random musings

Mortgage musings.

To start I’ll out line a few things; I want to leave the place where I’m living and have done since I was 8. I hate being at the bottom of the pile because it doesn’t line up with who I am. I want a home, a husband, a dog, some where i can drink tea whilst over looking my garden and be content and feel safe. I want somewhere that’s warm for me to sleep with a big enough bed so my husband can snuggle into my side, with his head on my chest and I can sleep feeling safe and loved. I don’t want to live in a damp house, in a cramped kids bed, next to druggies and behind shops that get deliveries at 1 am. I want to be able to come home from work to a happy husband and a happy dog with the smell of fresh pumpkin bread in the air and my favorite food in the oven.

But I don’t get what I want, everything seems to good to be true these days. What I do have is half of my childhood home, that I can’t sell, can’t leave and is so damp and needs so much work that its probably worth £40,000 instead of £80000. It also means i can’t go on any ‘help to buy’ schemes even though I never bought the half a house and never wanted it. I know that sounds bad but when you’ve experienced pain in every inch of a place, you don’t want to stay there. It’s tainted.

My little happy dream of being the main bread earner and bringing home the veggie bacon is totally in shatters too. I struggle leaving the house, I don’t want to eat, I can’t sleep, I feel like sh*t all the time, I’m drink too, and I can’t stop hurting myself as if I’m addicted. I’m now classed as disabled and can’t work, instead my future husband works. So I’m forced into the house husbandy roles when we have time to our selves. I cook cute and nutritious dinners, clean when needed, make things for our future house and I’m struggling to deal with that. It’s the exact opposite of the smart dressed, hard working husband I planned on being. Believe me it hurts.

However I’ve been keeping my chin up and trying to save the penance I’m given and try take pride in the new roles I’ve been handed. My fiance however saves most of his pay check towards our future house. In the time its taken for him to save £18,000 I’ve saved £600.

The shame I feel, is killing me.

I’ve gone from being one of the smartest kids in my class, with the plans for a good career, to someone who can’t even get out of bed in the morning in 6 years. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror because my stupid, f*cking, disgusting reflection makes me want to put sharp objects in myself and pretend I’m a hedgehog like everything is OK. I’ve gone from being manly, to crying 10 times a day. I used to be romantic, send flowers and poetry. Now romance is the last thing on my mind. I feel like I’m mistreating my fiance because I can’t give him enough attention any more. I’m terrified he’ll start hating me and leave. I want to scream and cry and hit something other than myself, all at once. I feel so useless all the time.

Despite all this we, have enough for a deposit on a house. My fiance and his mother started looking at houses and ways to move out. I knew in my gut it wouldn’t end well and that it was too early. This was before I was open about being this sick and I was just about coping. Now I’m ‘disabled’ and ‘un-fit for work’ I’m not coping, I’ve got nothing to do with my time, and it feels like I walk around with an even bigger collar of shame around my neck, big enough to weigh me down.

So after a while, I gave in, got involved with house searching, because I wasn’t going to let my first house get picked for me. Then we found a house, a perfect house, with quiet neighbors, enough room for a dog, and a big bedroom. I had good chills because something just felt right, but then we started applying for mortgages.

Banks are sadistic bitches.

Turns out I can’t even be on the mortgage, I might as well not live there at all for what they’re concerned. My fiance at best could get a £60,000 mortgage, include disabled me, and that goes down to £20,000. I’m pretty sure that’s discrimination. I wanted to know whether it was because I was trans or disabled. So for kicks I filled in some initial paperwork as if I had a job and earned as much as my fiance did. I already knew the answer deep down, even if I was trying to describe it away as being something my depressed brain was thinking. (The part that aches for self harm.)  However I was right. If I had a job, was normal and could pull my own weight we’d get a £140,000 mortgage even if we didn’t need it. (The house is only £95,000 to begin with.)

That broke a part of my soul. The bottom of my world fell out and I found out that the pit I’m in can go lower. It was as if someone stabbed me and tore my heart in two. Within seconds I was smothered in a new level of emotional pain. No matter what I think now…I know it’s my fault. All that shame that I’d been feeling, was justified. I can truly say I know what it’s like to feel like a useless piece of sh*t. Actually for what I’m feeling now, sh*t is too good, because at least shit can be used for fertilizer.

I cried so hard, I couldn’t breath.

I doubt I’ll sleep tonight. However I’m already getting used to this level of pain. Some days I wish I was a masochist. That way I’d just be inappropriate for social situations because I’d be turned on all the time, but at least I wouldn’t feel the pain in the same way and that…that would be bliss right now.


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