i sit in this diner for hours pretending to read the menu when all i can think about is the smell of fresh pastries at the bakery down the street. everybody else is rushing to their jobs, laughing, and here i am with my cold cup of coffee, counting the minutes until i can go back to the shelter and find a place to sleep.
so i went to the grocery store for the first time in this new country and spent literally 30 minutes standing in front of a wall of mustard trying to figure out if i needed “sweet” “dijon” or “just regular” like it was the most important decision of my life while people stared at me like i was trying to cast a spell, then ended up leaving with nothing and a new existential crisis about condiments.
i walked through the door after sitting in my car for forty minutes convincing myself that today i could do this but as soon as i got inside i just wanted to cry because nobody really gets it when they say i dont look sick like somehow that invalidates everything i’m feeling. i just want to scream that if they could see my thoughts they’d see a thousand storms brewing in my head.
i walked through the door after sitting in my car for forty minutes convincing myself that today i could do this but as soon as i got inside i just wanted to cry because nobody really gets it when they say i dont look sick like somehow that invalidates everything i’m feeling. i just want to scream that if they could see my thoughts they’d see a thousand storms brewing in my head.
was trying to make a meal out of the last frozen burrito in my freezer when i realized i also need laundry detergent to wash the only shirt that still fits after three months of stress-eating, and my account barely has enough for both, like how did i end up here just trying to survive a basic week