Candid post I can't think of a good title for

I post this not to beg or demand or even ask, but to express my concerns and keep everybody in on what is happening with my life.

When Patreon changed its national banking location many of my patrons left out of frustration with the decision (rightly so). I went from very nearly reaching my goal of $500 a month (literally within $3 of hitting it) to just below $400 a month within two days.

Most of those patrons never returned.

This happened around the same time that my best friend, Farx died. The two events combined tore an enormous chunk out of my soul, and with that a massive portion of my motive, confidence and drive.

As soon as I clawed myself out of mourning Farx and got myself back on track, I nearly went to prison over some bad communication on the part of social services. This destroyed me. I still have nightmares about it a year later. I've become a helplessly paranoid wreck ever since.

You, the fans, pulled me out of it when I needed help immediately, and I will never not be grateful for it! The fact remains, that event traumatized me. Deep.

Ever since, my Patreon has been dying a slow death. Rarely does anybody join, and commonly people leave. A combination of the site itself, the over-saturated competition, and my own failings.

As the numbers went down and life got harder, I sunk deeper and deeper into fear. It eventually hit $350ish a month, and I have been getting by on the skin of my teeth.

Watching it die, trying to pull myself together, and recalling how optimistic I was at the beginning (I honestly thought by now I'd be close to $700 a month or more) has resulted in how I currently feel; more on that in a moment.

I am now down to $300. I have hit the point where I cannot live on it anymore, period. I have to find additional income somewhere.

It's no secret I am afflicted with manic-depressive bipolar disorder. I hate bandying it about but it's my reality, and it is often relevant. Now, right now as I write this, I feel hopeless and in total despair. I don't know what I am going to do. I have no car, and this small town offers little to nothing for work. Even if I do find a new job, it will surely exhaust me, so my art will fall down the hole even further more than likely.

There is another beast on my back, two in fact. ADD, and an anxiety issue related to a cognitive disability (for real, none of this is self diagnosed, my psychologist was a real man named Ted Papperman, and I do have proof in paper form) that has haunted me since childhood. Both of which, especially when the depression hits me, make me a totally useless waste of space. I am prone to panic attacks and total meltdowns.

I have fought against this before! I once had a part time job at a winery/tasting room. But that was a different time with a car involved; and even then a few days got so busy that I had panic attacks and shut down AT work (at a job I honestly enjoyed, mind). I simply cannot deal with so many demands at a time, once they reach a certain point.

This is why I know how it affects me on a job. Despite all this I can speak, write, and understand our language and its various nuances quite well. Since my issues do not manifest in highly obvious ways (they are deeper problems that rise to the surface when they feel like it), the state has never offered me any financial assistance. In fact, I am not taken very seriously at all it seems.

It's hard enough just to maintain getting food stamps.

To wrap it up, the two most important things to take away from this are:

1. Thank you all so much for your support. I never have, nor will I ever, hold my troubles against my friends, colleagues, and fans. You are the reason I am even still bothering. I apologize for not being as productive as other, happier artists. I won't stop trying, at the very least.

2. I am scared shitless about life right now. I feel an overwhelming sense of dread.

Thank you for reading. I hope this came off as genuinely as I intended, rather than a bid for attention. The internet has plenty of that as it is.

P.S. To people I still owe old rewards to after all this time; I am genuinely sorry. I failed miserably with that, and I cannot blame anybody other than myself for it. Bit off more than I could chew, and I should have known better.