Weary of asking. But still need help.

Hey folks. Yeah. It's me again. I know you're sick of me. You can't be more sick of me than I am.

I'm humiliated to be showing my face here... again... hat in hand... again. But as I sit here, crying, holding back an anxiety attack, I am scared. I am defeated. I am hopeless. I feel like societal trash, a total failure.

I've talked to friends who assure me I'm kind, and intelligent... a good friend. Worthy of love. They tell me that I put goodness into the world and my heart is all about love. Unfortunately, kindness doesn't pay.

I chose to come home to Bloomington on Mother's Day, in a moment of emergency. Without divulging other people's personal information, my parents needed help. I was the one that answered that call. I dropped the group therapy that has been saving my life and came home. I've struggled. I've back-tracked. But it was the right thing to do.

You may know that in February, I'd saved up $20k. I was thrilled to be able to start actual financial planning. And then my weak, pathetic mind betrayed me. And because I was unable to just get over it and move on, I checked into the hospital for help. That weakness cost me 1/4 of that savings.

I spent the next two months in intensive therapy, with medications. I was job hunting, too, but kept hearing from my support system, that I should put my energy toward healing. Toward me. I tried to do that. I've grown a lot. I've learned a lot. I shouldn't have done that. Because now I could pay with the roof over my head.

Because I'm all alone, with no one to hold me while I struggle, I have now cut down on therapy and cut my cable. I'm taking less medication than I'm prescribed to try to stretch it out and save money, and I have worked non-stop at getting a job. I've spent far too much time on myself. It was a luxury I couldn't afford and shouldn't have. But I did. I was desperate. I don't want to end up in that hotel room with that dastardly plan again. I really do want to be here.

Happiness is no longer my goal. My goal is Survival.

For the first time in my career, I'm getting rejection notices before anyone, human or robot, could possibly read my resume. There's no chance. I have to tell you, I'm losing hope. I won't give up. And my bum knee, master's degree, and I will stand and serve coffee for hours if I have to.

But in the meantime, as I drove into my parent's neighborhood, my car backfired and huge clouds of black, stinky smoke poured out. It's been in the shop this entire time, and it's fixed, but it wiped me out. That $20K is history. And I now regret going to the hospital and beginning therapy. I should have just kept going and stuffing it all down. But I didn't.

I cannot pay June's rent. Or car payment. Or utilities.

I've been told that my choices led me here and I just have to deal with it. I've been told I'm a bad investment and not worth helping. Absolutely. I've made mistakes. Stupid ones. We all have, but mine must have been exceptional to land me at 54 with nothing to show for my entire life. I'm not willing to give up yet.

I've also been knocked off track by a series of health traumas that have stalled my progress over and over. Sepsis. Pneumonia. Two Pulmonary Embolisms. Four knee surgeries. Two broken ankles at the same time, followed by a shattered foot. A concussion resulting in a TBI. An emergency appendectomy. An emergency gallbladder removal. I have serious PTSD from an assault and other significant life experiences I wouldn't wish on anyone. Massive anxiety, and depression that flat-out scares me.

These medical issues have ruined my credit. I cannot get a loan. It even costs money to declare bankruptcy, but I will do that as soon as I can. Bankrupt in finances and hope. That's how I feel right now.

I know you just gave.

I know I have no right to ask.

I know I don't deserve it.

But honestly, I am not sure how to live in my car with two cats. And without them? There is no point.

If you can see a way to help, I will be forever grateful.

If you can see a possibility for a LOAN, I will pay you back as soon as humanly possible.

I live in Chicago. My rent alone, for a small apartment with active train tracks in the back yard that shake my home ten times a day, is $1850. Assuming I get food from a charity, it will be $4K to just barely keep afloat for June. To find a job these days, I need wifi (no cable), my phone, my car. I need my meds, and the basic therapy... I'm afraid of what will happen if I just quit. Seriously.

I will give up on finding a job I've worked toward my whole career. I will get a job at a call center, or at Starbucks, or McDonalds. I will get a job this month. My pride and confidence are gone. I don't care about happiness or fulfillment anymore. I just need a job.

Buried in an avalanche of embarrassment, sadness, fear, and shame, I'm asking for more help. I don't deserve it. But I don't know what else to do.

You are my logical family. My family by choice. I don't know what I'd do without you. ❤️