To whom it may concern,

I am a victim of a violent crime and have lost my housing because of this. I am currently homeless and living on the streets most of the time unless I get the money together and rent a hotel room for the night. I’m telling someone because it occurs to me that before that evening of the violent, crime. I was renting for the past 5 years in midtown Sacramento. The same apartment, the same landlord, and, it wasn’t cheap. I was paying $2350 a month. For 5 years. So how is it that I end up on the streets? Treated like a second-class citizen by the landlord I helped make wealthy and then disemboweled by the family court where I felt the feeling far worse than the terror brought by the aforementioned crime victim the day after my family court sentencing, I did the worst. I committed an act of treason and betrayal against the last innocent person I will ever know in my lifetime. The final stake I delivered to his beautiful and broken heart was the gift of waking him up for school and saying goodnight in real life rather than a scheduled canned curtain call at the end of his day. His right to have me annoy him and be by his side, to be a mommy. My beloved Son, my son I had to throw away to pastures seemingly greener as declared and adopted as an order from an opinion passed down by a third party that was in charge of evaluating if I was good enough to parent my son. After my crime. Although he’s rightfully safeish with his dad on his dad’s greener pastures. And in all honesty, his dad’s new girlfriend does a good job painting the roses red, so to speak to keep up those appearances. How is it that I, of all people? The one everyone said was going to fail, lose everything due to my worthlessness and stupidity the one doomed to fail. After earning three bachelor’s degrees and making something from nothing bringing in empty off-brand cling wrap hobo packs to store brand ziplock bags of tangible less than worthless. Well, I thought it was enough. I fooled myself for almost five years I almost felt happy for about 4 months total of those five years. I allowed myself to make memories. The horrible painful kind of memories that take your breath away when they wash over your thoughts. The memories of the front door keeping the cold out and you and your little family in where it was warm. Yep, that’s what dawned on me this morning and now afternoon, it keeps reminding me loud enough that I can hear the reminders of inadequacy over my rumbling belly that also reminds me of how long it has been since lunch yesterday. My brain and body have seemingly come to life for a minute to tell me to remind someone that I used to be someone. I guess. Well, I was someone to myself. And my son. I paid my rent and I used to have money, then I went to the grocery store one night after ten. I went because I was mad at my boyfriend and I needed to take a break. I should’ve just stayed home. Maybe if I’d stayed home, I’d still have one after all I did pay rent for 5 years on my place in midtown Sacramento.

And now look not even a forwarding address to send the condolence letter and book of I told you so’s.

Sincerely,

The street rat and her ride-or-die cat