My life doesn’t feel like my own anymore. Supportive people all around as I slip into a well of loneliness. It’s not their job to save me. The only hope is to look down and recognize my own legs. My body has changed from a baby-fattened, insecure woman into strong, solid muscles with tits. I can feel the fun parts of me rising to the surface. Life-affirming, purpose-having fun. I simply need a source of income. I prefer one that I earn for semi-regular work done. I’ll take charity in lieu of that. I make a pretty stellar professional volunteer.

Someone tried to comfort me by confessing that they were exactly in the same place I am four years ago. I don’t really believe her based on the fact she’s got an eight-year old daughter. I’m no judge of other people’s lives but I’m pretty damn sure having a child would drastically change my situation right now. I suppose it’s ungrateful to not accept kindness honestly given. I want to feel a connection and accept the attempted empathy the same way it would be easier to believe in God, if I could. The truth is, no one can understand me right now. I barely understand myself. Not enough information available to answer the question.

I have trouble trying to go on dates and hang out with friends when I’m so acutely broke. Not having the money for a ticket or enough to even buy a drink is a perpetual reminder of how worthless I feel. Nice people offer me tickets and drinks but that’s making lemonade with the problem. I’m not entirely hung up on the money itself but what it represents. Spending $10 on a ticket supports the people providing my entertainment and is tangible proof of my appreciation. Buying my buddy a drink for her birthday is small moment worth more than the $8 I spent.

I’m receiving just enough upper middle class welfare to keep my basic bills paid. The things I’m going without are, by definition, luxuries. Semi-regular social interactions can be considered a necessity but I shouldn’t have to spend money for that, right? My values are slightly askew because my parents, like most of middle America, raised me to only care about beauty and finances. I guess that’s why Trump is president-elect and I’m less attractive to the opposite sex every year. It’s frustrating when you believe someone so much you waste half your life trying to make them happy before waking up.