I'm living in my own apartment with my own roommates who are now leaving. I cannot afford the rent because I'm shit-all with handling money, and somehow I have to convince my landlords to give me a new lease even though I owe them money, then find people willing to be my roommates even though I owe the landlords money, all before the end of July. In the meantime, my insurance came through and now my psychiatrist insists I pay for my own Pills, rather than get freebies from her. I need those Pills. Without them, I wouldn't have any money coming in. With them, I'm still stupid with the little money I have coming in.
It always comes down to money, with me. I've GOT to teach myself to handle it better, and I've GOT to give up my horribly expensive smoking habit to alleviate some of the burden. It's a BITCH. It's not like I INTEND to be irresponsible. It's more like I don't understand money, and never really learned to take care of myself. Sad, isn't it?
Poor, pitiful fucking me.
Meanwhile, the friends I do hear from are all freaking out about their own problems 2,000 miles away. I don't blame them, as they're serious problems, but I can do jack-all for them but be sympathetic. Several are incommunicado, though, and all I can do is hope they're having too much fun to talk to me.
I spent the first weekend of this month involved in psychodrama sheltered alone with the other men in the group near the lake. It cleared out a LOT of cobwebs in my lingering malaise, but the old non-emotional problems remain and keep piling up with no solution in sight.
I'm tempted to call an organization for the near-homeless and beg for charity. Since I know some people have much shittier financial situations than I do, it troubles me to do that.
Still, I don't know what the fuck to do. My family is at the stage where they want me to sink or swim, but do it on my own. No more help from them. That faucet is rusted shut.
Not that I blame them. They're fuckin' poor, too, and sick of me being "helpless." What else could they do?
So everywhere I turn are problems I cannot solve. I can't solve my problems, and I can't solve my friends' problems.
Why, then, do I actually feel OK? Could it be that the Pills and therapy work? Nah, of course not . . .
I'm fucked, and there might not be a good solution (or any solution), but tomorrow I'll wake up, and I'll have a whole day ahead of me. Maybe I'll come up with one, or maybe I'll suffer the consequences, pick up the pieces, and keep on moving forward. It's supposed to be gorgeous weather, and a lot can happen in twenty-four hours. Maybe a friend or three will have a good day, or maybe a complete stranger will wind up having a good day because I was there at the right time with a smile.
I don't know. I just know I don't live in dread, anymore, and I haven't punched walls until I broke a finger because I believed I had super powers, and I haven't attacked a gate because it looked at me funny. Twenty-four hours is a long time, and even at my worst there are still beautiful souls on this planet, and sunsets, and the smell of thunderstorms, and the innumerable other wonders of the earth. Why the fuck should I give up when there's so much beauty out there?
I'm not giving up, even if I'm at my wit's end. That's the old Scott.
Yeah, that's right. I'm Scott. Did you think my real name was Justin? Fuck anonymity. I'm standing tall as myself.
Peace, kats and kittens, and remember: naked pictures are always appreciated.