Money (it’s a gas)
The government is asking me how crazy I am. Not only that,they are asking me to prove it.
I am being asked to prove that I can’t get out of bed. That I can’t leave the house alone without panic attacks, and that I am afraid to be in my own head because I’m exhausted. I’m tired of coming up with reasons to live, and reasons to keep fighting.
To prove this they are asking for proof. Doctors notes. Paperwork showing I have been examined by professionals and found ill fit to function.
But shrinks cost money. Psychoanalysis costs money. These papers cost money…. and of money, I am not made.
I pray to my higher power to help me. The god of my understanding. She’s pretty….
I wonder if she will help me.
And yesterday was their birthday. They have the very sweetest friends.
They weren’t ungrateful. Not at all. I should just know that people won’t get as excited as I would. Nice things are not foreign to other people like they are to us poor kids. That’s my shit, not theirs. It just feels like two hundred dollars is a lot.
These are the reasons I hate gifts.
Did you know the government is broken?