The. Worst. Day. Ever.

Let's jump right in, shall we? Yesterday B. came to move out his things. I tried to prepare myself emotionally, but from almost the moment I woke up I was frazzled and jittery. Nothing had been sorted. Nothing had been packed. This made me even more freaked out, because while I am the type of person to go through every single, tiny item in the house before moving (and sort into PACK or THROW AWAY piles), B. prefers to literally grab everything, throw it into garbage bags, and haul it away. Doesn't matter who it belongs to, doesn't matter if it's something you're going to throw away - if it's in the house on moving day, it's going with you.
Now, you might say to yourself, "Whitney, if you know this, why didn't you go through everything and sort out what belongs to you?" Well, nameless person, I would say to that - "I'm sorry, does it look like my responsibility to sort through all his shit for him?" No, it does not. A prideful matter of principle for me. Well, that, and OH YEAH I HAVE 5 PAPERS DUE THIS WEEK. If I had nothing else going on in my life, and if hadn't moved on from the "sad" stage of grief to "anger" last week, I might have done it.

So, I'm sorting through the laundry, finding random socks of his to put in a "B. pile," when I hear a knock on the door. It's the girl who wants to buy my car (let me catch you up - I'm trying to sell my lemon of a car and found someone who actually wants to buy it, problems and all). She wants the car today. As in now. I'm fine with that - I need the money - but I can't locate the title. I know I had it a few months ago. I even remember saying to myself, "I'd better put this someplace special so I won't lose it." However, I have absolutely no idea where that special place now is. So I'm hurriedly digging through old files and boxes before B. arrives in a frantic attempt to find it. Spolier alert - I didn't find it and still haven't found it, but that doesn't matter anyway because while I was sorting through a pile of letters, catalogs and tax forms, I found a letter from a month ago I had overlooked. It was a letter from a collection agency informing me that my bill of $600 had not been paid to AT&T and that they would be handling the retrieval of said debt. Now, this is how self-critical I can be sometimes: when I read the letter, I ASSUMED I had incurred that debt somehow. My cell phone is with AT&T, after all. But, I have a "Go Phone" account, and it's impossible to go over your limit with that account - that's why I got it. Then I saw a sentence at the bottom of the letter that gave me a sick feeling: "If you think you have been the victim of theft of identity, please call the AT&T Identity Theft hotline at this number." Sidebar - I don't know if I think it's awesome or creepy that AT&T has a special division dedicated to identity theft.

I called the number and talked to my new best friend Diane, who, after checking the records and asking me a series of questions, confirmed that, yes, someone had stolen my identity and used my credit to pay for a home phone line from March 2008-February 2009. Someone, apparently, in Austell, Georgia. I don't even know anyone there. I don't even know where Austell, Georgia is! The worst part - when she confirmed my social security number, she told me that they have it. Which is 10,000 times worse than someone just stealing your credit card number. So now, not only do I have to fill out tons of paperwork for AT&T (for their "investigation," according to Diane), I also have to contact the Social Security Administration, credit check companies, and God-knows-who-else. I think the scariest thing for me is knowing that this happened over two years ago and I'm just now finding out about it. What other charges are going to show up under my name? My dad and I have worked hard to establish good credit in my name . . .and someone can undo all that hard work in seconds.

I don't even know what else to say about that right now. I got my identity stolen. It sucks hard.

This is in addition to having to meet with the Dean of Academic Affairs on Monday. Because my GPA dropped from a 3.8 to a 2.8 in a matter of months, I was placed on academic probation. It is extremely shameful to me, and hard to talk about. I want everyone to think I'm perfect. I want everyone to think I'm the student I always have been. What can I say? Things have been hard. Really, really hard. I'm coping - sometimes in healthy ways, sometimes in not-so-healthy ways. So I sat there in her office, tears rolling down my face, as she suggested I not return to Candler next semester. No asking me why my GPA dropped so drastically; no asking me what Candler could do to help me; just that I couldn't get any more extensions and that maybe I should consider dropping out. Like she's so perfect, like she's never flunked a class - I'm pretty sure she at least flunked out of Pastoral Care and Counseling, or at least skipped the class where they talked about how to show basic courtesy to a student balling in your office.

That's my week so far. I still have ass-ton to do to finish this blasted, cursed semester. Also, B. didn't take all of his things, my place is a wreak, and new roomate is supposed to be moving in this weekend. Shit. Shit-shit-shit-shit-shitty-shit-shit. I just felt like cursing there for a minute.

The one bright spot right now is W. He has been an absolute gem through this whole ordeal. He found me a free mattress and picked it up for me, helped me move furniture, WASHED MY DISHES, and brought me apple pie and chocolate. Also, he bought me french fries and absolved me of the sin of eating chicken mcnuggets. He's pretty much been the best *ahem* boyfriend ever.

Are y'all tired of praying for me yet? 'Cause I'm gonna need you to keep it up.