i’m living with mental illness and debt that’s reached court and repossession. i can’t do this alone. this is me trying.

i’m trying to fix it. but i can’t do it alone.

hey. i’m Ben.

i hate asking for help. like, viscerally. it makes my skin crawl and my stomach drop. because deep down, some part of me still believes that needing help means i’ve failed. that if i were stronger, better, more together, i wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.

i don’t like talking about money—especially my money problems—because it feels like peeling back a layer of myself i’ve worked hard to keep hidden. the shame hits fast and hard. money is supposed to equal responsibility. adulthood. worth. and when i’m struggling with it, i feel like i’m coming undone in a way that everyone can see.

so usually, i just… don’t talk about it. i joke instead. i pivot. i deflect. i tell people i’m fine when i’m actively spiraling. because vulnerability is uncomfortable. and asking for help—especially financial help—feels like holding up a neon sign that says “look at me failing in real time.”

but i’m tired of pretending it’s fine. i’m tired of letting shame decide who gets to see the full picture of me.

i’m not great at asking for help. mostly because i hate admitting i need it. but… here we are.

how i got here

for the past few years (okay, most of my adult life), i’ve been dealing with mental illness—specifically the combo pack of BPD, depression, anxiety, and a bonus habit of financially self-destructing when things get bad. sometimes i binge on expensive things, but usually it’s the small spirals—food i don’t need, little online purchases, “treats” that feel good in the moment but hollow right after. i know i can’t afford it. i know it’s bad. but when i’m falling apart, spending feels like one thing i can control.

it’s not just bad spending habits—it’s the way my brain wires relief to chaos. when i’m spiraling, buying something feels like a life raft. and then i’m drowning again, but now with guilt taped to my forehead.

i traded physical self-harm for financial harm. and the thing is? it’s just as damaging. just slower. sneakier. easier to hide—until it isn’t.

where i am now

some of my debt has now hit the point where legal action is happening. i’ve defaulted on payments. one of my loans is already in court. two more are starting the process. i’m not just dodging calls anymore—I’m checking my mailbox with dread.

i’m at the point where i take out cash advances to pay off older cash advances—just to cover bills. it’s not sustainable. it’s survival math in a collapsing system, and every time it “works,” it pushes me closer to a cliff i can’t un-jump from.

on top of that, my car is close to being repossessed by the bank. losing it would mean losing the ability to get to work consistently, which only makes everything harder. it feels like every piece of my stability is dangling by a thread, and i’m running out of threads.

the hardest part? it’s starting to affect my mom. she’s been helping me when she shouldn’t have to—dipping into her own future to keep mine afloat. she’s worked her whole life for stability. she shouldn’t be carrying my chaos on her back.

she deserves better. and so do i.

what i’m doing differently

i’m not proud of any of this. but i am trying to change. i’m working to get back into therapy. i’ve made a budget. i’ve set limits. i’m not pretending it’s fine anymore. i’m facing the mess instead of numbing out. i’ve tried to do it on my own, and i couldn’t. so now i’m here, asking.

part of why i’m doing this publicly is accountability—sharing progress and being honest when i slip.

my options are: ask for support, or declare bankruptcy. i don’t want to collapse further. i want to break the cycle.

if you’ve ever struggled with shame, or felt like asking for help made you weak—you know how hard it is for me to write this. but i believe in trying again. this is me trying.

i know money doesn’t fix everything—but it gives me the breathing room to do the hard work in therapy and in life.

about me

i’m a theater technician and artist. i spend my days making stories come alive through sound, light, and tech, and my nights venting emotions through a fake band that exists mostly in playlists and scribbled lyrics. i live with two cats who think they’re my landlords. i feel everything too much, crack too many jokes to cover it, and care harder than i admit. i’m learning how to hold myself to the same standard of kindness i offer everyone else. this isn’t a redemption arc—it’s just me trying to build a life i don’t need to escape from.

if you know me

you already know i care too much. i cried when iron man died. i’d give you the shirt off my back and then immediately apologize for showing you my man boobs. i bring self-deprecating humor, emotional honesty, and snacks wherever i go. i love hard. i fail. i try again. rinse. repeat.

where the money’s going

these numbers are simplified and rounded. the truth is, my actual debt is higher than this—but listing every cent is overwhelming and unsafe for me. what you see here reflects the most urgent pieces that need to be stabilized so i don’t collapse further. this fundraiser is about survival, not perfection.

goal: $8,000 (survival reset)

this covers the bare minimum i need to stop the bleeding: keep my car, slow the legal action, get back into therapy, and stop relying on cash advances.

stretch goal: anything more (full reset)

clears the worst high-interest/defaulted debt, builds a sustainable foundation, and gives me room to actually plan a future instead of just surviving. once debts are stabilized, every extra dollar will go toward staying current on bills and keeping therapy consistent, so i don’t end up back here again.

updates + gratitude

i’ll post updates along the way—what gets paid off, how my brain’s doing, and maybe a few victory memes. this isn’t just a fundraiser. it’s me learning how to let people in. and stay in.

and hey—if i’ve ever made you laugh, or questioned your sanity, or just touched your life in some weird little way, please consider donating.

even if it’s just a dollar. even if it’s just a share. every little bit helps. every tiny kindness adds up.

i’ve spent a lot of my life trying to bring people joy in the middle of chaos. this time, i’m asking for some of that joy back.

i don’t just want to survive—I want to build a life that feels worth living.

want to help but can’t donate?

here’s a caption you can copy + paste to share:

my friend Ben is trying to break the cycle of financial self-destruction tied to mental illness. he’s raw, real, and doing the hard work. if you’ve ever felt like you were drowning and no one saw you—this is that moment.

help if you can. share if you can’t. we lift each other in the weirdest, most beautiful ways.