3 Months

Sometimes the most unreasonable request isn't even a request.

It's someone basically telling you: “I'll work my ass off for you. I'll send you money. I'll take care of you.”

And somehow, instead of feeling relieved, you feel like you've just been handed another reason to hate yourself.

Because what happens after three months?

What happens when the person helping you gets tired?

What happens when the money stops?

What happens when you realize you're not supposed to be someone's permanent responsibility?

That's the part that hurts. I  don't want to be rescued forever.

I don't want someone working themselves into the ground because my life fell apart.

And I definitely don't want to be treated like I'm incapable of taking care of myself.

I'm not jompo.  I'm just fucking stuck.

There is a difference. I need a solution. A fast one.

Not another lecture. Not another temporary rescue.

Not another three months of surviving and then panicking about month four.

I need something that can actually settle me down once this divorce process is finally over.

A job. An income. 

Something stable enough that I can breathe again and say: “Okay. I can take care of myself now.”

Because right now, the worst feeling isn't being broke.

It's feeling useless while desperately trying not to become a burden.

And maybe that's why I lashed out. Because underneath the anger was fear.

What the hell happens after three months?