So I applied for federal assistance for food today. I never thought I would be in this position, and there I sat in a grubby waiting room with (mostly) minority people, single men and women with children. The guy at the counter was funny, however, and made me smile. Which was a good thing, because I did a lot of crying, embarrassing myself but I couldnt seem to stop. Whether the tears were driven by self-pity or anxiety or pain or humiliation, I can't say. The staff were warm and sympathetic, and when I used the card at the grocery store, it was very discreet and it wasnt as bad as I thought it would be to use (stamps are no longer 'stamps' but a debit card of a type that is loaded monthly).
I freely bought fruits and veggies, and found myself planning menus for Julia and me this weekend. I realized that I have been reticent to cook in part because Steve brings home the food from Costco(and it rarely varies, except the produce is in huge sizes and much of it goes to waste). I bought apples, oranges, grapes, strawberries, broccoli, lettuce, and peppers as well as peas, orzo, a two pound wedge of cheddar and good bread ...and beans, and grains. All the things I have been craving that have slowly dropped out of my diet. Don't get me wrong, Steve is an adequate cook and I have not starved. But somehow, buying my own food allowed me to feel curiously free of him, his power over my existence, and I liked the unexpected bonus of this.
So maybe the tears and resentment and frustration of waiting for disability that never comes was worth the freedom of choice. At least I can feed myself and my daughter. Steve can leave now and I don't have to worry if I will survive. Maybe I will lose my home, but maybe I won't,
