When The Seven Seater Vanished.

Today I lost my van in a tragic repossession. Even though I’ve known this day was coming for a little over two weeks, nothing can really prepare you for something like this. Removing the remainder of my possessions including the license plate then surrendering my fob, I was overwhelmed with shame and embarrassment.

The voices speak up quick. “What kind of a loser gets his van taken away and at the ripe age of nearly 43?!” Me, I guess. The hole I just climbed out of regarding alcoholism and letting my weight and health get out of control is reminiscent as I feel the sting of tonights episode.

Of course I take full ownership, pun always intended. Yes, I had surgery and I had complications afterward that left me unemployed for months. Yes, there was barely money for certain necessities in that time and nobody but me failed to make my vehicle payments. I let it slide and I crossed my fingers, expecting at least a warning phone call but apparently they don’t babysit so they terminated our agreement. Or at least until I raised the back fees plus the thousand or so bailiff fees on top of it plus 2 months payments in advance. Sorry, but I don’t have a spare $3500 dollar bill lying around.

By my hand, I am living out this nightmare. But all the ownership in the world taken, it still feels like a punch to the gut. I have lost something that we all take for granted and that is not lost on me.

A person must look on the bright side. It’s truly all one can do minus slipping into some dank depression filled with complaints and cages in the darkness. I’m supposed to thrive and succeed and overcome! My calling in life is victory! I will shake this off and keepity keep on keepitying on. I know no other route.

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