Today is Day One; today's the first day I truly admit to myself, and I suppose any anonymous readers who should stumble upon this little homage to the financial institutions and my own over-indulgent gluttony, which both led me into the truly serious situation I've put myself in financially after eight years of overspending.
It's not egotistical to admit that I've worked bloody hard over the last eight years to get where I am now; a reasonable middle management position in a great company, and a nice above average wage to compensate me for the day-to-day tasks I endure. On the outside, my slightly weathered complexion, hairline running towards the neckline of my shirt collar, and grey eyes appear to show years beyond my age.
On a daily basis I'm either in the UK, or working in offices in other parts of the world, doing what I can to impress, be noticed and valued, in the vague hopes that I might get a payrise. Not because I want to put a deposit on a house, not because I yearn to drive a new Audi, and not because I want a lifestyle which affords me two holidays a year and a designer suit. I do it because, without it, I'll continue to struggle.
Each month, I eagerly look at my bank statement online (Note: A superb invention on the part of the banks; allowing people like me, with debts equivalent to the GDP of a small African nation, to watch eagerly as our payments reduce our debt on a monthly basis, then hold our heads in our hands as the interest bounces it back to the original balance) waiting for my wage to hit the string of negative numbers that make up my overdraft limit.
I've long since become accustomed to the sight and elated feelings associated with my wage dropping like a great pile of pound coins into my account for approximately 24 hours, and likewise the immense disappointment the following day as the string of Direct Debits to creditors for personal loans and credit cards fly out of the account, lifting nearly half my monthly wage clear of my account, never to be seen again. In the subsequent days, I watch in unsurprised awe as the rent on my modest apartment runs out of the door, shortly followed by the council tax - and scuttling not too far behind are the utilities.
Finally, to add insult to injury, the not-unsubstantial phone bill leaves my account a day later, comprised essentially of billable calls to a land far away where the financial institutions attempt to answer your every query by placing you on hold for an indeterminate amount of time whilst they pass you through to yet another department who might just be able to 'um' and 'ah' a little more sincerely than the last, before cutting you off as they palm you off on some other department, in another call centre altogether.
You're probably wondering what my problem is... I'm employed (According the latest statistics; 1 in 6 people is unemployed following increasing lay-offs and closures as a result of the recession), my bills are paid each month, and there is even some money left over to buy bread and water with. I agree, my situation seems perfect in a time when others face bankruptcy, employment uncertainty and crippling bills.
The truth of the matter is; there is money left. Not a great deal, but enough to ensure there's food in the cupboard and that I can get to work in the morning. The fact is, that despite bills being paid, having a roof over my head, and able to eat something half decent 7 nights a week - I'm still in the same situation I've been in for the last eight years.
A stagnant situation which gets worse financially each year, emotionally each month and stressful each day. It causes unnecessary and inexplicable changes in my mood towards those around me, it was partially responsible for the deterioration in my health at the start of the year and has been a defining factor in my ending relationships I treasured, losing jobs I needed and nearly ending friendships I couldn't live without.
The situation I'm in has a name; it is a situation most people are familiar with, it's a phrase used by broadcasters on TV, columnists in the papers and each time those words are said or read, it acts as another crank on the wheel of fortune; spinning me back from whatever I'm doing to the eternally depressing fact that I can't seem to escape. It affects every aspect of my life either directly or indirectly:
I'm still In The Red.
