I have to survive on how much?????

Yeah, so it turns out I'm expected to survive on $1164 a month.  My housing alone is $670/mth.  My utils are another $330.  Sooooooo, then there's the stuff I'm not supposed to have because poor people don't deserve it, like internet, telephone, car insurance, my flickr account. Yeah, that and of course the credit card debt which has to be paid. Also too damn bad for me.

So what little they offer for food, which appears to be around $400/mth, has to be split in half to cover these "luxuries." 

So I have $50/wk for food, clothing, misc like banking fees, fuel for the car or bus fare or parking, or anything that might possible need repair or replacement. There seems to be zero facility for paying a plumber either, so that's not going to be fixed ever either.

This is so hard to accept.

It's like "put up with abusive people or die of gradual starvation."

This world is such a cruel place.  I really hate living.  This isn't helping.

But for now, I keep reminding myself, the larder is full, the bills are paid, and I am not able to see surprises on the horizon, good or bad, even if I can sometimes be prescient.  Also, prescience fails in the presence of anxiety.  I could tell someone else's future, but certainly not my own.  Too many possibilities and zero trust left. I don't trust anything anymore.  If I didn't have to look after these dogs Ireally would just go spend tonight in a snow bank. at -35 overnight it would surely freeze me solid well before anyone got me.

I don't honestly think I have the will power to stay when it starts to hurt.

But damn I hate feeling so hopeless that I have endless images of ways maybe I could end it all.  

I really do feel helpless and hopeless.  Nobody and nothing out there pitching for me. Nothing but this pittance of an insult to make the slide into hell slower but no less inexorable.  This little monthly income will not save me from homelessness.  

If I didn't have the ostomy, I'd say fuck it and put the house up for sale and actually just move into the bus. Sell the damn car, even if it's only worth $500 to anyone around.  

I really don't have this kind of energy and Ireally wanted to focus on my textiles and see if it might turn into something worthwhile.

But it's not the first thing I've tried and failed and my likelihood of succeeding is lower than the odds of winning a lottery.  I mean let's face it, the market is saturated with hand made goods and usually much more smooth, even, and finished looking than my work.  

My work is shit. That's why nobody buys it. Even though it's my best.  Like everything about me, I'm just not good enough to deserve to exist, but they won't stop me living, so I linger in a pointless vacuum of hopeless longing.

Another forty eight years to go.

I should think about becoming someone else, a murderer perhaps.  Radically change things. If I murdered just one person, they'd take proper care of me for life.  Probably be no more abusive than my life thus far, maybe even less so because there's some kind of monitoring.

Too bad I can't kill.  I don't think anything else I could do would get me a free home either.

I honestly didn't think welfare had gotten this bad.  No wonder there's so many beggars on the street lately. Crime must surely be going up too? It's an easy way to make up the shortfall, steal and pawn things.  I mean, stealing doesn't look easy to me because I haven't done since teenage years, but I do know it is a skill easily learned.  I quit as a bargain with God that if I was taken care of, I would follow the rules.  

I've slipped on occasion, like when I used to steal candy from the desks when I cleaned.  Never all, never a counted candy. Like a few jelly beans type of theft.  But I'd hunt for it.

I felt so cheated by these people that it didn't seem wrong at all to steal a bit of their stash. They treated me like a stain if they didn't just ignore me. They paid me far less than minimum wage for hard graft. They never included me in staff events or give-outs.  They never acknowleged my birthday although everyone else was noticed. They basically treated me like an unfortunate association required to deal with a nasty problem, that of their own filth.

I grew to actually hate them over the years.  Oh not the folks who hired me, they were groovy, but they quit and got replaced and the new people, which was the entire office side of the theatre, were snobs.  I hated them.

So anyway, stealing candy from desks. 

Way I see it, if there's a deity that petty, there's no point in looking there for comfort.

If there is a deity at all,  I can't feel any sense of love from there anymore.  I just feel tortured.  I feel put upon and squashed and unloved and unwelcome to breathe.  

But I honestly don't see me going out stealing, I've been honest too long.  I don't see me killing, I can't even kill myself. I see only me sitting silently screaming fury at a void and then figuring out how to get along one day at a time.

Let the disaster crash when it will, I guess.

But I bet I don't sleep tonight.  I still can't believe they would expect me to survive on this little. As a disabled person.  Like wtf?