Greedy? No. No, I can’t imagine 4 hours without horror breathing down my neck, but I’m too stable, too numb, right now.

I’m a blob, too. I like that — “I just am.” I feel that, too. I’m rapidly losing my passion; my passion for everything, I guess. It’s these medications, all of them. They numb me. Carry on a conversation? Like, real talking? My mouth would go dry in seconds, my heart would race, I would make a fool of myself.

I make a fool of myself here, but I keep coming back.

I only leave my apartment for doctor’s appointments.

I found out this morning that I’ll be homeless soon. I’m assembling a homeless shelter duffle bag. When I came here from a psych unit of a nursing home I had the same bright yellow L.L. Bean duffle bag. I’m overdrawn at my bank, my power was due to be disconnected last week, I can’t pay my AT&T bill nor my rent.

I do feel something. Scared and sad. Failed. I failed.

Now. You.

You know the term ‘exposure therapy’? That is the only ‘cure’ that I know for our social phobias. I guess if someone took this to an exteme they might lock their husband in the garage and take a couple of steps out of your front door. Rinse and repeat. And repeat. I’m sorry to say that this is the only therapy that I’m aware of that actually works. Doesn’t mean your fear of snakes means tossing you into a viper pit (although it might feel that way).

Of course you ‘want’ a life. You have to grab it. Take hold of it. Embrace it.

But who am I to talk?