I had my first therapy appointment this morning for the first time in seven months. I tossed and turned all night just at the thought of it. What would they ask? What would I say? It’s not like I’m in dark about my mental health. I’m very well aware of how bad things have gotten. All it took though was telling someone just how bad it was for me to realize the only thing I’ve been doing the past seven months is digging my own grave. Maybe not intentionally but if I continue down the road I’m on, I fear I won’t last another seven months. I read an article on Facebook today about a 27 year old dietician, Tara Condell, who took her own life. She left a suicide note on her website, still it was days later when her fellow employees missed her at work that she was found. That is heart breaking for me. Her note was her cry for help that people heard far too late. It is the first paragraph of her letter that haunts me. Not unlike something I would write myself at this given moment.
“I have written this note several times in my head for over a decade, and this one finally feels right. No edits, no overthinking. I have accepted hope is nothing more than delayed disappointment, and I am just plain old-fashioned tired of feeling tired.”
She takes the words right out of my mouth. Was it fate for me to see this article? She goes on to talk about things that I don’t quite understand at the moment like how good it seems she has it. Because I can for sure tell you I do not have it good. Perhaps at one time I did. But I no longer do. She speaks of things she will miss. Would I miss more than just my cats? That’s something I don’t have the answer to. Through her death and in her letter, Tara very well may have helped saved my life. I WANT to have it good once again. I WANT to have things to miss. I feel as though if someone had read this letter in time this sweet girl would still be here. Everybody’s low is different, true, and depression is not biased against who has it all and who doesn’t but coming from an insider this letter sounded like a cry for help. The real tragedy in suicide isn’t those left behind, it’s the life, often times cut too short.
Every forty seconds someone commits suicide. Could Tara’s have been stopped? I’m not sure. What I am sure of is that I owe it to her, her friends and her family to make sure mine stops. At my therapy appointment this morning I admitted to another human being that I sleep, on average 18 hours a day. That I have stopped taking my meds. That I have given up and I come home and read this. Coincidence? I think not. I am not alone in this disease.
My goals are small for now. My therapist gave me two things to do. Personal hygiene and journaling. I have got to get in the habit of waking up and showering everyday no matter if I have anything to do or not. For my sake. For my sanity. And journaling. Well I have been needing to do that for some time. I have so much on my mind and very very few, if any body, to talk to about it all and thats why it’s so important that I get it down on paper and out of my head. I hadn’t realized just how much this one step could help out. Oh, and taking my meds. I’ve been on them for some time and even though I feel as though they don’t work I still owe it to myself to continue to try.
Depression literally effects everything. From hygiene to work performance to relationships. If I hear one more person tell me it’s just an excuse I’m going to scream. It’s MORE than just an excuse. It’s a disease. It’s wanting so badly to get out of bed and do something about your life but not having the capacity to do so. It’s crippling. It’s kept me in bed for days at a time. It KEEPS me in bed.
Depression is like the feared dementor coming to bring you your last kiss. Everything turns cold and dark. Living with severe depression is like living after receiving your dementors kiss. You’re the living dead. Your soul gone. Everything dark, cold, and gray. Even sunshiny days seem dull. The will to live is gone.
I know this depression. I live this depression everyday. It’s a battle to get up every morning. To do menial task such as take a shower, clean, get ready for an event is monumental to me. It’s exhausting. My job has suffered from my depression. I’d rather be asleep than doing anything. If I’m asleep I don’t have to face the world and the fact that I’m sad. I’m probably losing my job soon. One of them at least. My main source of income. What will happen after that I don’t know. I had hope before this but it seems like everyday that goes by my depression gets worse and worse and worse. What will become of me? Will I just waste away? Or will I somehow find the strength to pick myself up?
Depression effects how well you clean. My room is a mess. There’s trash strewn about. Clothes everywhere. It’s not that I don’t want a clean room or a clean home but I’ve become so overwhelmed and going back to bed is just easier. It’s gotten to the point where I physically can’t get up to do anything anymore. I’m so low that my energy is shot. I don’t sit around and watch tv or eat bon bons. I sleep because my body and my soul is tired.
Depression effects relationships. You become paranoid that no one likes you and that everyone is against you and you will find that some people are. You will find that some people don’t understand mental illness and would rather stay that way than lend a compassionate heart or ear your way. Family starts drifting farther apart. You miss things. You get left out of things. People stop inviting you to things because you never show anyways.
