Every morning, I wake up with a gnawing fear in the pit of my stomach. The day ahead is full of uncertainty, and the only thing I know for sure is that I have to deliver drive—again. Each delivery I make isn’t just about earning a few extra dollars; it’s about survival. It’s about scraping together enough to stay in a hotel for one more night or, if I’m lucky, to inch closer to finding a permanent home. But the weight of it all is suffocating, and the fear that I’m just one wrong move away from being completely homeless is always there, looming over me.

This life, this existence, is terrifying. It’s a constant state of anxiety, wondering if today will be the day that something goes wrong—whether it’s the car breaking down, getting fewer orders than expected, or an unforeseen expense that throws everything into chaos. The stress is relentless. Every delivery feels like a small victory, but it’s a victory overshadowed by the knowledge that there’s another delivery, another day of hustling, waiting around the corner.

The worst part is the feeling that I’m stuck in place, spinning my wheels but getting nowhere. It’s like being trapped in a nightmare where no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to move forward. I’m haunted by the fear that this is as good as it’s going to get—that this precarious existence is my new normal, and that the hope of stability, of having a home to call my own, is slipping further and further out of reach.

It’s hard not to let that fear consume me. There are days when it feels like the weight of it all is too much to bear, when the exhaustion from driving, the stress of making ends meet, and the ever-present fear of homelessness threaten to crush my spirit. It hurts to think that despite all my efforts, I might still lose everything.

But even in the darkest moments, I hold on to one thing: my faith. It’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart. I remind myself that this is a season, and seasons change. I keep the faith that there’s a purpose in all of this, that these struggles are shaping me, teaching me resilience, and pushing me toward something better. I have to believe that there’s a way out of this, even if I can’t see it yet.

So, I keep going. I keep driving, keep delivering, and keep hoping that tomorrow will be better. Because as scary as this all is, I refuse to give up. I refuse to let fear have the final say. I’m holding on, with everything I have, to the belief that this isn’t the end of my story—that somehow, some way, I’ll find my way home.