Sliding Down Towards Inevitability

I remember watching the BBC version of CS Lewis' The Silver Chair.  Watching Polly sliding down all that scree into a dark oblivion, without knowing what awaited her at the bottom.  I'm probably getting the facts wrong, it's been awhile, but the emotional memory is what I'm referencing.  I feel as though I am in the same place, going where I must, but feeling like it's leading me to certain doom.  Here I am, standing on the precipice of my life decisions, and I've decided to jump.  A few months back, I quit my job to go full-time as a freelancer.  The job was toxic, so I don't regret quitting.  The salary was meager, so the money is about the same.  Now, I am stuck here believing God has brought me this far, trying to trust his provision, but just not seeing it.  At least, not in the ways I want to see it.  He has provided for me in the funniest ways concerning my apartment, a place that I have tried to maintain as a refuge of the Peace of the Holy Spirit for whenever I have visitors.  I think my biggest fear right now is that I'm doing something completely wrong, my finances will go further south, and I will lose everything here he's brought into my life.  Once again, I feel a carrot being dangled in front of my face.
I suppose I feel stuck.  Getting a desk job is not only damn near impossible in this city, but it also feels like "going back to Egypt" (which is a Biblical phrase referring to the Israelites and their fears of leaving familiarity to head to the promised land).  Getting a part time job in this city is also something that is damn near impossible, because they never have sustainable income (when combined with another job, hence the leaving of the previous job).  I'm not sure what to do or where to go, except forward.  I've sent an agency submission to my first choice, and I haven't heard back yet (oh THAT'S what this is coming from).  It could be up to a month, of what? me sitting on my arse and waiting while I'm ungainfully underemployed?  Going forward at this moment feels like when I had my thyroidectomy.  I had to dress myself in those scrubs, clothes which might have been the last ones I ever wore if they screwed something up.  I had to climb up on that table and expose my neck, knowing it would be slit open in only a matter of minutes.  One botched move, and the surgeon could have taken away my ability to sing or speak ever again (I've probably mentioned this before, sorry/too bad).  But the only thing I could do was go forward, and trust that they knew what they were doing.  As it turns out, the surgeon did such an amazing job, I get wide-eyed incredulity from ultrasound techs.  When Polly slid to the bottom of that underground hill, there was a race of friendly (although glum) people who protected her (sort of, eventually, whatever).  Please, dear God, let this have the same positive result.  I don't need the approval of this agency or any other, I just need to know that I won't lose this sense of refuge that you've put in my heart here.  I want the Peace to dwell in my heart as I live here and look around at the ways in which you've provided, but I fear so deeply to lose it because you won't provide in a way that helps me keep it.  I've longed for a Home for so long, call me a materialist if you like.  It's not about the things, it's about you providing them and then taking them away from me.  You know I don't need more abandonment and confusion.  I guess I'm looking for some hope to hang on to.