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Why Bankruptcy Won’t Kill You. A Brief Primer on the Art of Financial Rehab.
The number blinked at me off my computer screen: 842. Eight hundred forty two, out of a possible 850 credit rating.
No. Fucking. Shit, Sherlock.
It would be fair to say that back in 1998, when I was living in Spokane and the only two times I was famous enough to get my name in the local news rag were for my divorce and medical bankruptcy, this feat was unlikely.
At best.
At the time, hounded by creditors, sick as shit and completely overwhelmed by debt created by far too many forces to list here, I had to scream Uncle.
My father, who taught me early to keep my financial nose clean, would have been utterly horrified. I sure was.
As someone who has forever been brutally responsible about bill paying, paying on time and paying everything off, the idea that I had to dump my debt onto my creditors without so much as a by-your-leave was appalling. I took it personally, as a statement of character (or lack thereof).
Bankrupt. Loser.