Choking back tears in Dead-end

Two overdraft fees have me deep in the red. Choking back tears just thinking about going into the bank and begging them to waive them. How can I pay them money I don’t have? I’ve been selling everything I own just so I can fucking buy ramen and now the grocery stores I frequent don’t even sell a vegan ramen option. Spent my last 19 dollars in cash on groceries and my card was declined for the 21 cents remainder. Thankfully I’m on friendly terms with the cashier and she covered it for me. How fucking embarrassing. My gf said she’d help get me back in the black after I see about getting the fees waived, which is wonderful. Just debating whether I should try bawling in the van now or just get really fucking ugly face sobbing in the bank. Probably both, I’ve been on that razor’s edge of breaking down for a few weeks now. A song, a thought, a gentle breeze would break me right now. Fuck.

That’s something that people who haven’t struggled can’t understand is the loss of dignity. Morale tends to match the level of funds available. When things are tight and you’re scrounging in your bags and boxes for any loose change, that feeling of quiet desperation does awful things to your mind. Having naps for lunch and sleep for dinner and pretending you don’t know why you’re losing so much weight slimline not just your waist line, but also your thought process. All energy goes to life support and there’s nothing left over because you’re barely fucking making it through the day. Obsessively checking your online listings to see if anyone might be willing to part with 20 dollars you’ll stretch into a week (or more) worth of food makes you crazy. You start looking at your own self worth and your stock plummets. Suddenly your stomach is full, not of food, but self-loathing. Your head throws it’s one thought SURVIVE into a suitcase and heads for it’s vacation spot, which happens to be fantasizing about a place where you’re not struggling, where you’re not alone, where there’s nothing but peace and it’s not that far of a jump to find that your vacation spot is on Suicide Sunset Boulevard. You’ve got a room with a view overlooking your own demise, there’s fresh towels of self hatred and the sheets of disappointment are tucked so tightly in the bed that you could bounce a quarter off of them, if you had a quarter to spare that is.

sigh I’m so tired of struggling and fighting just to keep the tip of my nose above water. I’m afraid the sound of my treading water will drive people away or make them hate me. I’m afraid to make eye contact because I can’t even look myself in the face. Who knows what someone else would see that’s kept locked up and away as tightly as possible. The herculean effort that goes into not just being a fucking mess has to come from somewhere. All systems to life support because lord knows I need the help.

Last updated June 22, 2018