November 15, 2011

Today is my mother’s 54th birthday. I wish I could celebrate it with her, but I don’t know where she is.

My mother is homeless. I have no way to reach her. She is in need of serious mental help. She has cut off all contact with me for almost a year now, believing that I am an FBI informant working against her.

The last time I saw her was almost six months ago. I tried to have her involuntarily committed. The ER said that she didn’t qualify. I was deathly afraid for my physical and emotional health the whole time. Even if I could find her now, I would be too afraid to bring her home with me. I believe she really would hurt me.

I shouldn’t have to choose between my own safety and my mother’s.

There is NO help for people like her.

As for me, I know how lucky I am to be 25 with a BA, minimal debt and an $8.75/hr full time job (in a town I despise) that just barely manages to pay rent and food. I don’t have a TV or internet. I live simply. If I eat nothing but ramen for the next month, I might be able to afford Christmas presents. But I could never save up enough to pay for treatment for my mom.

Her illness took my childhood home. It took her car, her sanity, and any hope of employment she may have had. I’m all she has anymore. And I can’t help her.

I’m lucky I at least have health insurance so that I was able to obtain cheap generic antidepressants in order to keep functioning just enough to not lose my job. Yet.

I cry for her every night.

Happy birthday, mom. I hope you’re okay.

WE ARE THE 99%.

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