I am not okay. I'm not acting like myself at all. I don't feel like me.
I'm still jobless. Still essentially homeless. My car still needs work, which doesn't much matter, as I have nothing for gas. I feel so trapped. At this point I'm debating whether I should pay rent for next month, or just pack up and drive off somewhere and just see how far Stew will get me before he breaks down or we run out of gas.
I'm so loaded down with stress and sorrow that I can't breathe.
And no, I don't want to talk to you about it. I don't want to hear another person say that they wished they could help. I don't want help. I just want to be able to say that I am not okay. I'm tired of lying about it.
As a result, I'm letting the ball drop on a number of things because I lack the ability to do anything about them and I lack the desire to fight. I'm too tired and I can't breathe and there's nothing I can do about any of it anyway.