Depression effects hygiene. Just getting a shower seems like running a marathon. Forget small things like shaving or brushing your teeth. You gain weight like crazy even though you’re barely eating. It’s like you’re body is preparing to hibernate for the rest of your life. Physical appearance isn’t one of your top priorities anymore. Sleep is.
Now that I’m soon to only be working one to two days a week again I’m afraid now more than ever I’m going to lose myself to this disease. This illness that is a burden to have and a burden for anyone who loves me. They have to watch me fall into the abyss. I know on Saturday I’m going to hear it’s an excuse and that’s fine. Some people don’t understand mental illness and that’s their choice. It’s not an excuse just like a diabetic having to take insulin and watch what they eat isn’t an excuse neither is being in the grips and the horror of full blow depression. If you’ve never slept more than two days in a row, woken up to see how horrible your house and your life looks, to full on projectile vomiting; then you my friend do not know depression. I am almost 30 and have had this disease since I was 11. That’s how old I was at my first suicide attempt. My last one was at the age of 14. I have wanted to since then but have remained hopeful that something will give. This is the worst my depression has ever been. Will I ever see the light again? I hope so. Only time will tell.
Fitzgerald, one of Americas iconic writers didn’t become famous until after his death but that didn’t stop him from wanting to achieve his dreams and live a life he was proud of, and want it for his fellow peers. I have no idea what my future holds but what I do know is that I can’t give up now. My last post may have made it seem like I was ready to, and I’ll be honest I have days where I feel like I want to but something stops me. My will to live outweighs my will to give up. Or rather I’m just so tired sometimes that I can’t even do that. I’d rather wait it out and see what happens. As long as there is air in my lungs and blood flowing through my veins then I might as well try. I know my last post probably scared a lot of people but what you must know is that first of all I’m a writer, everything I feel is done with passion, I WAS feeling like ultimately giving up, yes. That comes with having borderline personality disorder. Suicidal thoughts are part of the depression I battle everyday. Its like a cannon going off amidst the artillery fire in an all out war. BUT A thought doesn’t necessarily mean an action. Giving up isn’t an option for me, but starting over is,.
Starting over is hard and it hurts like hell. Its stressful. Its taking two steps forward and three back and somehow still making progress. Its unpacking all the boxes you’ve left unpacked or just throwing them away and accepting they are gone. Its accepting you may be eating ramen until the next power bill is paid. Starting over may mean staring at something you’ve started and accepting its time to let it go. OR perhaps go at it from a different angle. Starting over is leaving the job you’re not appreciated at even though its all you have, but you’ve come to realize you value your self worth a little more. Starting over is putting on PJ’s again at night instead of just falling asleep in your clothes. Starting over is loving yourself and letting everything else come afterwards.
Have you ever felt like you weren’t really alive? That somehow you had died and were trapped in this body? In this life? And that MAYBE it was purgatory. Lately I have felt this way. I sleep most of my days away. I ignore the bill collectors. I have 79 missed calls. I never go anywhere. I barely eat. I exist, I’m not living. I got out today to write this but not JUST to write this. I had to send my resume to my sister in hopes of getting a full time job. Something I desperately need.
“Its a no smoking sign on your cigarette break.” I smoke cigarettes. I have since I was 18. Its a terrible habit I know and hopefully one day when I beat this damn disease I can quit. I’ve been told I smell like smoke, I’ve been told I smell like cigarettes. I’ve even been told I need to spray something so I don’t smell for a job before, thats nothing out of the ordinary. But y’all I was told that I smelled like WEED. I haven’t smoked pot since I left FL and it was medicinally legal for me. And even then it was in concentrates and vapes. I haven’t heard that I smelled like WEED since, well, since my parents were accusing me of smoking it back in 09. I take things personally, words hurt. Maybe they aren’t meant to always but out of all the ways you could phrase something you say weed. First of all weed has a very very very distinct smell and cigarettes and weed don’t smell alike. At all. Thats why it felt like a blow to me. Because I know I may smell like cigarettes but I know theres no way in hell I smell like WEED. If my medicine allowed me to I would have cried my eyes out over this. I don’t dress like a “pot head”, I don’t talk like a “pot head”, I just don’t get it. I have been awake today longer than I have in at least three days. Sleep is all I can do. The meds aren’t working. I can’t afford therapy. I’ve been sick. Probably from stress or being upset.
