t grow up with the greatest support system. I hid I was gay for twenty-seven years. When I finally told my parents in 1998, they seemed so disappointed. No one ever sat down with me to process what my life was like growing up. I was bullied in school for years. I grew up thinking I was the problem. I felt as though I shouldn’t utter a word about anything challenging since I was “the problem.” I grew up like this and it’s taken time to get over and adjust. My mother came around in 2006 after I adopted my first child. She is supportive, but from a distance. No one in my family has ever asked me anything about my experience in growing up right in under their noses. Their silence took a toll on me emotionally, but I can also see their side of how difficult it has to be on my parents to have a child who is gay. I always weigh both sides. I’m very objective – even when it comes to my personal life. I always try to see the other point of view.

I’ve re-read this twice and it’s quite puzzling for someone else reading this to understand how car repossession and my dream of starting a career in writing go hand in hand. I don’t really know either. I just know I’ve had a crazy morning. My life is in shambles and I don’t know what to do to live my dream.