Happy New Year!

Keeping hope alive.

It’s officially 2025, and I wanted to give a quick little update. But first, I hope everyone is happy and safe and hopeful, despite the uncertain next four years we have ahead of us.

Lately, I’ve been absent from almost everything. I haven’t written much, my health is very poor, I stopped drawing again, and I’ve been getting by a day at a time. I have to find the energy to move as well, and my landlord is giving me one day to get everything out or I’ll be charged for the full month I won’t be here. I’ve got a mountain of bills, partly due to me not understanding and misinterpreting the due date of my internet bill, and just generally fumbling around adulthood and often needing help because one; I’m AuDHD (autistic with ADHD) and struggle with, well, adulting, and I don’t always understand there are hidden rules, fees, or my bills aren’t exactly as they are presented to me. And two; I’m chronically ill and often am operating on negative spoons because I live by myself.

I haven’t written a newsletter since after the election, but I’m trying to stay hopeful that once I get into this new place, which is going to be great for my mental health and well-being, I’ll be able to return to being an author. To being a creator in general, really. I hope my heath will improve and stop the constant downward spiral it’s been on. I hope. I just have to keep hoping.

Until then, I’m taking it slow and coping by conserving what little energy I have when I can, trying not to fall into a pit of dread every time I realize I’ve exhausted all avenues for help as a disabled person and I was denied for everything. I have such a small support system, I’m not even sure if I’ll be able to get all of my belongings in my house to my new place in one day because it’s up to me, my elderly and chronically ill mother, and my nephew who will be the only fit and healthy person helping out.

It’s really hard not to fall into that trap of spiraling into dread. Not enough money. Not enough food. Fees. More fees. Overdraft fees. More fees for installing internet. Gotta compensate help. Deposit, rent, and maybe a second full rent payment if my chronic illnesses keep flaring and I can’t move fast enough. Electric bill. Oh, and the government is going to take away all but $70 of my food stamps because even though my bills will remain the same, they’re being combined into one through HUD, so because they’re no longer split… Yeah, it doesn’t make sense to me either.

Also, I’ll get penalized for asking for monetary help per month that exceeds $80.

I am still trying to keep hope alive. After all, I’ve been in really difficult situations before. I was homeless in 2015 before the Social Security Administration decided to stop discriminating against me due to my gender and age, and they stopped calling me a liar and saw proof that I was, verifiably, disabled and my age and intelligence had nothing to do with any of it. I got my own place and built up from nothing.

I got to a point where I also published my first book in 2022. I now have three full novels self-published because I said ‘screw the industry’ that kept sending my queer books rejections. I have built my life while fighting against the tide every step of the way, while weathering therapy and PTSD and psychotic symptoms that tried to kill me, and as my chronic illnesses continued on a downward spiral. And I still blame myself. I feel like my chronic illnesses and my disability status are my fault. It must be something I’m not doing right or a mistake I must still be making, rather than a completely uncontrollable factor that, in fact, isn’t my fault.

It’s a lot. I’ve tried to cut down on complaining because complaining doesn’t solve the issue or do much of anything. I’ve broken down, cried, and had panic attacks because I don’t know what’s happening to my health and I’m not sure sometimes how to make anything work with what little I have. I worry that one day, as prices continue to rise, I’m going to starve.

But, as I’ve said, I’m keeping hope alive.

I may never win an award for any of my books, I may never sell enough of them to matter, and I may remain a nobody in the writing community/reading community, but I wrote books that I poured my blood, sweat, and tears into and I’m proud of them. I told my story, even if no one cares. I take the medications I’ve been prescribed and I do what my doctor asks of me, which is all I can do for my health right now. I got an appointment for my medical center’s food bank that will give me a week of free healthy food every month so my chances of going hungry are less. I do everything I can with what I have to work with, and that is enough.

Hope doesn’t have to have something huge at the other end of it. Hope can be for a future where I’ll just be able to survive without fighting. I hope to have enough food for three healthy meals a day every day. I hope my blood work starts looking better and I won’t have to worry as much. I hope I’ll be happier because I’ll be in a small community environment where I won’t be isolated anymore. I hope I’ll be more independent and I won’t have to ask for help as much because the grocery store and a pharmacy will be just across the parking lot.

I hope my near future will just be basic. I hope my near future will be boring as hell.

I also hope I’ll have more books to publish, and I hope the next four years will just fly by.

Here’s to 2025 and getting my life on track.