Do you have any EBT?
That’s a question that echoes through the house often enough. Today, my answer was, “Twelve bucks.” It comes on the 7th. Between now and then, I’ll be riding out the days like a tightrope walker with frayed rope and no safety net.
May is going to hit me harder than ever. The housing crisis isn't just something I read about in headlines anymore—it’s the stage I live on. Rent climbs. Costs climb. But my monthly check? It shrinks like it's trying to disappear entirely. I’ll get my Social Security on Friday, but it’s already spoken for—bills, basics, and the burden of just surviving.
Starving my addictions might sound noble to some, but in reality, it often just starves me. That’s the cruel twist. I’m clean. I’m sober. I’m even taking my meds as prescribed. And yet, I’m barely scraping together enough for one decent meal a day.
Today, I had a sandwich. That felt like a luxury.
I saved just enough for a meal tomorrow—maybe one solid thing to keep me upright. But I know I’ve got to get smarter about managing my money. The real problem is this: you can’t manage what you don’t have. You can ration out crumbs all you want, but that doesn’t make it a feast.
Each month brings less. And still, somehow, I survive.
The guys at the house have been loaning me cigarettes lately. I know it’s a kindness. It’s also a trap. Every puff is a reminder that I’m still in this war with nicotine. But today, I’m not drunk. I’m not high. I’m not losing my mind. I’m just tired. Hungry. Hanging on.
This is my Smoker’s Journal: not a victory lap, not a tragedy. Just a record. Just a man, still standing.
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One cigarette at a time, one drawing at a time, I’m still here.
by Dan and Bonkers
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