Leaving the homeless shelter and moving to Wellington? Huh?

Shortly after the incident with the pastor I had a mini-meltdown. People have asked me why I stayed and the only thing I can say is that I never knew what a “normal” relationship was.  My mother’s relationship with my father ended when he cheated on her. Her relationship with my stepfather ended when he tried to kill her on Christmas Eve. My father’s relationship with my step-mother was no better, she was cheating on him and they had thrown me out after having me institutionalized. The only “norm” I had was my grandparents and I was too far gone by then to know they were a positive model. Bruce had a way of talking to people.He could con anyone out of anything. I remember him coming home and telling me we were moving soon. Where? Wellington. Wellington? How in the hell can we afford to live in Wellington? Back in the day, Wellington was the “west” Palm Beach, where the horses where, polo, big money, land. It still is. We had NO business in Wellington. It turns out he had made some connections at the radio station, met a good christian man who had some duplexes out in Guilford Villas and was going to rent one to us. He also met another older man, I don’t remember his name, but he was elderly with an artificial leg. He could no longer do things for himself, didn’t have family and Bruce had weaseled his way into this man’s life. He would help him run errands and take him to doctor’s appointments. This man was going to give us the use of his car so I could keep my job at the dollar store when we moved. I was thrilled to have some freedom. When we moved out of the shelter we had nothing but our personal belongings to take with us. It was an easy move. I was excited to have my own place and my family lived in Royal Palm Beach,so we would be close to each other. My family helped us out by going to garage sales and picking up pieces of furniture here and there and by rifling through their own belongings and donating to my new house. I had my own place. I wasn’t in a homeless shelter anymore. I was in Wellington. WELLINGTON. The Jefferson’s theme song played in my head….I was movin’ on up. I would be homeless again within the year. Dummy, this is my life….how could I think Wellington was meant for me.

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