I’ve spent the last few years doing everything I can to stay afloat—working five on-call jobs, commuting across the city for gigs that barely pay the bills, volunteering to clean a yoga studio just to stay connected to something healing, and making time for the gym and roller skating because they have a positive impact on my mental health. I’ve tried to keep a light in me, even when everything around me has felt heavy.
But then, on Mother’s Day -of all days- I totaled my car.
Mother’s Day is already an incredibly difficult time for me. I lost my mom, stepdad, and younger brother in catostrophic tradegy, and this accident happened just two weeks before the anniversary of their passing. As painful and surreal as it is, I don’t think the timing was a coincidence. I was already carrying so much grief, trying to keep moving forward. Now, I’ve lost the one thing that gave me, independence, and access to the things that help me stay mentally and emotionally well.
Everything I have, I’ve earned on my own with a safety net or family to fall back on. My first car broke down a couple years ago, and after saving and hustling to get back on my feet, I finally bought my Prius 100% on my own, no payments, I bought it outright. Not long after, someone stole the catalytic converter, and I didn't have comprehensive included in my insurance. California requires a special kind that’s way more expensive, so I was back on the train while I saved up again. Less than a year after finally getting it fixed… this happened. It feels like every time I catch my breath, something knocks the wind out of me.
I’m now responsible for paying $1,000 out of pocket for the other driver’s deductible, and I still don’t have a car. On top of that, I already owed $1,500 in parking tickets that have been compounding with late fees. I was barely making it with the car. Without it, everything—my jobs, my healing spaces, my basic ability to function and get basic needs—has become a maze of 3-hour commutes and train rides across counties. 48 hours after my acccident, I had to travel 40 miles and spend 3 hours getting home after a 2 hour long job orientation. That’s my new normal.
Even my ability to volunteer at the yoga studio, which brought me so much peace and community, is now out of reach. So is my gym, which has been a lifeline for my mental health. The ripple effect of this accident has been devastating—not just financially, but emotionally. I feel like I was already living in hard mode, and now it’s been bumped up to IMPOSSIBLE. My entire routine and everything that brought me a sense of peace and fellowship is now out of reach
Roller skating has been a primary passion for a long time. It’s more than just a hobby—it’s a lifeline, a connection to joy, and a deep link to my mom, who was also a skater & got me into it. The very last thing my family did together before the fire was go to the roller rink for family night. Every time I lace up my skates, I feel close to them. While a few events pop up nearby, the skating crew and roller rink I’m part of in downtown San Diego. is nearly 30 miles away. Having the freedom to join rollouts and stay connected with that community has been one of the few bright lights in my life. The thought of getting through this summer without it, on top of everything else I’m facing, is heartbreaking—but it’s becoming my reality unless something changes.
Before everything started crashing down, I had been working quietly toward a lifelong dream: to transfer with one of the hotels I work at to New Zealand on a temporary work visa, and get involved in local eco-projects—specifically coral restoration, something I’ve been passionate about for a decade. I finally got my scuba certification, saved up for my passport, and started taking real steps after a long hiatus brought on by the loss of my family. For years, the grief and survival mode put everything on pause. But just as I started putting the pieces back together and finding hope again, everything fell apart—again. San Diego is now the #1 most expensive city in the country it's difficult for anyone even with support, let alone hqmaving none on a consistent basis.
I’m not someone who likes to ask for help. I should have sooner, but now I feel there is no choice. I’m asking for help to cover:
$1,000 for the other driver’s deductible
$1,500 to clear my parking tickets and renew my registration
Funds toward a reliable used vehicle so I can rebuild my life and access my jobs, my basics needs, my healing spaces, and my sanity
It's terrifying to be so open about everything, especially my past. There are so many people in my life that I've never mentioned any of this to you because I don't want to be pitied or looked at differently. It's taken me years to open up to so many close friends. Somehow it feels easier to open up to those who don't yet know me, but it's still difficult.
If you’ve ever felt like you were doing your absolute best just to stay upright, then I hope you understand where I’m coming from. I’m not asking for a handout—I’m asking for a second chance at stability.
If you’re unable to help financially, emotional support is just as meaningful right now. Words of encouragement, healing, or simply letting me know I’m not invisible go a long way. If you’d like to reach out, I’d love to hear from you.
I'm sharing my Instagram here: @ditzynerd
Thank you for reading this. Thank you for seeing me. And thank you, deeply, if you’re able to help in any way.
With gratitude,
Darian
