When I returned home from celebrating Labor Day with my family, there was a giant hole in my kitchen wall.
I stared, uncomprehending, for a full five seconds before it hit me... my house had been broken into. Again. That makes, for anyone out there interested in keeping a tally, six times in the past five years and twice in the past month.
I work in social services, and so I don't have much in the way of possessions. Whoever did it gets less and less each time they return: a few dollars, whatever beat up CD player I'm using at the time, a cheap watch, an obsolete computer.
I lose so much more than just my material possessions. First, there's the damage to my home. It's fairly severe and expensive to repair. My possessions not deemed worth taking are often damaged or destroyed. This time the quilt my mom made by hand as a Christmas gift for me was ruined.
As bad as all these things are, the consequences go much deeper. As a result of these six break-ins, I'm deep in debt, and I may have to declare bankruptcy. I don't feel secure in my own home, yet I may not be able to afford to move. I don't know what to do. I feel trapped, helpless, and afraid. It's not a good way to live.
And yet that's how millions of Americans live; Americans who struggle with poverty, homelessness, illness, unemployment, crime, or whatever. It's easy to think of it in terms of "those" people, but I'm learning any of us can become one of "those" people. I work full time. I have a college education. I'm honest and work hard. And yet, here I am, one step from bankruptcy.
I'm writing this diary not as a "poor me" missive but to remind us of how high the stakes are in the coming months, and to remind us that behind every statistic is a real person desperate for things to just get better.