That was when I had a place to live. As long as I could feed myself, I was good. Even that's been a problem in the past, but I'm well past that. I'd even go so far as to say that I've gotten pretty good at feeding myself.
Now, I can't come shambling across the threshold of my sanctuary anymore. To breathe a sigh of relief, safe from the outside world. I'm never safe. Secure. Stable. This is shelter, but this is not home. It's horrible, and I can't do anything about it. I'm too damn "eccentric" to even function.
Back to thinking of myself as sick. Damaged. In need of some kind of repair. This situation has driven me to get treated for my hypopituitarism and that's a good thing, I guess, but if it's doing anything, it's not enough. I'm still completely stuck. So, I do all these things people say I should do. I take everyone's crappy advice. I'm trying everything, but none of it changes the fact that I am stuck.
I just want a fucking place to live.