The mistakes and omissions accrue, and I continue to fall further behind.

I broke down once more and remade myself from a mix of old and new.

I don’t know how many times I can do this, but I know it'll happen again. 

I wake up and see the day ahead. The pursuit of money must begin soon, and be relentless until I give up and spend the evening blotting out the fear instead of plotting an escape.

I remember who and what I am, the world inside my head.

A focus on the small things, pleasures that are cheap or free, readily accessible, nurturing and so on. Ways to avoid greater suffering.

And still the depression that comes with a looming sense of doom and the inevitability of a sudden and total collapse.

I fall into further despair.

I did nothing, yet was surprised when nothing happened.

Vanity has kept me in good shape.

I turn to my body, work to lose fat, gain muscle, to feel better, look better, to be loved and live longer and well.

A way to succeed without money.

I feel great, which is good, right?

A way to get through the terror.

Then one morning, out of nowhere, I realized it'd been a long time since I'd gotten high, and months since I'd even thought about buying. Yet in the interim food, music, sex, movies, cycling, even chores, it all felt good enough, and I was happy.

I looked back at a life I barely knew and could explain to no one, and kept it to myself.