Perna - Thank you. Sounds sensible. I'm sort of partially thinking that way. I have borrowed some money. Still, I think (and may change my mind, back and forth) that I will give a month's notice when I pay my rent in June. Indeed, the storage locker I would need for the stuff I own would be prohibitively expensive. I think of paring it down. I think that I could store what I most need to keep in the apartments of two persons close to me.

I get food stamps and I think I could get cash assistance from the state for about $250. I have a decent car.

My fear is that I will never get SSDI . . . nor any work, for as long as I feel so insecure. I can type at this machine, but can't manage to brush my teeth for days at a time. Can't??? I think that's a farce. I don't think I deserve a darn thing from any source. I should try and find a job doing home care. It's so hard to get hired today. All the background stuff . . . the vetting process just to get even the most menial job. Then - to be sent, at times, to where it feels intolerable to be. The least non-compliance can bring dismissal.

Now, it seems time to just let go of it all. My anger at having taken some harsh treatment leaves me unwilling to take more. I don't feel angry . . . but tired and apathetic. To have lived for so long in constant fear of losing my sustenance makes me defiantly wanting to throw it away . . . so I can not be threatened anymore. Surely, there will be a rude awakening from this phantasy of footloose freedom, unencumbered by responsibillity. Shoulder some of the load or get crushed under it. That is life's justice. I shoulder nothing and haven't done so in too long a while. I let myself become a disgrace. Patiently, so many bear up under all kinds of rough treatment and willingly do the work of living. I could say I did that, too . . . at one time . . . as I did, truly. Much time I spend dreaming of how it once was . . . of how I once was. I tell myself I'm taking a rest and getting ready to endeavor again . . . just as soon as the depression eases. What crap, what self-indulgence. At the bottom of life's heap, do I anticipate finding some longed for fellowship among life's lost souls? What delusions I manage to conjure up . . .
I can't imagine ever managing to redeem myself. I can imagine that I have already gone too far down the easy road of neglect to not have a bitter price to continue paying.

Meanwhile, Ritalin and Neurontin diminish the pain, and I distract myself reading, instead of vacuuming the place. I am waiting for some vision from heaven as to what I might get for my efforts if I applied any. It doesn't work that way. You have to apply the efforts without knowing what the outcome will be. But, surely, people work in the hope of something.

If I could only get away from myself, as I am driving myself crazy.