disability, Disabled Living, eds, Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, Invisible Disablity

Imposter Syndrome (Not Disabled “Enough”)

*This started as a post on my Facebook page, but I decided to expand on it here.

Some days the imposter syndrome really kicks me in the butt, especially with the hyper-mobility. I mean, it often kicks me in the butt for other things (Neurodivergence, social anxiety, PTSD etc) but the thing that it really kicks me in the butt for recently is the pain.

Some days, I can’t walk across my living room without my hips threatening to slip on me. Some days I can’t even go into the kitchen to make coffee without my cane. I have “house canes” and “outside canes” at this point. Some days my shoulders and elbows are not in any shape to hold me upright with a cane, so I just sit and lay on the floor with the cats a lot. Those are sitting on the futon with the old hospital table my Godmother gave my Dad (and Dad gave me) and keeping a chair in the kitchen so I can make the cats their meals days.

But I still feel like an imposter. I have met so many other people in the EDS community who have it SO much worse than me. A very good friend of mine (we say we’re Twilight Zone twins because of the crazy number of similarities in our stories) also has EDS and they need a back and rib brace; they dislocate their ribs that often (for me, it’s more the clavicle that was broken when I was a teenager. That thing will twist if you look at it funny).

Regardless, I often find myself feeling like I shouldn’t be talking because my pain is not nearly that bad. Because I don’t have all the braces (though, honestly, I could use some of them). But while I’m in constant pain, every single day, it’s manageable. For me at least.

There’s that joke meme about a demon possessing your body and going, “OH HECK! What is that pain?! Why does it feel like this?!??” and the possessed going, “…Yeah it does that. Caveat Emptor buddy. Enjoy!”

That comes to mind a lot for me lately.

Right now my Doctors are banding together to help me get an electric chair, because I can’t even make it to the curb, with my cane, on the ice, to get in a Handi-Transit or a taxi, let alone to the end of the block to the bus stop. I mean, even Neurology – and it isn’t even his JOB to worry about connective tissue issues – is throwing his name in behind the bid for a chair, because he sees how badly things have deteriorated in the last year. So we’re trying to get me a chair, so I’m not completely homebound this winter. So I have some modicum of independence and self sufficiency and can just hold my head up.

But then I think about a fellow zebra I know who lives in a neck brace because they literally cannot hold their head up…… *shrug and frown* and I get hit with a right-hook of “you’re not disabled ENOUGH! How dare you complain how dare you ask for help how DARE YOU?!??”

My father said that to me once when I was in my very early twenties. I was trying to tell him about the things people made me do when I couldn’t safely live with him, and his response was, “How DARE YOU!”

I still hear that in my head a lot.
That it was under duress, didn’t matter.
That people did horrible things to me, didn’t matter.
That I had to do bad things to other people (to “earn” a roof over my head)?

That response is still rattling around in the back of my head when I dare to think of myself in the same light as other disabled people. Other people’s pain is worse than mine. Other people are more immobilized. Other people need more help than I do. So how DARE I try to sneak myself into their sphere. *frowns*

I know that’s wrong.
Logically I know that’s wrong.

Honestly I can’t tell you the first time I dislocated a joint, because I wasn’t allowed to be hurt.
“Walk it off Sascha.”
“Oh for the love of–” *grabs me by the scruff of my neck and pulls me to my feet. When I fall I get hit for being a drama queen. I get left behind with a shared eye roll between my parents, who go off with my sisters*

I remember that happening at about eight. I know it wasn’t the first time either. I can’t remember when the first time was though.

I remember dislocating fingers and shoulders and ankles and elbows. I remember that horrible pain that sucks the breath right out of you that I’ve only realized is how it feel to dislocate your ribs. I can’t remember the first time I dislocated a rib though; I’ve been doing it for so long. And I was always made to just suck it up and work through it. Work through the pain. Go to school, regardless. Go to church, regardless. And then when the pain would finally disappear, it was such a relief and I just thanked my lucky stars. Until the next time.

When I told my parents about the pain, or the clicking, or the inability to move my fingers or toes or arms or put weight on an ankle, I wasn’t ever taken to the Doctors for it. The family GP was an idiot though, so even if they had I doubt now I would have found any help. When I told them I was more likely to be questioned and doubted; poked in the injury until I screamed and then told I was being a drama queen and getting a cuffed ear for good measure.

