Like everyone else in the world, I’m going to die. But unlike most, I know my brain will kill me, and probably I’ll be in full-blown dementia before that due to all the strokes and cholesterol clogging the passages in my brain causing more strokes.
What really makes me want to cry and not stop is that I’ll live until then and die in abject poverty. So much I want to do but it doesn’t f****** matter ‘cuz we can’t afford it. Can’t afford a nicer house. Can’t afford a place where I can plant a f****** garden. Can’t afford to even drive around ‘cuz of f****** gas and vehicular repairs we can’t afford anyway. Can’t even afford a f****** pizza or dinner out once in awhile. We’re living on a shoestring and praying nothing happens to make us even poorer.
The real b**** of it is, not only is my husband severely disabled and not only can I not get a job ‘cuz of the brain thing, I can’t even get disability ‘cuz my husband’s piddling disability is reckoned “too high” even though we can barely live!
I f****** hate our life. If I didn’t know the fact that children of suicides are drastically more likely to commit suicide themselves, I’d end it all. This really isn’t living.
