About SilentSorrow

Funny. Not funny ha ah—funny in that way you start to bump up against hysteria because it’s all too heavy and unreal and for every step you take forward you’re kicked three steps back. And you don’t even have tears anymore and so you laugh like some demented clown. And every time you say it can’t get any worse the fates align themselves to prove you wrong.

Back when graphic design was booming, I entered into 2 two-year programs and received both a graphic design certificate and a desktop publishing . I was making great money and not too worried about using the charge cards because I was able to pay everything off just fine. Then the recession hit. I was laid off. Couldn’t find work. Watched the credit card debt double and triple because when you can’t pay they screw you into the ground. And so I was drowning. Drowning under too much debt.

I decided the best thing to do would be to go back to school. Get my degree. As this point I was dealing with depression and diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I didn't do too well in school. I have a psychotic amount of college debt to pay back. The fates coming out to show me how bad it can get. And It's too sick a joke. Like some surrealistic landscape I'm trapped in but this can't be real, right. My government subsidized loan payment is $257. My unsubsidized payment is $335. I have a private loan through Sallie mae they want a payment of$456.64. (It is a 30,000 dollar loan I took out over the four years, to pay for books and housing.) On their payment plan I'll be paying back $94,000. I have had to move back in with my parents. I’m way to old to be here. And when I do find I job, I’ll be on a hamster wheel, working just to back back that debt. My loans total: $1057.64. I could live in a loft for that. I still owe my school some money. They have turned it over to collections. The guy that bought my debt keeps calling even though I told him I have no money. HE wants to work something out. What could we possibly work out. I've stopped answering his calls. I'm just tired. And starting to forget point and purpose. Lately, I'm too depressed to even write but hoping that I can sell a screenplay once this strike is over. Or maybe I'll finish one of the novels I'm working on. Or maybe I’ll click my heels together three times, close my eyes and chant, “there’s no place like home,” because this can’t be the real world.