So here I am at 8 months until 40, still doubting myself and my pain. Still doubting that I deserve the care and medical aids and help that I so obviously do. I’ve spent my whole life having my Autism, and my hyper-mobility, and my anxiety, and my trauma minimized and held against me that I honestly struggle to own it myself.

Every voice in my head tells me I’m a drama queen and an Imposter.
Sascha’s a liar. Sascha tells stories.
This is just another one of drama queen Sascha’s stories.

But it’s not.
And I have to learn to allow that to be the truth.

I can’t walk 10 steps, let along 10 metres outside right now on that ice without falling. Even with my cane it would be tricky at best. I can’t walk to the Giant Tiger two blocks away for milk on a nice spring day anymore. I struggle to cross the street without falling and risking getting hit by a car most days these days.

I need help.
I need that chair.
I hope Hope HOPE that Ottawa will okay it for me.
It’s a Hail Mary pass, but I hope they say yes because if they don’t I’m kind of trapped here.

On disability.

With no way off.

It’s not good right now, lovelies.

I’m trying to own that. Be okay with it. Be okay with saying it out loud and not holding my disability and my pain up against other people’s. Trying. It’s not easy. Those ugly minimizing voices in my head aren’t making it easier, but I’m trying not to listen to them.

I’m in constant paint. Ever day. I have been for so much of my life that actually having a moment of being Pain Free last year lead to a full block anxiety attack because I thought there was something WRONG.

Letting that sink in, internalizing that… that’s taking some work too right now.
But I’m trying.

Disabled Living, independent living

Do the Hokey Pokey (Not Up to the Vacuum Today)

My nerves aren’t up to the noise of the vacuum today, but the wall to wall is in need of a once-over.

This was my dilemma this morning.
Luckily, I have a secret weapon.

My Hokey!

Okay, so it’s not a Hokey brand blah-blah (it’s actually a Rubbermaid 7 brush rolling manual sweeper), but I grew up calling those a Hokey.

In fact, when I was wee, I honestly thought that the song “Do the Hokey-Pokey” was about cleaning. I mean, it makes sense, right? You poke the Hokey into corners and turn yourself about to make sure you get everything and… Yeah. That’s what it’s all about!

I was six when I was corrected on that misinterpretation. But for an Autistic kid who has a very small fishbowl of experiences to work from, and a very literal and logical way of thinking it made perfect sense. Still does honestly. Whenever I pull out the sweeper, I suddenly get that song stuck in my head and honestly it’s still there right now. I’m going to have to turn to my music collection to shake it loose once I’m done writing this.

The point is (beyond sharing of the cute anecdote about the Hokey) that there’s more than one way to do a thing. My carpets really needed a going over. They honestly really need the vacuum is what they need, but after the trip to the Post Office yesterday, and my nerves in general lately, I am just not up to the noise and stress of the vacuum cleaner. Bennett hates that thing. It’s loud and it’s scary (ze Frank was right on the money when he called it the monster vah-koom, that screams and eats at the same time) and he hides under the duvet and shakes while I’m using it. And for a good forty-five minutes to an hour afterwards too. And I am just not up to that.

The noise.
The stress.

So instead I pulled out the Hokey (which isn’t actually a Hokey, it’s a Rubbermaid Sweeper, but we’re just going to use Hokey for the rest of this post). The carpets are much cleaner. A lot of kicked up litter and grit and cat hair pulled up. Had to empty the thing twice. And, sure, it’s not perfect; but it’s better. It’s passable. It’ll do until my nerves and sensory thresholds and legs (that walk yesterday really did me in) are doing better. Then I’ll vacuum.

But until then, there is no shame in doing the Hokey Pokey.

Disabled Living, self-acceptance, Self-Sufficiency

I Need to be Kinder to Myself

I need to be kinder to myself.

So often I look at my “One Thing A Day” journal and feel like I didn’t do anything despite the third of a page being full of things I did that day.

Today I walked down to the post office and returned a package for Amazon. Walking there I was mostly fine. I thought I’d be super smart and bypass the RBC offices and the escalators and the ramp by the Transit office and just walk up to the next entrance.

And then once I was inside I realize THAT was the one entrance that didn’t have an elevator.
There are few things more humbling than being under forty and having to take the stairs one at a time, dragging your trolley behind you *thud… thud… thud…* down the stairs like you’re eighty. People either stare like you’re drunk or avoid you with pity in their eyes.