I’m trying to start over guys. This is my story of picking up the broken pieces of a broken heart. IF your heart isn’t in it nothing will be and I’m finding thats why nothing seems to be working for me. My heart is so broken it can’t be in anything. I’m trying to heal. I’m trying desperately to stay here for myself and not just for the people that love me. Because let me tell you a life of merely existing and never living is a hell on earth. A minute feels like a hour. I can’t tell you the last time I laughed. I honestly can’t remember. Just admitting that and typing that out brings tears to my eyes. Everyone should know laughter and I haven’t known it for so long. If its the last thing I do its beat this disease, one way or another. I plan to start over. Today is a new day.
You never know how many people really care until you hit rock bottom. People start to come out of no where. People you thought had forgotten all about you still remember your smile and the impact you had. No life is too small or insignificant. Everyone has a place. Even me. In my own weird way. I don’t know where I fit in this world but I know I was put here to help. I helped a girl out with clothes and a bible while in the hospital. One of the first things I did was get her a bag ready to go up to the hospital. It meant way more to her than it ever could to me. I didn’t do it for me I did it because I saw a need that I could fill. Something I could do to make the world a better place. So I did. I will call this girl until she leaves. I also met a man who lead me to get sober from my valium. Not that its bad for everyone but I have been on it for too long and everyone notices a difference of me on it. And thats what I hate. I want to be the best Katie for everyone. I hate being anxious but at the same time I don’t want to be a robot.
Part of being inpatient is giving up your freedom. Your sanity basically. You stare at walls for long periods of time just to think about the decisions you made that got you there. Which I can tell you sucks balls. I cried like a baby my second day. My first full day really. My second day I started to see the light and I started to do things that made me feel good, like run when we went outside and not sleep all day. I played cards with group members. I made people laugh. I’ll never forget those people. The people that impacted me far more than they may ever realize. You may think your life is insignificant and I know I sure did but no life is too small. NO LIFE is not important. NO ONE should be left behind in this cruel world I don’t care who you are. This world is scary and lonely and I don’t care what you’ve done you don’t deserve to be alone.
My friends and my family have carried me as far as they can and its time for me to carry myself. I pray for the strength and the courage to do so.
I often feel like I’m looking at my life from the outside. Its this weird feeling I can’t explain. I have felt so alone for so long I don’t know what its like to feel like I have a partner in something. I have friends, yes. But an actual partner, no. I haven’t had one of those in a very very long time. I am 28 years old. The longing for companionship is past the point of longing and is now down right painful. I see all my friends married. Some have kids, some don’t. Some have full blown families. I feel so behind. So ALONE. ALONE doesn’t just mean by yourself. I know I’m not the only one but I always had a boyfriend. I always had a “sweetheart”. This is the longest I’ve ever gone and not “dated” anyone. My self worth had since been lowered because I feel like I’m not worth dating maybe. I know in my heart any man would be lucky to have me but when no one seems to want you its hard to NOT be hard on yourself. And its not even about men. ITs women too. Making friends is soooo hard. I have 2. Maybe 3 here in Columbus. I can’t rely on them day and night and while I don’t have a job I have to entertain myself. I have to find ways to be alone with me and be okay and its hard. I will be the first to admit that. Its VERY uncomfortable at first. I don’t even know what to do with myself half the time. I’d love to write all day but my hands are so unsteady because of the anxiety I can’t write on paper anymore. How sad is that. I used to could write in a journal and now all I can manage is to type. My hands are too unsteady for a pen and paper and that breaks my heart. When did it get this bad. When was it that I became such a mess. Was it really being told “Giving up got you to where you are now.”? I know I shouldn’t dwell on that but its hard. Its like a flesh eating bacteria eating away at my heart. Day by day it just eats away. I don’t want to give up but according to him I already have so whats the point. What is even the point anymore. I’m all alone and I feel like I always will be. I have God and thats about the only thing I can count on and right now I feel like thats all I’d rather be with is just him.
