I have a brief reprieve to
raise the monies for the back rent.
-PJ Gach
First of all, I’d like to
thank everyone who’s given me emotional support or donated to the Please Not
Let PJ + Sophie Go Homeless Fund or both.
Thank you Diana, April,
Christopher, April (yes, there’s another April), Makeda, Lorna, Julia, Candice, Max, Joy, Kathy, Russ, Valis,
Damaris, Nancy, Dynelle, Bryce, Patty, Colleen, Patricia, Shannan, Michelle, Andrea,
Haley, Jill, Ann, Brooke, Richard, Phillip, Bianca Hall AKA Kiss Her London, Snug Camisoles, Nicole, Kate, Dana, Shee Ra,
Dell, Becci, Nivedita, Christal, Jene, Mary, Todra, Lauren, XOJane, Courtney, Marcy AKA Women’s Mafia, Amber,
Jess, Haute House PR, La Cheryl, Shamika, Juni, Kimberly, Mindy, British Beauty
Blogger, Samantha, Danielle, Rachel, Kimberly, John, James, Fayza, Amara, Matt,
Lynne, Rachel, Michelle Joni, Metropolis
Soap Co., Albert, Black Girl in Maine, Mariana,
Nolcha Fashion Week, Erin, Zoya Nail Polish, Junipher, Sabina, Nalissa,
Camilla, 365 Hangers, Mickie Mueller
Art, College Candy, Kim, Rashidah, The
Curvy Fashionista, Gustavo, Sunshine, Rich PR, Mercedes, Wendy + Jimmy, Michael, Yuli and Dawn.
If I’ve forgotten anyone, I’m
really sorry, it was not intentional. The past couple of days I’ve been feeling
like a piñata.
To update the situation, I
have to be back in court on May 8, so I have until then to try the non-profits
again and continue to try to fund raise the back monies via social media.
People who know me, people who live in other continents, people who only know
me via twitter and people who have never had any interaction at all have
donated to the fund. Right now it’s at $1159.75.
That completely and totally
blows me away. I am in awe of every single person who has either donated,
tweeted, re-tweeted my tweets, sent me
an email, called me or left a comment on my blog. Truly, this is something I
didn’t expect. Truthfully, I had no idea if anyone would even pay attention to
the tweets or blog posts. So anytime anyone does anything I am gobsmacked. I
owe a huge thank you to Diana. She’s the one who suggested that I start posting
about the situation and ask for donations. Personally, I think she should run
for office, she’s very passionate about human rights and, well, I know her, so
I don’t want to drop a lot of personal information. Bianca Hall AKA Kiss Her
London offered a mini print in exchange for people donating £5 pounds! Which
made me cry.
Yeah, I’m a journalist, but
there are times in my life when words fail me completely. How can you explain
the awe you get when people, who don’t know you, have never met you, try to
help you out of a horrendous situation? It’s hard. The kindness and compassion
takes my breath away. It’s like falling into a well of darkness, and then
someone switches on a flashlight, throws you a rope, and helps you crawl out of
hell. That’s the closest I can come to explaining the way I feel when someone
re-tweets, emails me, calls, texts me or sends me donation.
It’s easier for me to tell
you how completely humiliated, embarrassed and ashamed I am that the situation
had to come to me begging on the Internet for assistance. I would have much preferred that My
Assemblyman’s assistant, who I trusted with my life, was honest with me, rather
than doing what he did. I’d have preferred that when I sat in Mrs. Ortega’s
chair at the HRA office, instead of repeatedly telling me that I needed to get
money from my family, actually help me. There’s a very telling quote in the
Observer article, “The staff in each of the designated
programs is able to evaluate the client’s situation and determine the benefit.
Since ‘One Shots’ are evaluated on a case-by-case basis, this information is
not advertised.”
Which translates into what I
think is in "normal-speak," is if the case worker doesn’t want to help you, they’re
not going to help you.
When I started tweeting, I
don’t know what I expected. I hoped that people would re-tweet me and hopefully
donate; I didn’t think that what I was doing was newsworthy. I was kinda
shocked when I got phone calls from Brokelyn.com and the New York Observer. I
did the interviews thinking if I could get the word out on what happened to me
with my Assemblyman, if there was anyone in the situation I was in, maybe this
could help them and yes, if I told my tale, maybe I could get help out of the
situation. I honestly didn’t think about
trolls. Stupid me, right? Yup.
I’m going to briefly address
a few items that have come up in comments and then not talk about those
comments again.
For 12 of the 13 years I’ve
lived here, I’ve had roommates. The last roommate was a Jekyll and Hyde
experience. He went from a friendly, responsible person to one who stole food,
left messes (expecting me to clean up after him) and extremely verbally
abusive. He would go out of his way to try to start an argument. He would just
start name calling etc., out of nowhere. I know the signs when verbal abuse is
just a few steps away from physical abuse. At that same time, I had gotten a
small raise at work. I sat down and figured out that if I kept to an extremely
tight budget that I could live without a roommate. If you’ve ever been in a
situation where you have a large man looming over you, screaming that you’re
worthless and he can do anything he wants and what you say means nothing, then
you know, not having a disposable income is much more preferable to anything
else on the menu.