Made it to the post office, and talked to one of the cashiers at Shoppers on the way out. That was my social interaction (not including the cats) for the day.

Walking home was harder. My legs felt like they were encased in cement. Like they were hard to move the same way they were when my B12 tanked last, only without the numbness and the pins and needles.

I had to stop three or four times and just lean against the Curry and the Argyle and a sign post. But I got home.

Sufficed to say, my legs are shot for the day.

And yet, I feel like I didn’t DO enough. And I really have to stop that.

Fact is…

Fact is I am an Autistic with severe anxiety and c-PTSD who was told this spring that I also have Multiple Sclerosis AND Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (though we won’t know what flavour until I get to the top of the list for the Geneticist… in about a year… if the Tories don’t cut health care anymore than they already have).

I don’t know that I’ve properly internalized that to be honest. But I need to.

Two years ago, I used to walk everywhere. Even with the ankle, I could top 15,000 steps in a day. In the summer heat. On my own. Now I struggle to make it to the post office at Winnipeg Square and back. Two years ago I had no issue walking to a Doctors appointment at AHWC. Now I struggle to make it to and from Giant Tiger two blocks away without either hurting myself or falling on my face into traffic.

And I’m on Disability, so there is zero chance for me to get proper treatment when MS treatment runs upwards of $17K a year. No, I’ll be left to my own devices and it will progress and it will get worse.

Also the EDS running roughshod over my joints isn’t helping either. From day to day I don’t know if I’m going to pop a hip or a knee or an ankle (and I really cannot afford to pop the left ankle after everything it’s already been through). From day to day I don’t know if I’m going to be in screaming pain with the right shoulder and scapula by the end of the night, or not.

And I’m on Disability, so there is zero chance for me to get proper treatment when the Province has cut prescribed Physiotherapy down to pretty much zero. You get Physio after hip surgery. Until you can walk again. No further. Everyone else is SOL.

So… yeah.

And still I look at my journal, the third of a page for the day so full of things done that I’ve had to double up on lines and write things in on the diagonal, and I still have that voice in my head telling me that I was a waste today.

I need to be kinder to myself.

I need to give myself credit for the things I actually do get done, and celebrate that. Yes, I’m slower than I used to be, and I was slower than most people to start with, but goddammit I have good reason for that! Multiple. ReasonS with an S at the end. Plural.

I am trying my best, with zero help, to keep my head above the surface in a BIG bowl of Alphabet Soup.


And that’s not even counting the Anaemia, B12 deficiency, and Asthma.


I need to be kinder to myself. Because I am doing amazing for someone doing it all on their own. With zero resources. Zero help. Zero therapy.

And yes I remember Dr W, but we’re going another month between sessions and let’s be honest, it’s not actually “trauma therapy” with Dr W now is it?

I’m doing all of this, and managing to keep the apartment from falling apart, And fighting to keep myself from letting the PTSD have its way, AND I haven’t had a proper session since December of last year, and in the last 18 months I’ve gone from fine, to unable to walk 2 blocks each way without risking hurting myself.

I’m doing really well, considering, and I need to give myself credit for that!

I just… I need to be kinder to myself.

Autistic Living, Disabled Living, Personal

No Snow Boots and No Dignity

So, it snowed this morning. Big, fluffy snow that Benny spent most of the morning hunting through the big living room window. I wasn’t going to go out because of it. but mid-afternoon the overcast had changed from low and gloomy to high and bright and I figured I’d try grabbing some things from Giant Tiger and Dollarama that I would need to get us through the Holidays.

I am not steady on my feet on the best of days these days. And going out in fresh powder, at barely below zero C, in Walmart running shoes (because I don’t have winter boots. I can’t AFFORD winter boots. I have dollar store thermal socks and Dollarama thermal insoles that don’t fit right because when you’re on Disability Benefit you make do with what you can get) when you have a bionic ankle, bad balance in general (because, Autism) and probably hyper-mobility issues that really screw with your hips and knees, isn’t choice. So I was careful. I walked like a penguin. I took my time. I let everyone pass me and stayed out of the way.

And I still wiped out.

Now I know some people will say, “Saffron! Why didn’t you take your cane?!” and the answer is, in this weather, the cane doesn’t help. There isn’t enough snow pack to put the piton foot on it, and the rubber foot does nothing when it’s slushy and wet. It’s just one more thing to go out from under you in that kind of weather.

