They don’t respect me because I have nothing.
At least that’s the conclusion that I’ve come to.
I am almost done raising money for this grant and the woman I wanted to give it to won’t even return my calls. No, I didn’t TELL her about the grant, I wanted it to be a surprise, but she won’t even call me back. I won’t beg her to take it.
This reminds me of another woman that was referred to me. She was living in an abused woman’s shelter. As soon as I spoke to her I asked her about the obstacles standing in her way of rebuilding her life and I immediately began researching and coming up with ways to remove them. I scheduled a job interview for her and the day came she never showed up or called me back. She hasn’t called back since.
When I spoke to the man who referred her I told him about the grant I was raising and the help I am offering and he told me that when he spoke to her she seemed hesistant about me because of the way I speak (very relaxed) and the fact that I am homeless. “You should have something to give women that will let them know that you have something because they don’t know that you can really help,” he said.
I shook my head.
Wow. Women don’t want my help because I’m being myself. I’m two seconds away from taking this money and finding myself a place to live and saying fuck it, they don’t want me to help them.
What am I doing this for?
Oh yeah. I’m trying to give the kind of support I wish I had when I was in need. I am trying to BE the type of person that I’d love to meet and be close friends with.
Nobody cares.
They all want to see me driving the shiny car with the fashion labels and the awards before they’ll believe I can help them. I don’t need that. My heart to help is evident in my ACTIONS.
Nobody cares.
Regardless, I’m going to do what I set out to do. This is my last goal from the ones I set when I began this project. I can do this.
Today I had to go to the emergency room because I was having severe back pain. I pulled a muscle while I was working and it hurt to even breath, much less serve tables. I was almost crying, well, I was crying. It hurt so much I thought something in me was going to burst open.
When I got to the ER I didn’t want to stay because I saw the doctors and I just don’t like the experiences I’ve had since I’ve gone there. I left. Secretly, I’m nervous about being prescribed pain medication. One of my old friends told me, “If you take a vicodin or a Xanax, you will LOVE IT.”
And I see everyone around here stealing, crying, lieing and whatever else you can think of to get pills. I don’t want to be like them. I don’t want to be addicted. I’ve been offered my fair share of drugs since I’ve been here at this homeless shelter. Although I am curious about what kind of high could make you STEAL and sell your body, I really just look at the person offering it to me and think, “Do I want to be like this person?”
Of course I say, “No thanks.”
Aww. My back is killing me. All I want is a bed and a hug and some pampering. I deserve it. Dammit. I deserve it!
~sigh~
Nobody cares.