The words contained in this essay are dangerous.

Walking to the library with great relief having survived the four day state holiday, I intended to write about my feelings during this time. It is risky to share from the inside the ugliness of my suffering. After all it may appear that I am ungrateful, unworthy, envious, angry, lonely, greedy, manipulative or just without shame. To be a martyr is to be an asshole. Nothing can change the reason I suffer so my situation is exhausting for others. The normal criticisms, often offered up as advice, fall flat as I've tried it all yet refuse to regret taking my stand for my Brothers and Sisters at TSA. There I go again.

It is inappropriate to take an existential tragic pose for an actual tragedy. When I lived on the streets I knew that writing would be my rescue or at least an outlet. I considered taking pictures of each park bench and each stop along the way; especially the quick deterioration of my appearance. I realized that it would be profane to treat my situation as an 'experience', rather than as a reality. The moments are seared in my mind and haunt me always.

The profound essay I considered dangerous was about  how Christmas presents represent earned gains and friendships and serve as a mirror image of my earned losses and lost friendships. The topic felt right until I walked into the bitter cold and gingerly navigated each step down sidewalks unaccustomed to such icy conditions. A sadness overcame me leading to a sharp and searing pain in my heart. I actually imagined each step being my last and wondered if my cellphone would offer a map to my brother so that my death will at least be known. As a child I imagined being stabbed during recess and looking up at the classmates who ignored me while I was living yet made me the center of attention as I lay dying.

I made it to the warm library and began my routine checking email, etc. I was interviewed last week by a local television station about the TSA imbroglio and spent the last several days considering my options as I continue to fail to find employment. I wrote to a number of friends wishing them a Happy New Year; Merry Christmas seemed too much of a buzzkill coming from someone in my condition, and received only a few replies. One shook me to the core.

A woman who has been a steadfast friend during this time (those who have my book know she was a subject of much devotion, poetry and pain) has been uncharacteristically out of touch the last few weeks. She recently moved back home to Pennsylvania to care for an ailing parent. We shared a common disappointment in the trajectory of our lives and she planned to find employment and get an apartment we could share, not romantically mind you, but just as a practical solution for both of us. Now she writes that since we last spoke she has moved back to Texas with her until this moment unmentioned boyfriend and congratulates me for my '15 minutes of fame' news coverage. The message is bright and quick and without a hint that we made plans together. Now it is deleted and I must not overlearn a lesson from this not completely unexpected disappointment.

I am safe in North Carolina though my inability to find employment leaves me feeling afraid and vulnerable as it should. I am an empty bucket. The need is so great there is no point in offering fish to someone who seems to lack the ability to learn how to fish. I can count on one finger those who stay in touch proactively and called on Christmas day. It doesn't matter; it shouldn't; it can't. I've made this mess of my life and as I wallow in the ashes it is unknowable if I am rising or sinking. Only time will tell.

I will continue to contact reporters about TSA, apply for jobs, make sure I maintain a routine going to the library and making my bed each day, and know that I'm doing the best I can as far as my troubled mind can tell. I don't know when that last step will fall but don't ask me not to think or write of such things. It is the inevitability of the ending that is my only comfort. 2011 is just steps away and I look forward to the journey.