And so I wiped out.
In the middle of the intersection of Smith and Portage.
And I had to crawl back, on my hands and knees, to the curb to get out of the line of traffic before the light changed again.

And then I tried to get up again.
And fell again, because Walmart running shoes aren’t known for their fantastic traction.
And it took three people to help me get up.


Everyone kept asking me, “Are you alright??!” and honestly everyone who stopped was so nice and so kind and so helpful. I am grateful for their help.

I know most people would be mortified at that kind of a spectacle, but when you’re poor and disabled it’s really just a part of life. That’s one of the really horrible things about being on Disability and being disabled is you have no room for pride. The world doesn’t really allow for people like me to have any sort of dignity or pride to get bruised when something like that happens.

Dignity is for people who can afford to have it.
And I cannot afford it.

I thanked everyone who came to help me, on all fours in the grime and the snow and the mucky slush, and told them, “No. It’s okay. I’m fine. Thank you,” even though I obviously wasn’t. Because the world doesn’t allow for people like me, in my situation, to have that dignity or enough of a sense of self to feel like you matter in that situation. You apologize to the people who stop to help you for stopping them from getting where they’re going. You apologize for causing a scene.

It’s not about you. It’s about everyone else.
Because you don’t matter of course.
You don’t count.

And that right there is the thing that is making me cry as I type this, finally. Knowing that I don’t think I matter. Knowing that when I was on all fours in the middle of the street my first thought was to not inconvenience the people in the cars that were waiting to cross Portage. My first thought was to apologize to the people who stopped to help me.
“No thank you. I’m fine. Sorry.”
Because there is no pride to bruise. There is no dignity anymore. I’ve been living this life, with too little, for too long to matter.

And that is what makes me cry.

Disabled Living, General Update, Personal, Self-Sufficiency

Re-Thinking Vlogmas 2018

Yeeeah I don’t know. For the first time in 3 years I am seriously re-thinking doing Vlogmas this year. I mean, I have a LOT going on right now.

Disability won’t release a cheque for December. I mean I was told I’d done everything right by the IS (Information Specialist) but my worker called (I KNOW! My new worker CALLED! It kind of freaked me out too!) and told me I still hadn’t been reactivated in the system. Then told me they needed more. Then my new worker made a joke, and when I took it literally she laughed at me.

Yeah. At me.
Disability worker laughed at me.
I am suddenly very worried about this situation again.

And on top of that I heard from one of the remaining staff at the restaurant that right after I left the owner came out and told everyone tomorrow (as in Saturday last) would be their last shift. Which means I was the only thing keeping the doors open? I certainly don’t think so. I think the hostess/waitress and the cook staff were far more important, but ….. ???


And on Thursday I have my last session with Dr P before she goes on maternity leave.

And then the week after that I have my first meeting with the new Neurologist on Monday, the Dentist on Wednesday, and a day-long thing at ArtSpace on Friday.

Then my first meeting with the interim Trauma Counsellor (Dr W) the next Thursday.

Then Christmas 5 days later.

And, granted, I am not a huge Christmas person, but it’s still a marker point and the last day of Vlogmas and I still don’t know if I’m getting a cheque for December, so…..

Yeah. I don’t know that I’m up to Vlogmas this year.
And I feel like such a heel for backing out on day 3, but at the same time I have SO much in the air, and SO much going on, and  SO much I have to keep my eye on. And I don’t know that I can manage to make a video a day between now and Christmas. *frowns*

autism, Autistic Living, Disabled Living, Personal

I Know

I know that I come across as “weird” to NTs. I used to hear it from clients all the time.

Oh yeah… Saffron’s a little strange, but she’s good at what she does.’

‘Yeah sure, you’re a little weird but you know what you’re taking about.’

I don’t think people realize how much that hurts. Like, yes I know I’m not “normal”. I’ve had that held against me my whole life. But do you have to say it so loud, to so many people, and rub salt in the wound like that?

I also know that I’m very easy to take advantage of. I’m too trusting and too kind. I’m too empathetic. I let people get away with things no other person would because I feel sorry for them. I let people walk all over me. I let people take advantage and I don’t stand up for myself. Until I do, and then people are shocked and lash out.

I let people get away with negging me. I don’t hold what I know and how good I am at it in high enough regard. I don’t believe in myself.