Yesterday I was going to do my bible study and I flipped open my bible to wherever it wanted to go and what do you know it landed on Daniel and the Lions Den. I nearly broke down to my knees because I knew this was a story I needed to hear and actually read and understand in the Bible. Daniel not only prayed for himself but he prayed for his king who sent him into the den of lions in the first place. We are not only to pray to God when we are in hard times but we are to pray to God for those who may have put us there for they may not have wanted to or may not have had a choice. Its so easy to forget these things. Its so easy to get caught up praying for our own needs that we forgot those of the ones who may have wronged us. David also teaches us how to be a minister in a secular world. How he refuses to giveaway of the law. I am sitting here worried about a title and worried about being illegal in another state and not being able to register my ID or my living or anything or get a job when my trust should be in the LORD and I should be praying for my ex’s safety as he fights a war not be cruel and try to do my best to get this dang title in my name.
I come graciously before you asking for your forgiveness in my sins. I ask that you absolve this from my heart. I ask that you protect all the soldiers out there protecting our country right now. Especially the one that lives so dear in my heart. Please protect them on their missions. Please keep them safe in your embrace. I am confident you will protect me in my ventures. I believe, confess, and pray this in your name, our Lord, Jesus Christ.
I have sinned so greatly. I cannot go to confession and I am heartbroken. May the story of Daniel and the Lions Den help you to come to terms with how gracious of a God we have.
I have seen things I cannot unsee. I have second hand partaken in things I wish I could say I didn’t. All I was trying to do was help. Thats all I ever want to do is to help. My second day on the street was my last. OR so I thought. IT was the last day I would be out there begging although I did go back tonight to help and bring bags a friend helped me put together. Thats when I saw things I wish I could unsee. We will get to that. But first let me to you about Jason. Jason was this sweet boy, well guy. Probably my age. Who is homeless and lives on the streets. He has nothing. He has only himself. I took a liking to him on my first day. He walked by me and read my sign and said “yup, thats what I’m always saying”. So on my second day I figured I would see if he wanted to sit with me. Maybe a couple would make more money? And we could split it evenly? He agreed and we went down to the Sanger Theater. I got to know Jason. I got to know how sweet a soul he has. We had been in the heat for over an hour and I hadn’t eaten all day and I could only imagine. I had a few bucks on my LLR card and knew they had half off pizza at a downtown pizza place so I asked if he had eaten today…he didn’t say anything. He just up and left. He came back with subway and gave it to me. I asked where he got it he said “money”. Its true, the homeless take care of each other. I wish I hadn’t gotten the news I got tonight. Anyway that was just the beginning of Jason and mines adventure that night. We saw an Eagle Scout and I was able to say I was a Gold Award Recipient. Not sure how good that looks but I said it. It doesn’t matter what you do in your youth you can still make mistakes as an adult that can lead you to begging on the street and I hope his mother had a long talk with him and I wish I could have shared my story with him. I wish I had had the courage then instead of now. To tell him the mistakes I made and what not to do. Maybe thats what my book will be. A guide of what NOT to do. Seems fitting. I know everything that DOESN’T work. Jason and I also met a future congress man Phil Ehr. With whom I got to express my deep concern for the mentally ill and the homeless. He squatted down and got to our level and LISTENED TO US!!! How inspiring. I will definitely vote for him. NOT because of his party, not because of his opinions on anything but because of his compassion and the fact that he looked at me and treated me like a real person who had a real vote and a real opinion that mattered. Thats why. I hope one day he is our president and I get to look back on the time I met our president. With my friend Jason. Who will live forever in my heart. I may never get to say goodbye to him. I went back downtown after I left that night. Jason and I made out with $6 a piece. Which is good for 3 hours I suppose. Anyway I brought Jason a comforter I wasn’t using so that he wouldn’t be sleeping on cement. Well tonight when I went to deliver the bags my friend and I made up “Little momma” said he went to jail and they took his comforter. I blessed him with Rose oil that night in the name of the father and the son and the Holy Spirit. I don’t know if I did it right. If I did then may be jail saved him. He had a roof and three square meals a day. But I wouldn’t wish jail on anyone and they took the blanket I gave him. I hope they give it back or put it with his things. He is a real person. Those are his things. They may not be much but those are his! My heart hurts for selfish reasons. I wanted to see him one more time. I wanted to say goodbye. Knowing he is safe makes me feel good though. But I hurt. I hurt for what I saw tonight. I saw a lady do heroine. My high school sweet heart died of a heroine overdose. I told her that. I told her not to do too much. She told me not to give people any more money. I said “yes ma’am”. Knowing I had just contributed to the heroine she was smoking. Did I give her a lot of money? HELL NO. I don’t have much to give. She was making a point to a sweet naive little girl. The world is cruel. The world is sad. The world is broken. And my heart alone is not big enough to fix it. I have come to realize this and it breaks my heart even more. I can’t take anymore emotions tonight. I just wanted to deliver bags to the homeless. Not learn life lessons and have old wounds brought up and find out that a good friend will never know the impact he made on my life. Y’all take it one roe at a time. I’m off to bed for now.
