| Mar 19 2012 |
‘ My Random Thoughts, Today, re; S.S.D.I.
Part II of II
03/19/12
To my always kind, supportive, and caring friends at MDJunction, and as their equal, my ever-loyal, wonderful readers,
I cannot-in complete, and utter disdain-rebuke that which I receive to live on every month: my S.S.D.I. ( Social Security Disability Income ), because, without it, my dearest friends, both Daisy (the-best-dog-on-the-planet),and myself would quickly find ourselves out in the streets; and being homeless requires a certain strength, tenacity, and such utter will to survive, which I simply do not have.
Both dog and I would first run-through what relatives I do have left for money, then friends, then acquaintances, hopefully to call in all debts and monies owed.
I have no savings, nor any fund set aside for emergencies; I would be lost, afraid, not knowing what to do, even as my observable health, and mental welfare declined, as quickly, I would fall apart.
In 1975, when-at last-I was away from home and off to college, even then, I knew that plangent need for shelter; a roof over my head, some place to, ‘put my hat'. But the very thought of shelter easily eclipsed the need for food. And there have been at least three times in my life, when I was so completely broke, that, while I often paid $0.20 for two scoops of scrambled eggs and toast, and-since I worked the night shift, and the kitchen was closed, dietary left a largish tray of bread, cold cuts, tomato slices, and those little, annoying packs of mustard, ketchup, and mayonnaise to make sandwiches; and, for over my first year of employment, that was what I lived on, barley able to pay the rent, and the utilities, and keep gasoline in my poor car. As long as I had an apartment, a place to return to; to sleep and keep my clothes, I was satisfied.
In those dire days, in which we were all broke, some slept in their cars, for I think we mental health techs. made around $2.23 an hour; and in that cheap, cement-block duplex, I went the first summer without A/C., and the first year without heat. And, practically no furniture, except a bed, and a small dining table and chairs. And on winter's cold and blustery nights, I often could hear the wind howling through the jalousie windows, to whip the sheets I used for curtains.
Still...it was a roof-of sorts-over my head, a shelter, a place to...leave from....and to come home to.
Even when my circumstances improved, or, waned, it was always most important to have that roof, and that shelter.
And so-today-any thought that my home, my, roof, might be taken from me causes panic, dread, and alarm. I really don't know what I'd do were I to be forced to live in some shitty A.L.F. that has (and needs to have) built in safes in the bedrooms, or worse, to have to live in some hell-hole of a nursing home, semi-private with perhaps a maniac for a roommate?
And what would become of my dear Daisy, thus cut off, and left to roam the streets? At fourteen?
For she-too is used to a modicum of comfort, and I think it would be more kind to have her put to sleep.
And...what of the so-called life that I have established here? Once my mother and father's home, it has been passed to me, and is MY home, now. There are-of course-a laundry list of things that need repair, or improvement.
Which is why I am occasioned to rail about S.S.D.I., which-when was calculated after decades of employment, and taxed contributions, is still not enough to really live on.
Prices of things have gone up and up; everything that daily touches our lives: groceries, gasoline, utilities, insurance, medical, and prescription costs...everything, except our S.S.D.I. pittance.
Oh yes we did receive two miniscule raises in the past six or seven years, our ‘buying' power is made to be less and less, and less. And what was given with one hand, was just as quickly taken away with the other.
For example, the two, small raises I did get to S.S.D.I., moved me from Medicaid paying all my medical bills ( QMBE ) , now to (SLMBE), in which I am now considered my Medicaid as ‘medically needy, share of cost'.
What that total #90.00 some-odd dollar, in two raises means I have to accrue $830.00 a month in medical expensed, before Medicaid will even think of paying them.
And when, in time, I applied for food stamps, it seemed by them a cause for celebration, when they began to give me, $16.00 a month. And when the excitement had lessened, I asked if they would kindly have their in-house dietician to make up for me a meal plan for $16.00 a month, the agent simply hung the telephone up on me.
On the third of every month, I have my S.S.D.I. check direct deposited into my checking account, and the flurry of bill paying begins, until, about the seventh of the month, more than 3/4ths of my entitlement is gone. Vaporized. Vanished. So...my having worked for thirty-four years, and, paying into Social Security all those years, at 58, this is what I worked for, and what I received. And, those of you still on S.S.I., and Medicaid, do not expect to be as by sweet angels, showered in gold, when your S.S.D.I comes through, for-at very best-it is but a poor substitute for the wages you once worked so hard for, and that you knew. It is no more than a bleak supplement to having that sum of monies that would allow a comfortable life.
And, if like me, your days are wracked by utter agony, and insurmountable pain, we are quite unable to even think about employment. And yet, my dearest friends, many of you are forced to find some kind of work,,, any work that you can still do, despite the pain, and the despairing. And my heart truly goes out to you who have children, or disabled spouses. For how you manage, I have NO idea.
Presently at my income, I am still more than about 45% of the amount considered to be-for one-the National Poverty Index. I am-for example getting around $4,500.--$5,500 a year less than is required to qualify for a ‘Habitat For Humanity' home. Not to mention that, at 58, and so very ill, I could not even put in the ‘sweat equity' that is mandated.
Perhaps, in some kinder comment, you, my very dearest friends, might offer up some ways that help you cope, cope, and survive.
For me, dear friends, the last two weeks of every month is a horror, and the last week, while reassuring, is still terrible. It is then, I begin to borrow from the next month's money
My heart is full for us all, for surely we must, somehow survive; to know some gentled peace at day's end.
The money (when I did have some extra) granted was used, in part, to decorate it, to make its statement mine; but the most of it was used for much-needed repairs to bring it up to code, and make it then, ‘livable'.
I, ever in my whispered prayers, would hope to keep you safe, and ever keep you well; I wish for you, dearest friends, some lessened, or ‘no' pain; the ability to relax from the needful cares of the day, to enjoy this Spring-time's glory; full-surrounded by ones who truly, gladly love you; a pantry that is full to overflowing, with enough to share; a vigilance to always step-up, and report abuse; again, no crippling pain, nor any sort of desperation; evenings of pure delight, your home a welcome beacon as the night descends; and-as ever-nights of pain free, blissful rest, with you, your home, and all who reside within comforted, and kept secure by ministering angels.
Please always know I love you dearly,
‘Zahc/Charles
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