Call The Whole Thing Off
I know it's the depression talking. It's been more than a week since I ran out of SSRI's and I'm getting the stress and the pressure and the random panic attacks and outbursts of random rage, and burst into tears first outside the doctor's office because it opened late, and then again at Boots because the freaking pharmacist couldn't stop chatting for ten minutes to serve the ever-increasing queue (I kicked a display over, and stormed out, threatened to kick a businessman who laughed at me, so I still don't have any meds.) and then again in the loo because someone asked me what was wrong.
I've had three bills in a row that are all wrong. Council tax has neglected to take off my single person's discount. The gas bill is completely inflated beyond rhyme or reason. And the electric bill... they've now charged me twice now for the SAME usage of electricity, and now they've come up with such a ridiculously overinflated estimate of my electricity usage that they're trying to charge me £90 for TWO WEEKS' ELECTRICITY. So that's three irate phone calls I have to make before the day has even started.
Which means I'm short of money, short of patience, and I woke up this morning with my back in spasms so the thought of spending two nights sleeping in a van is NOT appealing.
I just don't want to do it. Any of it. I just want to crawl in a cave and kick anyone who even looks at me.