The real reason I’m leaving FL is really so complicated. The last words DPL said to me was “Giving up got you to where you are now”. Was he talking about Pensacola? Was he talking about the little ghetto I live in. My neighbors are actually really nice. What was he referring to. That statement has eaten away at me since I moved here in February and I guess thats when I started to not be myself at work and things started to fail for me at work. When things start going downhill at your job its never good and I was doing soooo well. Sooo so well. It was totally my thing. I was great at it. I let one phrase haunt me. And I think it was meant to do that. I don’t know. I’ll never know because he has since cut off all communication with me. Was he referring to my life in general? Was he saying my life now sucked? What was he getting at? I still had some brief hope for LOVE between us because there was so much history between us and I always envisioned being with him the rest of my life. So I stayed in FL. There were a couple of MINOR/MAJOR reasons too I stayed. My doctors were here. But now that I know there is no hope for me and DPL and no hope for me at a job I loved sooo sooo very much I am going back to where it all started. Columbus MS. Not everyone knows my story. This is where you’ll hear my story. One day I’ll compile it into a book with the help of an editor. But for now it is a blog. A blog about writing whatever I feel is relevant at the time in my life. Right now figuring out WHY I am leaving is relevant. Am I running away?
Me and one of my best friends tried to get down to the root of why things broke down at my job but I left out the haunting phrase my ex left with me with because it wasn’t until this morning it hit me how relevant that was to me. I will however always find people in the work environment that don’t like me and maybe even choose to make fun of me. Some people never grow up. I need to take that like the strong woman I am and not let it get to me like I did. But little did these co workers know I had soooo much more going on. And I can’t fault that for that. I also need to stop talking things so personal. Not everything is a personal shot. Also we know there will be douche bags everywhere you go. The thing is I’m choosing not to date when I go to Columbus. Like AT ALL. NO ONE. NOT EVEN MY CELEBRITY CRUSH. I will be single for a year. I’m old I know. Its probably not the wisest choice since I do want kids and a family one day should that be the path God has for me but ya know, maybe its not. And thats okay. I’m okay with that.
I don’t know how anyone can see a homeless person and not look down. If only for a second. We all know major cities and towns are going to be full of them that is just life. IT is what being below the poverty line has done, its what not being able to qualify for disability when someone really needs it gets turned down, its what being mentally ill and not being able to get help does to a person. Its HELL. I have lived it now. BRIEFLY but I have been behind the sign and will go behind the sign again today. Not for me but for THEM. The ones who have no one to look them in the eyes. The ones who remember my face because I had given them money and talked to them before. THEY REMEMBERED ME!!! And now when I have nothing to give they are helping me out telling me times to come back and when to come and trying to take care of me. There is such a strong calling in me to help these people. More so then to make money for my moving truck. If I make money for my moving truck thats fabulous but if not then God will provide some other way. I just know it. So do you want to know what it was like behind the sign? What it felt like to beg for money with a guitar and a case for 3 hours in the hot FL heat? Do you want to know what that feels like? What it taste like? What it sounds like? Listen close and I’ll tell you.