I’m really good at what I do, but I’m no good at the people part. I’d need a partner that I really trusted to do the people part and act as a shield between me and everyone else.

And that’s, let’s be honest, probably not going to ever happen.

Because it would be so easy for that person to also take advantage. It’s happened before. I trust someone to come in as my partner on something and all that ever happens is I end up giving them money I never get back.

They say communism is a perfect system on paper. But ‘on paper’ doesn’t take the human element into account, and that’s where it fails. Because the second people’s egos and greed and unconscious wants get involved the whole system is corrupted and it just goes bad to the core.

People, in general, are like that I find. Everybody looks at themself ‘on paper’ and sees themselves as a pretty good person. But you put someone who is just naturally trusting and naive in front of them, and I still haven’t met someone who isn’t corrupted by the power that gives them.

And it really sucks.

I know I’m naive, and I’m too trusting, and I expect people to do the right thing and be kind and put others first and not take advantage. Because that’s what I do.

And it never stops surprising me when they, instead, take advantage.

And it never stops hurting when they laugh and say I’m weird.

autism, Autistic Living, Disabled Living, independent living, Personal, ptsd

A Hard Day

I’m really tired today. And my heart hurts. And my anxiety is through the Empire State Building observatory deck high today.

I know that I have a bad habit of letting people walk all over me, and letting people take advantage of me, and letting people get away with it because I feel sorry for them for reasons that are not my fault. This is one of the reasons that I was never very good at being an entrepreneur or a consultant. Everybody, always, decides that they don’t want to pay you what you’re worth.

And my heart hurts. And my head hurts. And I have that horrible, unnerving, weight of anxiety sitting on my chest right now because I’m scared that I’m going to lose everything.
I’m scared that I’m going to end up dead on the street.
I’m scared.

(this is a cross post from my Facebook page)

Disabled Living, independent living, Personal, Self-Sufficiency

Rock and a Hard Place at 3AM

I woke up an hour ago (3:30 am ) with a horrible sense of dread sitting on my chest. Second night in a row for that. Really not fun. It all comes down to disability and the impossible place being on it has left me.

Continue reading “Rock and a Hard Place at 3AM”

Child Abuse & Trauma, Disabled Living, Invisible Disablity, Personal

Appointment #1 with the Neurologist (Imposter Syndrome)

About 6 weeks ago I went to see my Doctor and I told her that I was concerned with my balance. I have always had bad balance. I can’t walk a straight line to save my life, and never have been able to. I was always being scolded as a kid for being clumsy. I’ve always been bad for walking into walls and doors and tables. Heck, I was almost 8 when I finally learned to ride a two-wheeler bike (and it took a LOT of work and two ruined pairs of jeans and gravel embedded in my knees and palms for weeks afterwards).

But recently it’s been getting worse.

I’ve always hugged walls, but I have caught myself muttering, “Don’t fall” to myself way more often lately than normal. My balance has always been crap, but it’s gotten worse lately. I’ve been more tired lately, and getting tired more easily. My stamina is crap. My hand-eye coordination has never been good (mostly because I’m monocular) but it’s gotten a lot worse. I’ve noticed I don’t walk with the same purpose I used to. I’ve started to lumber and shuffle and I’ve been tripping over my feet more. And then there’s the vertigo and the seeing double (most of which was fixed with a new set of lenses in my glasses, but having to replace your lenses after only a YEAR isn’t a good sign in general).

All of these things together are signs of Dyspraxia.
Among other things.

So I brought this up to Dr T and she agreed with me that I should see someone. Dr T being amazing, within the week I had a call from a Neurologist to book an appointment. That was for two weeks ago, but I had to call and reschedule on the day because we were under a heavy air quality advisory because of the smoke from the forest fires out west. They were lovely about it though and rescheduled me for today.

And that’s where the anxiety is coming from today.

Because, see, I know that this is something that should happen. Things that I’ve always had to struggle through have suddenly become noticeable symptoms and they’re getting worse. I know that ASD and Dyspraxia can overlap a lot. I know that I have shown these symptoms my entire life but was never listened to and never taken to the Doctor to have them looked at.

But I’ve been having these runaway nightmare thoughts. I go to the Neurologist and he gets me into a FMRI and then says, “Your brain shows nothing wrong. In fact you don’t show any Autism-related brain architecture. You’re a LIAR. You’re a CHARLATAN. You’re just pretending. You’re playing the pity card and playing a part you psychopath! You don’t deserve your Disability Status. I’m passing my findings on to EIA-D.”

