Anxiety II: Resources

The single biggest problem in my life is a lack of money.

I live well below the poverty line. I do contract work, as health permits. One missed paycheck is a disaster. In August, my biggest contract missed a paycheck. (Several, actually. They had four outstanding invoices, of which they now have managed to pay three. And I have turned in two more since then, so we'll see how they do on that.) Their new direct deposit service is a dumpster fire; they had to ask for my bank info twice, their estimate of when the money will be in my account is optimistic by several days, and somehow one week they just... didn't send money. Just, none. I told them this was not okay, and they agreed, but agreement that the situation sucks is not the same as money.

Several things bounced. My bank is nice about giving you a business day to reconcile whatever is going on, but there was no way to get it fixed that fast. I am out almost $200 in NSF fees from an accumulation of small transactions that hit between the date the money was supposed to be there and when I noticed it wasn't. I don't have $200 available for soaking up damage. I don't have $20 for that. I regularly have to choose between transit fare and groceries.

I scratch and scrape to pay rent every month. It's not a relief. It just resets the clock on the "how long until I'm homeless" crisis. I am always looking for more work, but part-time work that doesn't require me to be on my feet 6+ hours at a time is stupidly hard to come by. I tried being a phone psychic. They advertise a decent hourly rate, but that rate is for the time you spend on the phone. The time you spend waiting for them to route a call to you is uncompensated. The newer you are, the lower you are on the list. I can't waste entire days waiting for a call, and I can't be late to any of the work I do have because I'm stuck on a call I can't disengage from.

I keep being told this is not a referendum on my worth as a human, or as an artist, as if self-esteem is supposed to make it more bearable to starve to death. It doesn't matter how valuable you think I am in an emotional sense if I am not valuable enough in the economic sense to buy my right to exist. Since I was a tiny designated-genius child trapped in the public school system, I have gotten the sense that people who give me praise think that is the most precious thing they can contribute to my life. Validation! Acclaim! Other people approve of you! Surely this talent will propel you to great success (defined, by most people, as the ability to make a living off your abilities)! Somehow everyone always thinks that someone else will be the one who doles out rewards. I do believe in their kind intentions, but lack of kudos is not a problem I have. Lack of resources is. I cannot eat accolades. Hire me for your project. Cast me in your show. Buy me groceries.

'Thank you for your words, but please pay me,' doesn't ever go over well.

Someone tried to tell me 'oh, make an Amazon wishlist for your birthday! People can send you little fun things from it!' I stared at the app for half an hour and I cannot for the life of me come up with anything. I don't want new shoes or books or games. I want the power bill paid. I want my phone service to continue. I want to order more phenibut before I run out. I want to not sit here googling 'food bank hours of operation' only to find out that the local ones are too far to walk the boxes home from, and I can't pay bus fare with a bank balance of -$35.28. 

Normally the only thing I get for birthdays, aside from a bunch of wall posts from people who have been reminded by Facebook, is the takeout I order for myself, and some kind of inexpensive booze. A couple people have offered to cover it. I keep telling them that anything they send is going to bills. I miss feeling like a competent adult way more than I miss pizza.

I understand that a lot of this is not so much me failing life as my society failing around me. The distinction is irrelevant in the same way that my artistic skill is irrelevant to my landlord. If I sound like I am spiraling bitterly into a pit, it's only because I am. There are few things that ruin one's mood like watching Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs collapse into a smoking pile of rubble.