I started my journey later than I had intended to. Headed out, parked a good 8 blocks away from where I wanted to be sitting. First of all a guitar is heavy, so is a catholic Bible, (ya know, all those extra books lol) and then my water bottle. ITs FL so its HOT as all get out. Like I could have friend an egg on the cement had I had an egg. Anyway I’m walking down Palofax and I come upon a dang riot. Well riot is not a good word. “Gathering” “Supporters” with picket signs and the likes about SOMETHING. I don’t keep up with the news y’all. Its sad. I have enough sadness in my life. Something about supporting a congress man and I know they didn’t like Trump too much. I went LIVE with it on Facebook. I thought it was neat to walk up on that on my way to do this. So I watched that for a bit and then kept walking. I came upon a regular lady. A homeless lady who plays the guitar. She complemented mine and I said I would love to start a band. Haha apparently they prefer to work alone but I took no offense she told me where I could go. So I went down there. Along the way I passed another couple. They remembered me from when I had money and I used to always give them a dollar or a smoke. This time it was me on the other side. They were shocked. I’m sure a lot of them were. I assured them it was not a joke. WHO WOULD SIT IN THAT HEAT FOR A JOKE. Plus I would never want to take advantage of someone like that. So I sat below the Sanger theater sign. I played, and played and played, and played. People would walk by and not even look down. I would tear up. I was shocked someone didn’t call the cops on me for having an emotional break down on the street of Palofax. I’m a quiet crier though. I was crying not only for myself but the whole world of homeless people. They don’t even get treated like they are human. I had so many people cross the street just to avoid me. Do you know how that made me feel. The worst was when someone would reach in their pocket like they were going to give me something and I got excited and then they didn’t and I realized they put their hand in their pocket for protection. I would never take from someone else. And besides unless I use “the force” how am I supposed to get into your pocket?!? People are sooo weird. And its the little things that hurt and hell I’m sure I’ve been guilty of it. Do we realize how the small actions we do impact people on such a large scale. This is temporary for me I hope for them it is not. They have to live this everyday. The sounds were muted. I just heard my own thoughts and my guitar. I really don’t recall hearing anything else. The taste was dry and bitter. The feeling was awful. The concert was hot and my feet kept going to sleep and because I hadn’t eaten I couldn’t stand up. It was terrible. I was getting dehydrated NO ONE offered me water. Can we not show some compassion. I sang last night Palms 49 and I got $1 and finally had this creepy dude leave me alone. It was from a young boy. Teach your kids right. This little boy will never know what he did. That $1 didn’t go towards my moving truck. It went towards body wash for the homeless people of Palofax street. Supplies I’m bringing them tonight. I hope to make enough for a truck but this is for them not me. I’m bringing everything I can and hope it works. My bible and their stuff and my guitar is all I need. Wish me luck you guys!!!
As I sit here and think of what else I can sell to make money I consider taking myself to the main strip with my guitar and trying to make a few bucks singing and dancing, I would bring my bible and just do and say what the Lord said. I would make a sign that said “Homeless unless I can afford a moving truck in a week, will not strip.” I don’t know what else to do. The fact of the matter is I will be homeless if I don’t get a moving truck. I was laying here sobbing and thinking if today would be a good day to die. I know morbid but just a thought and I realized it was mine and my high school sweet hearts anniversary. We lost our virginities together so he is super special in my heart and is no longer with us. I whispered “Happy anniversary Will” and the one song he always said was about me came on my pandora so I knew he heard.
You may not believe in the afterlife but I do. I know he heard me. Its been a year and a half since I lost him. I have taken hit after hit after hit. My child hood best friend is no longer with me. The man who took me in as his own is no longer here. So many lost loves. So much pain. And now to bear the thought of becoming homeless the only thing I have is my faith. That is what Will tried so hard to cling to. And thats what I shall cling to. I will bring my guitar that he talked me into getting and go down to Palofax street and sing and dance and play with my bible and just sing and hope people tip me for being goofy. I don’t see myself as a beggar in the street, well maybe I am but I will provide entertainment I can guarantee that lol I still haven’t decided if begging on the street will really solve anything. When you’ve hit rock bottom you’re brain goes into overdrive trying to think of ideas on which how you can survive. Survival and not on the streets is the one thing you have got to keep in mind. And how to be moral about all of it. Someone told me to steal napkins from places, y’all I can’t even do that. I can’t even do that. If they give me extra thats fine. But I won’t steal. I’ll ask. Hell I can’t even afford fast food to get the extra damn napkins lol so no I’m not running in Taco Bell taking some napkins and running out. Nope. Not going to happen. I figure 5 will be a good time to go down to Palofax. I’ve got to tune my guitar. Is this really a good idea?
I would like to metaphorically be the “great king” and not the “street beggar”. My “thought world” was so sick for so long that I go so screwed up finically that now that I’m well I can’t get my head above water. I know its my own fault but I just want to breathe. Maybe I need to hit homeless shock bottom. I can still write my blog at coffee shops. I’ll stink lol but I can do it. I’ll start over and get a job somewhere. I don’t know just thinking about the worse case scenario. Being on the streets is a very very scary thought. But its a very real thought.