I make, on average, $1,400 a month. I get paid every two weeks. One of my former roommates doesn't work and his partner works part time, so I have often been the one to support them. I pay both our phone bills and the internet bill. They occasionally decide unilaterally that it's my turn to pay for groceries, twist my arm for $200, and then spend $150 on weed (I don't smoke, really). I buy food and supplies for my unhoused friends. Sometimes they come to me for help getting well and I cover it. It keeps the peace and keeps me from having to see my friends flop out.

I became homeless the first time because my father was killing me. His emotional and sometimes physical abuse almost drove me to suicide, so I chose life in a form most would consider more akin to purgatory.

This second time around it's because I cannot fucking live in that basement with those two fucks, my roommates. One is controlling and mean. The other never talks to me and makes me feel alone.

I stopped taking my HRT after a year being on it because of healthcare bullshit. I got back on after months of trying to get the money (when I was on Medicaid it was free). I kept forgetting to take them. I lost my spiro, and then I just stopped caring. The estrogen sits on my shelf like a doll a child doesn't play with anymore.

I chose to be outside again for my mental health. My roommates pollute the air with their fucking video games and television shows. I can't think when I'm there. I can't sleep. I go to the bathroom to do dope every five minutes because it's so fucking miserable there.

I almost fucking froze to death last night.

Keep telling me my own life story, coward.