Perspective

I’d finally been able to get away for a few days. To reset. To rethink. To plan my exit from the hell I’d been forced to live in. The toxic situation I’d been living stemming from my recent health issues that have prevented me from being able to live on my own on top of not being able to leave home the majority of the time. I’d been able to sell many of my drawings. It’d become my only income, as small as it’d been, until Disability came through. I wasn’t sure it would though. I’m still waiting on that decision to be made. I know I’d move in a heartbeat if it gets approved. Either way, I’m leaving with however much money I’ve got after the decision is made. My dad being incapable of listening to me, of his own free will, has led me to yelling at him more than once. It’s led to a tense and toxic living situation as a result. I’ve already gotten rid of all material things I know I’ll not be able to take with me. Material things I can replace later on. My dreams always lead to the same place. A studio in Miami Beach. 

I thought back to the time when I’d roamed around Miami Beach. I’d often take in the beautiful scenery as I walked around. I’d fallen in love with Miami Beach while I lived in South Florida in my early to mid twenties. My mothers unexpected death when I was a teenager broke me. It’d come out of nowhere. She’d been a relatively healthy person for her age. Until she was declared brain dead after having a Brain Stem Stroke. The things she’d instilled within me stayed with me. Dad was single after that. The few “relationships” he had never lasted long. Most of them were long distance in some way. He’d all but given up on them. Until he rekindled a relationship with an old flame. Unbeknownst to me. He’d known how I’d react. That we’d have to move if he wanted to marry her. He chose to continue the relationship knowing he’d have to tell me at some point. 

Dad had remarried and moved into my Stepmother’s place in the Miami area. He’d not even told me until the marriage ceremony was taking place. He knew how I’d react and didn’t want to tell me. He knew I wouldn’t agree with it. By then I had no choice but to accept it. I made my opinions known. In front of everyone. People who were shocked that I didn’t know. That they’d also been lied to. By him no less. I’d refused to move in with him after several confrontational arguments. Her insistence on me learning to drive being one of them. She knows it’s an impossible task because of my seizures. That it’s nowhere near safe for me to drive. There’s plenty of options with public transportation that I can use that’s far safer. Her “rules” that she’d made being things I don’t agree with. In any aspect. I’d called her out on all of it. She knew she couldn’t answer without having to confess just how ridiculous her “rules” actually were. I’d told dad more than once he shouldn’t have married her. That she’s clearly Narcissistic and not someone he needs to be around. That I’d never forgive him for what he’d done. That I was going to make the best of it anyway. 

I’d moved in with my Aunt after that. She was on my side. She didn’t want me moving in with them knowing I’d be homeless in a week or less with how confrontational things would become. I’d been looking for jobs since the day I moved in with her. To no avail. My lack of experience didn’t help. She knew that. She knew that my Epilepsy didn’t help my situation either. That I had to take the bus everywhere. I didn’t mind that. It was not even being able to get an interview that didn’t help. I’d applied for countless jobs to no avail. My artwork and poems were my only outlet. People would buy both when after seeing my artwork and asking me what I was currently doing. It was my hobbies that became my work. 

My Aunt turned out to not be as accepting of my situation either after a while. My inability to find a job was something she didn’t understand. My lack of job experience meant people didn’t want to hire me. They simply didn’t want to take the time to train me. I’d made money through selling my drawings. In time, I was half homeless. I had a place to stay because of my aunt in the least realizing my talents and me making money from selling my drawings. She still wasn’t accepting overall in many ways though.  I’d wandered around Miami Beach for days on end. I’d write Poetry. Those poems began to sell as well. I’d been able to sell some of my artwork to various places that’d pay for the essentials. I’d stashed away everything I could after the absolute basics. My hope being that I’d be able to afford my own place at some point. I didn’t know how possible that’d be. I’d stay in hostels in Miami Beach at times. A hotel room at other times. Just to be able to stay in Miami Beach longer. 

I’d often roam around most of the day. The small breaks on bus benches were surrounded by beautiful scenery. The houses I’d see were beautiful. Eclectic. There were days where I’d spend most of my day on the beach though. I’d draw, write poems, and soak in the laid back atmosphere. I’d go back to my Aunt’s place when I absolutely had to. I never liked going back. My life wandering around Miami Beach had essentially become my life. The obligation to go back was out of needing to shove it in her face in some ways. To show her I was doing better than she thought I was doing. She didn’t understand it. I didn’t care. I’d showed her that I could make a decent living by doing what I was doing. We’d sat in her living room on several occasions, smoking marijuana, talking about how I’d been able to pull it off. I’d told her the general gist of what I’d done. I’d omitted most of it though. It’d opened her eyes to the fact that she’d underestimated me in a variety of ways. A few recent seizures meant I was at her place a little more. My stepmother had picked me up from the hospital after the last seizure. She’d finally realized what myself, dad, and everyone else in the family had been trying to tell her. She’d gotten home and asked dad if it what she’d seen was always that way. Yes being his only answer. She was far more lenient after that the damage was done though. 

