When Feeling Like A Failure Is Just A Money Problem

I’m poor as fuck but I don’t wanna feel fuckin worthless.

In all my years battling with mental health issues, the concept of failure is one I have to been constantly redefining in order to not throw myself into despair.

But sometimes, it doesn’t matter what you really believe failure is, because the free market is right here to remind you that he’s the one doing the judging.

At my 30 years, I can say I definitely have my fair share of failure. I even sometimes glorify myself as the queen of failing. 
Every plan I did have and execute has been a flop. I didn’t finish University the two times I tried. I didn’t get to Uruguay when I tried to move there. A very recent “I’m moving to Portland for a season” went sour in the last minute.
And not even when the new situations obligated me to change my priorities I been successful in my new ventures: Every treatment at my reach, I have tried and I’m still far from getting better. I still haven’t been able to hold a job for more than a year.

In the light of all these episodes -and so much more- my relationship with the feeling of being a failure is has to been redefined in a way that instead of failing in those goals I been winning in keeping myself alive while my whole brain is actively trying to make me believe I’ll be better dead.

At least no one, not even myself at my worse can say to me that I haven’t tried my best. 
Even in my most suicidal times I found a way to save myself from myself. 
Even when I feel like nothing I found a way to wake up the next day.

But now I just can’t help it.

These last two months have been a turmoil, first with recurring nightmares, insomnia and very bad sleep. Since I can’t see my doctor as regularly as my condition needs, she always left me with some choices to take in case their indications don’t go as planned. And my sleep has been a huge problem this year so the last time I saw her, she left me with 3 different alternatives, all with zero responses.
It got so bad that now when is the sunset I get extremely anxious and when the night comes my whole body is swelling of distress.

Of course these two months have been awful for me at work. I only freelance in one magazine and my collaborations have been kept to a minimum because simply I cannot give more.

So, I’m poor as fuck. The last weeks I haven’t been able to refill my prescriptions cause I don’t have the money for it.

Without my pills obviously my frame of minds changes and the views I hold on myself deteriorate.

So now I feel like a fuckin failure.

The is my brain. She know’s how to spell.

But I know from my point of view of life that I’m not: I made it here so far, I have amazing friends, the most awesome and supportive girlfriend, a beautiful home, the perspective of making a business out of my talent with plants and design, a semi functional head, a handful of creative ideas, a lot of love to give, a ton of causes to fight for and the desire to live my life as sanely as I can.

And here comes the free market to say: 
Fuck you believes. You’re not producing enough so you can’t pay for your doctor and your medicines and now you’re feeling like shit, because that’s exactly what you are.

Luckily tomorrow I’ll see my doctor and I’ll fill the new prescriptions. I hope to feel well soon enough, cause I can’t this thing happen again.

The worst part is, I feel how the meds are living my body and my emotions get more and more somber.

And all of this because I couldn’t make more money. Tell me this isn’t sick.

(I wish I had a better finish. I don’t, and I don’t feel like a failure about it).