The way it is…yeah…NO.

The way my life is: it cannot be this way anymore. I refuse to live like this, and no matter what, i’m fucking doing something about it.

see: it’s been over a week of living on 10$ a day (we are talking about a good day). My moring bagel, coffee and cigarette is the kind of expense that financially ruins me. my life cannot be like this any more, i’m either just about to hit, or have hit a breaking point.

it’s a good thing that i believe in myself, and i know that i’m built for it because fuck this. my life cannot be like this anymore.

i went for the third attempt at seeing my psychiatrist today, i reached out to the people that could help me get transportation to manhattan, and they did. see, i missed two appointments, because i’m not going all the way to the city to strand myself while unable to afford to eat… so that i can set myself up for an anxiety attack. also, all my headphones are broken, so there goes another line of defense against an anxiety event far from home. if i could buy more headphones and be able to eat a butter roll while travelling to my appointment: I WOULD GO TO THEM MORE OFTEN (maybe even every time)

the problem with the taxi was that i was so late that the doctor nearly wouldnt see me, and he scolded me for the missed appointments that are aparently going to get me dropped from the roster of people that go see these mental health professionals. he sent refills of the pill that makes me not feel like myself, luckily. oh, because myself is aparently medically unaccaptable to…

oh wait, i don’t know. and you know what? i actually don’t fucking care.

mental health.

this is so funny to me. if you can afford going to a doctor, and you have the ability (which i have faught tooth and nail to get) for someone to pay for these pills: YOU ARE MENTALLY HEALTHY! GOOD JOB! DEF NOT TOXIC! GOOD VIBES ONLY! phew!

“it’s ok not to be ok…just don’t do it where we can see you while we’re brunching, and having a 9$ macha”

excuse me, this smells like a crock of shit.

i really don’t care what the culture thinks is the appropriately financed psychotropic way to be.

do you like people all docile and medicated? hang out with them up in the 18th floor of bellvue or something….hang out with someone else.

i’m myself. who and what are for me, are for me. whatever isn’t: best fucking wishes.

this whole excersise of trying to jump through chemical hoops for reasons that i’m unable to see, and that cause me infinitely more moments of anguish than relief…yeah, i’m all set. good thing i cant afford it, that helps make the choice a lot easier.

the whole cellphone thing too, good thing i cant afford to keep that on, because it seriously doesn’t help matters.

it’s like that john carpenter flick:

“BUY, CONSUME, BUY, FINANCE, SUBSCRIBE”

i’m starting to put music on bandcamp, there’s a lot of work to be done, and once i have a full belly, a calmer head and enough cigarettes: ill do great work. i tried all the “job” stuff. i tried recently, and in the past…it doesn’t work, i literally cant do it. so this is the thing i can do, i’m going to fucking make it work for me. It’s called the obstacle, because of all of these motherfucking obstacles in the way of doing what i need to do with myself:

because, my life can’t be like this anymore, i’m not having it.