The move back home came four years later. When life happened. When dad had enough of her antics. He’d finally let given her his unfiltered opinions, started the divorce process and asked me how soon I’d be able to pack everything so we could move back home. I’d told him two weeks. One week to say goodbye to all of my friends and one week to do laundry and pack everything up. I’d made several I told you so comments in the meantime. I’d told him it wasn’t going to work out. I’d told him he shouldn’tve done it in the first place. I’d given him my unfiltered opinions. I was glad to be back home. I’d never felt so restricted though. I’d felt far more alone than before. The majority of my friends had left the small town we’d grown up in. The ones who stayed had their own lives. They were busy living the lives they’d built for themselves. I’d gotten a job in retail. I wanted to save enough to move back to Miami Beach. It was hard to do while making minimum wage. I was barely able to afford the bare essentials. I’d applied for and gotten food stamps. I got more than I’d thought I’d get. It gave me some stability though. I kept drawing in the meantime. I’d kept writing poems. Both of which continued to do well. Various places around town bought my artwork. It didn’t change the fact I had a yearning to leave. 

I’d continually felt unloved by the same people that told me that I essentially needed to conform the societal standards they expected me to conform to. I continually refused to do so. I’d gone against the grain up to that point. I’d essentially gone no contact with my mothers side of the family that lived in the area. They’d let their actions speak for them. Their unwillingness to help told me everything I needed to know. That they’d never really loved me either. I’d gone into a Cyclical Depression. I wasn’t able to keep it together the majority of the time. 

Eight years had passed since then. I was no longer able to work in the last year due to my increased seizure activity. Along with other health issues that prevented me from working. The fact that I had no insurance didn’t help. I’d been unable to get adequate treatment as a result. I’d applied for Disability. I was hopeful that I’d get it. I also knew it was going to take time. My diagnosis of a genetic disorder sped things up. I’d gone into great detail about everything. That my mother had died from the same thing. On top of no longer being able to work or even get adequate medical care. I also knew I’d likely get it. I just didn’t know when.  I’d become determined to leave for good after I saved whatever I could. With or without Disability. I knew I’d be fully homeless either way. I didn’t care. I didn’t want to be in a place where I felt unloved. I wanted nothing more than to have more of the days that I was currently having that snapped me back to the present day. Out of the flashbacks I’d begun having. 

A few people looking at the artwork at my side had snapped me back into the present. A hopeful look washed over me as all of them wanted to buy the artwork and poems I had with me. A few minutes and $200 later I was happy. I’d given them the condensed version of my life. They were happy that I was doing what was best for me despite everything going on in my life. They’d wished me well before going on their way. I knew I’d made the right choice by taking this vacation. I wanted nothing more than to move back down. I knew that would take some planning before I was able to move back.

As the beach days came to an end I knew doing what’s best for me meant I’d be homeless in Miami Beach again. I didn’t care. At least I’d be happier. Sometimes, the best plan is no plan. I knew moving at the end of the year was going to help me. I knew my skills were going to be used with some things I’d planned out. I knew just how much happier I’d be in Miami Beach. There was hope for me in Miami Beach. I knew I’d find my footing there. I’d finally told dad of my plans. I’d omitted some things obviously. I knew he wasn’t going ever fully understand my perspective. A few confrontational arguments over the next week changed everything though. I’d let my unfiltered feelings and opinions out. None of which he liked. I’d called him out on unaddressed health issues he had. On top of me using energy I barely had to keep the house clean while he was on his phone scrolling through Facebook. I did all my laundry, packed everything I could and left.

I’d counted all the cash I had along with everything I had in my bank account. I had far more than I thought I had. I’d booked a hotel room for the night. A friend had picked me up and took me to the hotel to drop off my stuff. The large suitcase as well as duffel bag contained everything I knew I’d want and need. It was Gio that made sure I brought things he saw that he knew I’d regret bringing. He’d helped me repack my duffel bag and suitcase to accommodate everything I’d brought with me. He’d told me he was going to take me to the train station the following morning since he had the day off. That I’d be okay. That my dad made his bed and now had to lie in it. That my decision to leave was the right decision. He’d let his actions speak for him along with everything he said. He’d lied to me the majority of my life in some way. What he’d done by marrying Addie and not telling me anything about the relationship was on him. That it was time for me to live my life my way.

The email I got in the morning telling me I’d been approved for Disability was a welcomed change. An omen of good for once in my life. The call I received an hour after the email about receiving my payments set in motion a chain of events I wasn’t expecting. I’d let them know my current situation and gave them my grandmothers address for any mail they’d need to send me. The Representative let me know that I’d be able to do everything online because of my circumstances. I was thankful she was able to make that happen for me. My dad had texted me not long after I got off the phone to come home so we could talk. I told him it wasn’t happening. That my decision to leave was final. That I’d booked a train ticket and was leaving for good. That he had to live with the consequences of his actions. Gio and I made our way to the train station thirty minutes away shorty after breakfast. I was happy I was leaving everything behind for a far better life.