To any commenter who said I
should get a job. Why do you think I don’t want one? I’ve been job hunting
since I was laid off. I have an excel spreadsheet to keep track of what I’ve
applied for. I miss, with all my heart
and soul being a part of an editorial team. Why wouldn’t I want to work? If I don’t’
work, I don’t get money. And I love working. I love the adrenaline rush of
writing an article and coming in under deadline. I love that feeling when you’re
part of a brainstorming session and you all come up with great ideas. I love being able to spread news about cool
products, designers and more. To me work is fun.
To any commenter who said I
was entitled, selfish, lazy or what not. Hey kiddo, I’ve been working since I
was 11. I started babysitting and if you’ve ever babysat, you know that’s work.
While my parent kept a roof over my head, clothed (who wants to go school
naked?), and off the streets, that was about it. Yeah, I had a crappy
childhood. Am I using my childhood as an excuse for what happened to me
recently? Hell, no. I blame a shaky
economy and an Assemblyman’s assistant who lied to me until time ran out for
him to help me.
If anything, having a
childhood where you’re constantly told that you’re worthless only made me more
determined to grow up, get out, and never look back. When you have a parent who
actively dislikes you and tries to undermine any effort you have to better
yourself, you can either lie down and give up, or plot out how to get the hell
away and make a life for yourself. You can guess which option I chose.
To any commenter who said I
was living about my lifestyle. Who the hell are you? What type of lifestyle am
I leading? If it’s debauched and full of
luxury, hell yeah, I wanna do that! The reality is, when and if I went shopping
for anything for myself or my house, it was thrift store only. You can only
imagine the joy I felt when I found a kitchen table and chairs for $15. Okay,
it was missing a chair, but the damn thing works. I only go out if the event is
free or super duper cheap. I get excited when I can find yogurt for $0.39. My
friends know how ridiculously frugal I am. I pay cash. If I don’t have cash, I
don’t buy it. Nope, don't own a credit card.
To any commentor who wondered
why I wasn’t emotional enough when I either wrote my blog post or was
interviewed. I’m doing my absolute level best to stay logical, keep calm and to
keep moving in a forward motion. It doesn’t do me any good to completely and
totally lose it. Although I did the other day in the park and on the phone with
NY1. I’m trying to stay calm. It’s freaking hard. The past few days have been absolute hell. I
feel like a caged animal. I feel like ripping my skin off. I’ve had panic
attacks. I wake up feeling drugged. I go to sleep shaking. I have a huge folder
with all my paperwork in it.
I did send an email to Ellen
a month ago, asking for help. That email was filled with please, please, please
help me. I cried the entire time I wrote that email. Shaking and blubbering,
praying and crying while I wrote to Ellen, hoping that Ellen or her team would
actually help. I’ve watched her show for years. I telecommuted at my other job,
so I’d have Ellen on in the background every day whilst I was editing an
article. I’m sure that I cried so much, I had a zillion typos in that email.
Sorry—knee jerk reaction. I
try to make jokes or be funny when I’m scared out of my mind. It keeps the
monsters at bay. I hope.
As a journalist I’d rather
write a news story, than be a news story. If I were to gain any notoriety, if I were to
become famous, I’d much rather prefer it to be something cool like winning the
Nobel Prize for the cutest shoe collection, or being able to definitively prove
that not only Quarks exist, they date Neutrinos, or being a judge on Galactic
Project Runway, or owning a working TARDIS, or being the father of George
Clooney’s alien baby, or working with a charity to end hunger in America (do
you have any idea how many school age children in America don’t have regular
meals?), or doing a cool fashion collaboration, or having a lippie named after
me, or owning the world’s first talking
dog. I swear I heard Sophie say “Ma” one day, I swear I heard it.
I really feel like Schrodinger’s
cat. I really do.
So this is my update on the
situation and a few explanations as well.
If you would like to send a
donation to help me pay off my back rent, my paypal email is nyc.firebird@gmail.com. I’m saying
thank you right now, because, honestly, friends and strangers have helped me
more than any of the “safety net” charities out there. Yes, I’m embarrassed to
have to ask for this, so if I sound stilted, I’m sorry, I’m just trying to keep
calm. I need to keep calm. I have to
keep calm.
I wanted to say thank you for
standing by and with me through this chapter of my life. Thank you for reading
the blog. Thank you for your donations, tweets and kindness. Kindness is..it’s…it’s
the most beautiful thing on Earth.
I’m sorry for wallowing in
fear. I’m going to start writing blog posts about cocktails (don’t we all need
one or a dozen?), cosmetics, clothing and other fun frivolous things. I’m also
going to keep everyone updated with what’s going on with me and Sophie.
I'm still sending out my resume, I'm still following up on job leads, I do have a couple of job interviews on the horizon. Please wish me good luck.
Thank you.
PJ
