I live in a nice house, in a nice neighborhood, and I drive a nice car.
I have good health insurance, good credit, and a good education.
I don’t travel or go to expensive restaurants, but I buy very, very expensive purses.
Most of the time, I just wear jeans and a T-shirt. I wear little jewelry. I don’t drive a luxury car.
I try to blend in with everybody else, yet frequently I feel like other people (usually women) look at me and think, “That rich, stuck-up bitch. She thinks she’s better than everybody else.”
If they only knew how much I hate myself and how “less than” I feel compared to everyone I meet.
I’m not allowed to have problems. How could I have problems when I can always pay my bills?

The first time I got some insight into how people might feel about me was when I was having a conversation with my friend Stacey. We were talking about our mutual friend Christy.
“You know, Stacey, I’m really worried about Christy.”
“Why? What’s up?”
“Christy’s husband Joe is so mean to her. He calls her horrible names and he never gives her gifts for birthdays or Christmas. Recently, he told her she couldn’t be friends with me anymore.”
“Etta, he sounds just plain abusive to me. I know he beat her up that one time years ago. Is he doing that again?”
“I don’t know, but I wish she could do something to feel better about herself, to gain some independence from Joe. As I said, I’m really worried about her.”
“Etta, frankly, I’m not going to feel sorry for Christy. She lives in a big, beautiful house in Harford County, Joe has a really successful business, and Christy drives a Mercedes Benz. Listen, my ex-husband is in prison, he can’t pay child support, and, if it wasn’t for my father helping me out financially, my kids and I would be homeless. Yes, Christy has problems, but money isn’t one of them. I refuse to pity her.”

Later, I thought about this conversation Stacey and I had about Christy. I wondered if people discounted my problems because I don’t have money trouble. Like almost two years ago when my colon twisted shut and it would have exploded and I would have died, but I was able to have emergency abdominal surgery? Did people hear about my health problems and say, “I’m not going to feel sorry for Etta because she has good health insurance?”
Or when I was a teen-ager and both my parents died in the same week, did people say, “I refuse to pity Etta. She will inherit money and, with that money, she will be able to pay for a lot of excellent psychotherapy?”

People must look at me and think I don’t have a care in the world. Money has never kept me warm at night.
When I’m alone on Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter, the fact that I have money in the bank brings me no comfort.

I’ve gone to N.A. meetings for years and the first time someone I knew died and their family couldn’t afford to pay for her burial, I offered to do it. The family was really grateful and they sent me a wonderful thank you card.
Another friend in N.A. died indigent and his girlfriend came to me and asked if I would pay for the arrangements. I did. His sisters came to me after the funeral and thanked me profusely.
My N.A. friend Bob died. His family complained that they couldn’t pay for the cremation. Another friend in N.A. told them, “Etta will do it.” Again, I did.

I wish I could say that I paid for these people’s final arrangements because I’m a good person. If I’m really honest, I have to admit that I took care of those expenses because I didn’t want people to hate me due to my financial situation.
I pre-paid my own funeral and burial expenses years ago.