I feel like I need to be listened to, more than on my blog at least, and I don't want to put all my weight on my best friend. We're both in rough patches and I feel like I'm taking so much and giving back so little...

I'm still very sensitive, so I'm sorry if I don't sound too logical even compared to my rambling usual.

I'm still looking for a place to live and I've applied for a supervised housing environment. They don't specialize in mental problems (I'm undiagnosed still, but I hope I can be soon and finally get treatment for it, be it therapy or pills or both), so they're not sure if I would help at all.

But the problem is that the person supervising was... Incredibly dismissive, and I felt constantly judged. Had my interview over seven hours ago and I'm still stinging from it, even if I try to focus on how well the rest of my day went (the town's streets were partially blocked and there was a giant sale/faire, it was sunny and windy).

I felt like she was constantly obsessing over the fact that I've told her I stress out a lot and I have problems. I understand she wanted to make sure the other women there are safe, but she didn't even seem convinced when I told her that I only cry. (I've learned in school to keep my noises down to hitches in breath and sniffling, so I don't even reach giant hysterics unless I'm cornered in private.)

And when I told her people with depression listened to me and said that I do have symptoms of it, she cut me off and said, in an airy way, "Oh, you know, depression..." like she doesn't believe in it.

I informed her that I've got all my steps done to seek professional help for all of that and all I want is to learn how to interact with other people of my age group (the most terrifying situation anxiety-wise), and a temporary shelter until I can finally find something.

I answered her questions as honestly as I could. (I was clicking my pen as a nervous habit, and she told me to stop and physically removed the pen from my grip to place it back on my notebook without a warning, which then was surprising but now strikes me as incredibly rude, as I wasn't even aware I was doing it.)

I admitted that I spend most of my time on the internet and on the computer, but when asked why I told her that I research stuff. When pressed further I said I want to make a carreer out of designing and/or developping games, either with a company or independant, and so I research how games work, the development cycle, how to make them...

The reply I got was... God. It was cold, cold disinterest, a token "Okay." and then she went on to say "You talk about games a lot, those are expensive. You wouldn't be able to afford that." (I'd told her about how little I make, since I'm on disability, and she asked.)

A bit later, after I told her I was going to get myself a cellphone (I didn't specify what kind), she again told me that I really can't afford it as I'm on disability, and why should I have a smartphone? (I got one anyway.)

I tried to explain that I was looking for a cellular internet plan, and that I wanted to be reachable at all times, but she questioned it and kept pushing about why. I realize now that I shouldn't have gone down that discussion path at all, but hindsight. I told her that I wanted email and internet access even without having a wired line or a wi-fi hotspot so I could check for an appartment still, and she told me that the library has computers, and that not everyone puts their things on the internet, and advised me to walk around town and look for signs.

I was then accused. "I think, and I'm not a psychologist, but I'm sure that you're a cyber-addict. You can't function without the internet, you've told me that much." (I told her that it was reassuring to be able to google for solutions instead of panicking over it, and that I spent most of my time on the computer--I'm not in a part of town where a lot is reachable by walking five minutes, I don't have books, I don't have TV and I hate radio, and the other option is awkward small talk or staring at floors/ceilings making up stories in my head.)

"Tell me one good reason you need a phone." so I told her that "I want to keep in contact with my best friend, neither of us has a lot of minutes and we can't afford long-distance calls." she questioned why my friend was so important and couldn't I go with just a landline?

Now, this is verbatim. This is what crushed me for the rest of the day and made me unsure this was a safe place at all.

Me: "My friend is really important, and I need to stay in touch with her, she's the one reason I'm still alive--"

Her: "(interrupting) It doesn't matter."

Now I know, logically, she was just trying to avoid the subject and tell me a phone isn't a good idea.

But I felt like the fact that I survived thanks to my friend just got brushed off right alongside the fact I wanted to die, all because she thought the internet isn't real.

The only reason I'm not running away is because I don't HAVE anywhere else to stay right now, I'm going to be evicted on the 10th of august from here and I have nowhere else to go.