Canada's P.O.W.s
Persons on Welfare :
Their stories.
not about territory or religion. The jailors are not necessarily fanatics, or dictators, but leaders of wealthy countries in search of resources, power and personal gain.
People On Welfare daily struggle with oppression, loss of dignity and diminishing hopes, yet where is the compassion,the understanding .and the willingness to help.them ?
Or 'barely being able to make ends meet'
December 2004
The reality is harsh but true. This reality is quite different from that which the Public typically
believes it to be. Thanks in part to family turmoil, combined with my own bi-polar disorder, I
too found myself having to apply for welfare at the age of 18. I wanted to live independently
and I was determined to get a job to support myself. Yet the more time passed, without finding a job, the more I heard the repetitive phrase, ‘If you want to make your life better then just get a job’. Oh… if only it were so easy!
I heard the constant echoes of counsellors and government assistance agencies telling me that “its only as hard as you make it”. Too true, but tell me, how do I, as an inexperienced teen of 18, make it easy for a manager to hire me ? Is it truly my fault that most people looking to hire, are looking to hire someone who has a clue of what their doing ? And day by day, I felt more and more guilty, cause that’s how society made me feel, that it really was “my” fault.
I remember all too clearly feeling guilty and ashamed of who I was. I was unemployable! But here was the real kicker: I was only unemployable because I had no experience, yet no one was willing to hire me to give me the experience. Hearing that over and over again, “you have no experience”… well duh! I know that, why do you think I’m looking for work…?
So relying on the government for financial support, while continuing to try and convince employers that I really was worth something, (though believing it less and less), was my only option. Through the embarrassment of standing in the line up at the welfare office, and the many people who had no idea who I was, telling me that the help wanted sign in the window really didn’t mean that they were looking for help (from me at least). Obviously it all started to wear on me. I got down and out, I lost sight of myself. And yes I got lazy. And only those that have been in my shoes can really understand the depths of the depression I sank into.
Then came the daily grind. The thought of “is it really worth my time to get out of bed” ran through my head every morning. Fearing all the rejection I would face and the hollowness in my stomach, but the worst of it all was the guilt that I carried on my shoulders. How do I get through another day. No food in my house; my good clothes for looking for work in began to look rattier and rattier. No wonder no one wanted to hire me, between the growling of my stomach and the look of my clothes, I wouldn’t hire me either.
No money in my pockets to properly clean my clothes, no money to feed myself, suddenly no more hope that things will ever get better for me. How do you find the modivation in yourself to get out there and make someone else think that you’re really worth something, when your own government seems to think that you are only worth a mere $525 a month.
