I want to throw things and hurt myself to distract from the ever-growing anxiety I feel within me. This feeling is momentary. There are times when I feel like a bomb ready to explode, and this is one of those times. My bank account has sat in the negative for two days now. I texted a coworker from the job I last held, confirming if she received pay because I hadn't yet. She has.

"I got paid Monday - oh no, are they going to make you come in and grab a physical check?"

I lock my phone and stare at the black screen after emailing my old manager. Fuck this.

Money makes me cry. I've never felt good about it. I never have enough of it and am always in debt. I'm grateful for not taking out student loans the few years I attended community college because that added with the years of medical expenses that have gone to collections, I would never be able to own anything.

I sold my engagement ring and wedding band for $200 at the pawnshop down the street from my apartment last month to make rent. The store owner was initially trying to keep me at $160, but after a series of questions answered, he gave me a more desirable final offer. In his defense, I have no idea how much was spent on those rings. I didn't ask.

Being in that shop made me think of my mom, oddly enough. I have memories of her pawning things of my siblings for money, for who knows what. We had a sizable amount in food stamps every month, so maybe she used the money for other expenses. I have a hard time believing that.

My fridge is empty, and my cupboards are bare. My savings are at $6.49, and because I couldn't afford the minimum payment on my credit card by the time it was due (yesterday), I've now maxed it out. So that's another late payment to lower my credit score. I don't start this new job until the ninth of the month, and my last day at my old place of work was the 31st. That's nine days of no money coming in. It makes my stomach turn. I could faint, but that could be for the lack of food.

I don't want to tell anyone how bad it is because that would mean explaining why it's bad and pushing away the self-inflicted shame I can't seem to escape truly.

The time it's taken me to write this entry, I refreshed my email a few dozen times.

"All final payouts are processed as physical checks. The receptionist has yours; you can come to pick it up this morning at the office."

Fuck this.