Florida sucks

... and I can't leave

Today I tried to apply for food stamps and Medicaid. I need Medicaid in order to get the psychiatric help that will probably save my life, but in Florida you need to be declared "disabled" in order to qualify for Medicaid.

Two options: jump off a bridge or in front of a truck (which will either kill or disable me) or return to the ER once again as a potential suicide. You know what they say, "third time's the charm."

I don't particularly want to die - that would be unfair to my family and friends - but life holds no promise for me.

I am hungry, angry, lonely and tired: all the warning signs for a return to alcohol. This is my second day of sobriety, and I promised myself I wouldn't drink today, but I can't make any promises beyond the current hour.

One hour at a time, O Lord, one hour at a time.