I'm not saying my problems are bigger or worse or whatever than anybody else's. My "problems", are actually not that big a deal, when I really break them down(I need new tires, I have a few cavities I should get taken care of, the license fees for my dogs is due). And other than drinking way too much soda/coffee, and eating too many hamburgers, I really don't have any vices neither.
I chose to pursue being a full time "artist"(whatever that means)about 6 years ago. Since then, I've painted murals for people who let me do whatever I want and pay me good money to do it. I've painted murals for people who don't appreciate what I do and pay me shit to prove it. I've screen printed hundreds of shirts, pieces of nice paper, toys and whatever else I could buy for cheap and sell for alot. I've done illustration jobs for companies in states I'll never visit. And sometimes, people decide they want to spend their hard-earned money on the most useless, most selfish luxury their is; art;and they buy one of my paintings. In other words, I'm doing OK for myself, but I'm a pretty low maintenance type of person.
Going to the hospital wasn't the scary part; It was dreading the arrival of that damned bill. I knew I'd never be able to pay it back, and I hope to be a normal person some day meaning I gotta stop ignoring calls from bill collectors, or telling my sister to answer and tell them I'm dead. Having a $23,778.00 bill meant I was digging an ever deeper hole for myself.
This probably sounds like a pointless rant. And maybe it is. Im just on a high right now after opening this letter.