My name is Austin Adams, and I’m 32 years old. After many years of pain, caused by epigenetic and childhood traumas, I found myself in prison for the 2nd time. Both incarcerations stem from methamphetamine, mostly the synthesis thereof. It was the only substantial claim to this existence that I had for many years. During my recent incarceration, I went through intense amounts of therapy and headway into new waters of life began in the wake of the traumatic aftermath. I worked tirelessly while incarcerated to produce a version of myself that is both true as well as kind and empathetic. What I did not do was account for time necessary for transition from incarceration to free, and the shock that it produced has only recently began to unfold. It was surely creased, and no iron or fire do I possess. Upon my release, I moved into an apartment with my girlfriend, who I knew previous to incarceration, but whim I did not engage in further intimate relations until months before my release. All was well, or so I thought. My home life was increasingly and exponentially chaotic. My exgirlfriend, who suffers from mental health issues went mostly untreated and she became increasingly abusive based on her own traumatic upbringing. I did manage to graduate top if my class from Lindsey Wilson College with a bachelor’s in human services and counseling with hopes of working in substance recovery and mental health as a duel diagnostic counselor. I began the master’s program in January if this year and exceeded for some time. The end of January left me without a job, as my home life bleed vigorously over into every other facet of my life, and my work had entertained enough of my ex girlfriend barging in my place of work and throwing a fit. I should have cut the tie before it ever got to that level, but she is a person whim I love, and the totality of my life was wrapped up in hers. It was a faulty move. I turned even heavier ito drugs at this point, as methamphetamine produces the same feeling in me as doing something kind for another, and though I have obtained that feeling elsewhere in a more sustainable fashion (methamphetamine), I still chose to live my life in the servitude if others because I genuinely care. A couple of weeks went by before I was summoned to pick up my cousin, who was in all respects my first little brother, from a suicide attempt, and after some odd series of events found me and his mother crying in my apartment parking lot because he had committed suicide by police after cutting his wrists 2 blocks from my apartment and writing a very large, in size alone, suicide note. The pictures were horrid. My drug use became worse, school started slipping, and my relationship was heading in the same direction as it had been. I was lost. I went to treatment, with hopes of returning to my program (director told me personally before I entered treatment that my place in the program was saved, only to not be allowed readmittance even after his promissory words. I did not understand, but kept pushing forward. A month later on my birthday, the police were dispatched to my apartment (not the first time), after a three day altercation with my ex which started with her assaulting me in my sleep and waking up to her beating on me. The cops quickly realized the aggressor, and took her to jail. I was evicted from the apartment and not allowed back on the premises to even get my things, which was my entire life. It was everything I owned, and police call after apartment management call after district attorney call led me nowhere but with the clothes I had in my back, a shirt, shorts, no socks or underwear, and shoes. I didn’t know what to do. A friend took me in because my parents blamed me for the incident, and though I did have a huge part in the ordeal, because I continually entertained that behavior, substantiating it over time and space. Though I have over 200 applications in on i deed, I have been unable to find a job (my interviews are so well, but nothing pans out. I have even asked the hiring professionals for feedback, of which they gave me no e. I even landed two separate jobs, but the grants never came through for the positions). My qualifications are outstanding, but it’s not in the cards, yet that does not stop me from pursuing it as if it was. The friend that took me in, even though I cleaned his house every day, cooked the meals, and managed the house threw me out without notice and I’ve been in the street ever since. I have no one and am losing hope faster than a popped balloon loses airm I need financial assistance. I have $281 in food stamps every month, but this is the only financial means I have, and manual labor isn’t much of an option given my leaky tricuspid valve that needs replaced and gives me terrible fatigue. I’m barely hanging in, but I’m hanging on nonetheless. I have no clothes, no money, no substantial shelter. Please, find it in your heart to help. I don’t have a specific number in mind, because I’m not greedy, I’m in need. Anything would help me as I try to start over her again, and hopefully I won’t subconsciously recreate my childhood traumas with other individuals.im trying my best but the score is not very telling of the game. Help here could fortify my future and I promise, one where I have met my basic needs, in will be a future we can all be proud of. I want to continue to change the world, but right now, the principal powers are against me for the sadness of my oppression feeds them greatly. I am usually the one doing for others, not asking from others. It’s a humbling experience, but I’m putting it out there because I have faith help will come.