Crying About Liquor at Target

Pull yourself up by your bootstraps. Work harder. Go to college to get some job skills. Don’t want student loans? Great! College is an investment 🙂 it will be worth it. Maybe take some time for you once in a while (but don’t, actually. Corporations guilt trip you, because bottom line > all human emotions and experiences). Seize the day. Don’t dwell on the past. Why do you need therapy? It’s SUNNY outside afterall! You don’t appreciate anything, do you.

I have an impeccable work ethic. So much so that most of my days off are the direct response of working myself to death until I crash and burn. (Lather, rinse, repeat since I was ≈ 19.

I’ve also gone to college the whole time. At least 1 class most semesters, but most often I’ve been full time. Couldn’t land a job in my first degree because it was becoming basically extinct and no one warned me :), so now I’m going back for computer science. I have to pay as I go. I’ll get my masters about an hour before I retire to a renewed life of poverty (or what they like to call the “lower middle class” nowadays.)

I have mental disorders. I have chronic physical ailments. I suffer and I feel everything. I feel everything so much. I feel pain, inside and out, every single second of every single fucking day on this rotating blue hell sphere that we call Earth.

I can’t work harder. I can’t because I work 65-80+ a week. Those are my averages. It gets to 80 when my main/full-time job requires the hours to keep clients happy. The 65 is a baseline I have to keep in order to pay rent and still buy groceries.

Confused about that last sentence?

I recently did some calculations from demographic websites and real estate statistics sources I found, because I had to believe there was a source for my financial woes beyond a light (seriously light…ffs) splurge or impulse here and there.

I was going to post what I call “sad math” (a collection of brutal numbers based on demographics, medians, and other related reseach), but I didn’t want any Mr. Bootstraps coming in telling me to work more or switch jobs or start a company or whatever the hell else people will say to avoid the problem.

In the end: I am so so so so so so tired. I saved this draft 7 months ago. I quit my second job in October, then went back not even 3 months later. Because though I started having panic attacks, cutting, and taking too many pills just to deal on a daily basis and had to quit, it’s worth it to be able to afford my medications. Well, barely. But luckily we get help here and there.

Help that makes me so sickeningly guilty I could barf and sob right here and now.

I am so so so so tired. I am tired and I am tired. I am sad and I am tired. And I’m not the only one, I know. But goddamn. Something’s gotta give.

New development since original draft & recent update: Matt is job hunting for something that pays above average. Fingers crossed, I guess. Maybe I’ll get health insurance that is actually worth something.


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