And then I lose Disability. And then I lose everything. And then I die on the streets.

Yeah I know. That escalated quickly.

But that’s where my brain has been going as we get closer and closer to today, and I’ve honestly started thinking maybe I can just live with it. Things have gotten worse before and I just adapted. I can do that again, can’t I?

The logical part of my brain knows that’s ridiculous. The logical part of my brain knows that Imposter Syndrome is something that comes from a lifetime of gaslighting. I was silenced and discredited so many times by my parents with Doctors and Teachers and Councillors that I have come to realize that I don’t even trust my own sense of reality. Decades of my parents saying, “Sascha has a story-telling problem. Sascha has a truth problem. We’re so sorry. She tells these stories…” when confronted by people when I would finally crack and tell people what was happening at home and ask for help. A lifetimes of that from other people and I’ve started actually doing it to myself it seems. I don’t need them there to gaslight and discredit me. I know the script so well — it’s so well ingrained in me — that I do it myself.

So I head out on the bus in a couple of hours and I’m trying to calm myself down and remind myself that I am not a liar and a cheat and a fraud and evil (and down the spiral goes). That this isn’t about the Autism (which has been diagnosed TWICE and confirmed by no fewer than FOUR other Psychologists or Doctors so, as Dr P puts it to me, “No one is that good of an actor, Saffron”) it’s about the other symptoms I listed above. Things that have always been there, that I’ve never had looked at or treated, and they’re getting worse. That’s what this is about. The Neurologist is there to help me find answers, not discredit and destroy.

And I know that.
I know that.
The logical part of my brain knows that.

But there’s that niggly little whisper in the back of my head…….

Autistic Living, Disabled Living, independent living, Self-Sufficiency

The Wall Between Me and “The Plan”

So yesterday was Trauma Therapy and it thoroughly kicked me in the ass. Dr P and I spent a good part of it working on “The Plan” but in the end we came up against the same things I had worried about myself here.

The moment I start making any money through self employment, Disability will claw back 100%. Which means I won’t be able to set aside anything for taxes. Which means I’ll actually be worse off than if I just give in and give up on myself.

How fucked up is that??!

The only way the Province will allow me to make money is by working for someone else. I can’t work for myself. Well, okay, that’s not entirely true. Disability does have a “self-employment program” but they have to approve a business plan and then they give you only two years to become solvent. During that time the Province allows your company to keep all its own money but you have to supply a copy of your books every month and if they think your company is too successful they can use it as cause to throw you off Disability.

There are a few issues with that.

First, very few small businesses can reach break even within 2 years. The standard is usually 3-5 years for B2B, and 5-7 for B2C. And that’s break even. That isn’t even making a profit! The idea that a small business should be profitable by year 2 is one almost as old as I am, if not older.

Second, there’s no room for the gig economy. It’s all based off – again – an antiquated idea of what self-employment has to be. Most disabled people can’t run a Corporation on their own. Heck, most NT and able-bodied people can’t!

It’s a program that’s there to look like the Province is there to help people get a leg up and – as my father puts it – “get off the dole” but it really isn’t viable in the real world.

And any ways, it doesn’t have any room for people like myself who can do many little gigs, but can’t hold down a full time straight job. To the Province, a full time straight job is the only way to be a productive member of society. Gig work and freelancing aren’t in their vocabulary, and so the moment I try to do either I will get 100% of the money I earn clawed back.

Which leaves me worse off than when I started.

And this morning that has me thoroughly depressed.

I have the want. I have the guts and the gumption (to use words they might understand). I have the tenacity. I have the drive. I have the skill.

What I don’t have is the support.

And so the “safest” thing to do, is give up and rot on $1001.30 a month.
When my rent alone is more than that.

*long sigh*

I need support. If I had family that would support me and help me, I might be able to do it. But they’ve made it quite clear that I don’t have them. I don’t have familial support. Which means I need about a year’s worth of income. $18, 675 would just barely cover me for a year (yes I have done the math). And the chances of that happening aren’t good.

So today I’m feeling gutted and demoralized and depressed AF. Because I want to work. I want to be worth something. I want to contribute to the world.

But I have no way of doing it without ending up another Autistic disabled homeless statistic. *frowns*