I Need to Push Through

This week was one of the hardest weeks of my life. As a 6 month pregnant mom of a 23 month old son, I am not only dealing with homelessness, but I am also dealing with extreme anxiety and depression. I'm feeling like I have no options and it hurts to breathe. Midnight on Saturday, October the 13th, I was told by my mom that I could stay with her at her friend's house. I was already staying at another one of her friend Maria's house, but Maria has a cat and a dog, I am severely allergic and have been dealing with many nights of waking up not being able to breathe. I suffer from asthma, eczema, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD), fibromyalgia, and post par-tum depression. Living at Maria's house on two matching love-seat couches pushed together in the living room with no privacy, wasn't good for me in any way, shape, or form.

Knowing that my health was suffering and my comfort was at risk, my mother told me to stay with her at another one of her friend's houses named Scott. I agreed and began to pack my things excited to live with my mother again and excited to live in a house where there are no pets. My little sister, Maritza, who now has her license, picked me up in her boyfriend's car and helped me moved my things to Scott's house. Afterwards, we hung out for a little while at her college, Curry College, with my son and ate ice cream as we waited for my mother to be ready for us to pick her up with the rest of her things. When my mother was ready, she called my sister but kept insisting that my sister drop me off at Scott's house before picking her up; we could hear it in her voice that she was slurring her speech. My sister and I didn't listen as the car wasn't hers and she was paying for gas.

When we arrived to my mother's location, we noticed the stench of alcohol falling off of her. Immediately, I became infuriated, my mom has relapsed after telling me she's been sober since December of 2017 in an attempt to get my youngest sister out of DCF's custody. When we arrived back at Scott's house, my mother and I started to put away our things and blow up the air mattress that we would be sleeping on together, my mom was making the bed and I was sitting near at the kitchen table sore for pulling a muscle in my back from all of the moving. As my mother made the bed I noticed that the bed sheet was on the wrong way so I told my mother and her response was " Why don't you shut the fuck up and make the bed yourself? If you don't like it then you and your son can leave." Wow, I am still shocked as I write this with tears overflowing my face. Infuriated I responded and said "I can't my back hurts to even bend, I threw it out earlier lifting the microwave by myself." Honestly I am so overwhelmed at this point that I don't even remember every word that we exchanged.

Finally, it reached the point where my mother crossed the line and yanked my son up by his arm almost dislocating his shoulder. I saw red because once you mess with my kids, I don't care who you are. Adrenaline kicked in and at this point I grab my son say to my mom " You better not ever touch my son like that again or you won't see him for 15 years just like you kept me from my dad for 15 years. He came out of my pussy not yours and I'll be damned if you think you can disrespect me just because you're my mom! THIS IS MY SON!" I don't know what she responded with but the arguing started to go back and forth and my son was already hysterical from the yelling and being yanked. Out of no where my mom shoves me with my son on my right hip and I shoved her back. 

From that point on, the shoving turned into her fighting me with my son still on my hip at 6 months pregnant. I was kicked, placed in a choke hold, and punched repeatedly in my left arm while trying my best to shield my crying son and my stomach. My son was also very sick and I refused to leave into the cold at midnight with no place to go and no money, I called the cops. Until the cops showed up the yelling continued and I was escorted out of the apartment with my son and my some of my things and placed safely in the back of the cop car. I called my husband and him and his father hopped right on the highway from Rhode Island to get me from the station. Vomiting from the severe anxiety and sore all over,I stayed over the weekend, yet I am still not welcomed there because of all of the back and forth I did with possibly divorcing my husband.


Now that I am in Boston, I went to police station today to get the police report and broke down crying as I explained to the officer what happened Saturday. The kind police officer gave me $25 so that I wouldn't be stranded and have a way to school and the crying persisted as I thanked her. I went to the Social Security Office afterwards to try to retrieve missing social security cards I needed in order to try to go to a shelter even though I was told by my previous case worker that I would no longer be eligible for any homeless shelter from 12 months because my husband didn't fill his one requirement of getting a job and supporting me. This placed me in a further depression, I called my husband because I realized I was missing my birth certificates and I need them to apply for any type of shelter and I was going to have to do it without him this time if I wanted a chance. My husband and I had another heated argument about me not being able to stay with him and again, I lost it.

I started hysterically crying and the guard told me to take the phone call outside since it was becoming too heated. I hung up and said "I hung up anyways." Still angry and hurt, my number was called and the woman at the counter tried to calm me down and reassure me that everything was going to be okay. I felt hopeless but her words helped because I'm on the verge of being suicidal but I can't take my life because I have my kids. I am now at my college writing this blog and cramming in last minute assignments before my 2:30 English class, because despite all of this, I will STILL rise to the top.