Sure, I don't have a bed, but I have what many in my situation do not - a place to stay. It wasn't easy dealing with my last eviction. It was both emotionally tearing and rife with betrayal and two-facery. I thought things were only going to get worse. -🌝- It was like they never wanted me to succeed. And based on the long struggle that sent me one-hundred and fifty miles away from my birthplaces, it seemed exactly so. I had deactivated my Facebook account one week prior to my eviction. I found it did more harm than good. I later found out that my support staff made house calls after-hours. -🌝- They discussed sensitive topics, including my homosexual flings and sealed record, knowing it would drive my landlord against me, which it did. But, it gets worse.
My landlord starts engaging with me in an aggressive way, if not to expect me to reciprocate so he could exploit his newfound knowledge. -🌝- He dialed 911 seven times between February 3rd and February 24th*. On March 28th, I called 911 after he hurled his spouse's ironing board at me. He threatened me each time I came back from class that I'd "be buried like a mongrel, just like the others". By the day before my eviction, shovels were placed in the cold storage in the basement. -🌝- One week after my eviction, prank calls exploited my line, clogging my voicemail with three-minute blank recordings until it was full. Then I started getting calls from people I viewed at the time as a source of support. However, instead of support and meaningful dialogue, I was talked down to, and I saw a side of them that was more genuine to how they viewed their job. -🌝- He played loud music, destroyed his own lighting and upholstery and stove, all hoping to place blame on me when he took CV to court. The only issue was, I broke away, after a menacing voicemail from an employee I trusted most at the time.