EMERGENCY RENT FUND
Donation protected
When you can't work because your bipolar depressive episode has gotten the better of you.
When you see a light at the end of the tunnel, but the darkness pulls you back down.
When you finally figure out how your life is supposed to work, and that you're an artist, but the world hasn't caught up to your greatness.
I've just described the last 4 years of my life.
Emotionally, I've really got it made. I feel healthy for the first time in 5 years. I've lost some weight. I've got a relationship that makes me happy. And I'm able to quiet my mind and do the work that I know I was meant to put into the world.
The work that I've chosen is a calling, certainly, and I thank God for my brains and my talent and the ability to know writing is a gift. But I've tried to ignore it, tried recently to go back to corporate life but was struck down again with paralyzing depression and anxiety. So I know that I can't do it any more.
Perhaps more important than the work that I do is the fact that how I do that work is REQUIRED of me so that my MENTAL HEALTH doesn't suffer again, and that I don't end up in the hospital every 4 years. Or every year. Or ever again.
Except nobody can pay me for it. At least not yet, or at least not in the way that this life has determined is necessary. But I know that it will, and that I will be blessed abundantly. In time.
So I'm asking. Again. For help in keeping the room of my own that Virginia Woolf insisted I'd need in order to be a writer. For help in keeping this life that I've struggled so hard to turn into something useful. For support from people who I know love me, want to see me do well, and know that I will put their generosity back out into the world for all to see.
When you see a light at the end of the tunnel, but the darkness pulls you back down.
When you finally figure out how your life is supposed to work, and that you're an artist, but the world hasn't caught up to your greatness.
I've just described the last 4 years of my life.
Emotionally, I've really got it made. I feel healthy for the first time in 5 years. I've lost some weight. I've got a relationship that makes me happy. And I'm able to quiet my mind and do the work that I know I was meant to put into the world.
The work that I've chosen is a calling, certainly, and I thank God for my brains and my talent and the ability to know writing is a gift. But I've tried to ignore it, tried recently to go back to corporate life but was struck down again with paralyzing depression and anxiety. So I know that I can't do it any more.
Perhaps more important than the work that I do is the fact that how I do that work is REQUIRED of me so that my MENTAL HEALTH doesn't suffer again, and that I don't end up in the hospital every 4 years. Or every year. Or ever again.
Except nobody can pay me for it. At least not yet, or at least not in the way that this life has determined is necessary. But I know that it will, and that I will be blessed abundantly. In time.
So I'm asking. Again. For help in keeping the room of my own that Virginia Woolf insisted I'd need in order to be a writer. For help in keeping this life that I've struggled so hard to turn into something useful. For support from people who I know love me, want to see me do well, and know that I will put their generosity back out into the world for all to see.
Organizer
Tracey Lloyd
Organizer
New York, NY
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