Hidden lives

THERE are millions of people living in poverty in the so-called civilised world and we all have our own tales to tell. I’m fortunate in that I am not living on the street and always feel guilty when I pass a homeless person and cannot give them anything. Because I cannot. Not a penny.

I’m not writing this for sympathy, merely to point out that unless someone is indeed living on the street, you’re unlikely to know how bad their situation is.

I’ve written before how my life changed so drastically so am not going into that again, just telling it as it is now and has been for the last three years, though each year seems to get a little worse.

I work, but have had my hours cut and earn £8,000 p.a. I could almost cry when I contrast this with the £60,000 plus expenses I was once earning, and indeed in my lowest moments I do.

So, I work and I rent. And after paying my rent and utilities I’m pretty much done. But even that wouldn’t be so bad if I had a home I could really relax in and enjoy being in, but I don’t. I love gardening and I love plants but now I have no garden and not a single plant to make my house seem a little more like a home. I know they don’t cost that much, but to me it’s impossible. I could get a couple of packets of rice for the price of a plant.

My living room is tiny, and I do mean tiny. I now have a sofa but with books piled high on the floor as I have only three bookshelves given to me by friends, no room for even a coffee table - if I had one. I haven’t bought a book in years so am constantly re-reading old ones, but that I like. So although on occasion I sit on the sofa it’s not really the pleasant experience it should be.

And no, I have no television or internet at home. I use the internet at work when I need to and luckily can download some TV series or films to watch at home, which I do while in bed because it’s the most comfortable place in the house.

I get up, take my dog for a walk while it’s still dark, come home and have coffee and shower. It’s more than two years since I was able to buy shower gel so it’s cheap shampoo and soap for me, but at least I can have a shower. Then I get dressed and go to work. Always early for work because it’s warmer there than at home.

Winters are pretty dreadful. Like so many I cannot put the heating on. So when I come home from work I leave my coat on until I put my pyjamas on and crawl into bed with a hot water bottle. Weekends I spend huddled in bed with a couple of long sleeved vests under my pyjamas and a woolly hat and a scarf. And I’m fortunate to have my dog, who cuddles with me in bed.

I see people sharing pictures of their food on social media and, while not really jealous (I don’t think) I do sort of wish it could be me. Because I usually live on either boiled rice or baked potatoes. Sometimes I vary my diet with cucumber and vinegar sandwiches. But rice, potatoes and bread are my staples. They’re not all healthy but they are filling. And of course coffee. If I can’t afford anything else, the two things I will buy are coffee and dried food for my dog. I’m lucky that she seems to love the cheap food I buy her.

I haven’t bought any item of clothing in about three years and my clothes are showing signs of wear. It’s just constant washing, ironing and wearing the same old clothes. I am lucky in that my mother (who is 90, on a pension and living on the other side of the world in New Zealand) sends me second hand t-shirts on occasion and even sent me some knickers a few months back when I was saying most of mine were looking a bit tatty!

I have two sheets, so that’s constant washing, and I do most of my washing by hand to save on electricity. Not all, but as much as I feel able to. I do however have plenty of duvet covers so I often use one of those as a sheet.

Weekends are not fun. I am alone and lonely. I do like my own company, but I liked it a helluva lot more when I had a cosy home I could potter about in.

Once upon a time I had a lovely home with all of my belongings around me, a garden to potter about in, and I could actually bake every weekend. That is something I do miss, as I love cooking and baking. I keep thinking I should be used to this life of mine, but it’s hard to get used to. And yes, I do cry. I cry because my partner of 45 years is no longer here, and I cry because I can see no way out.

People in my position, and I know there are many the same, are almost invisible, because you see us working or walking down the street and just assume that we are going back to a fairly decent home and that, because we’re not living rough on the streets, we’re probably living similar lives to you.

But not all of us are.

(It took me a long time to get up the courage to write this, because I am truly not looking for sympathy but have been afraid that is how it will appear. All I want is for people to be aware that things are not always as they might seem.)