I always end up coming back to this sense that I will never find peace and that things will never settle down for me. I thought that would change when I moved out, but that has not been the case. I ended up moving in with two coworkers that I'm friendly with (they're in a relationship together) and seemed to have a lot in common with. Well, I knew when we were getting ready to move in that thehouse we're renting was a fixer upper and I was also told that there would be between 5 and 7 cats, and one small dog, depending on who got adopted out. Well, the house looks nicer but thanks to the TWELVE ANIMALS we have living here, it always smells and it's always messy. Not only that, but let's just say that my roommates aren't as tidy as I am…

I have a myriad of health problems, including but not limited to asthma (among other lung complications) and a weakened immune system. It's starting to get cold outside, but I had to close the heater vent in my room because the air coming out of it smells like cat feces and piss. The first time I walked in here to that smell, it felt like my lungs were on fire. Before I moved here, I hadn't been needing me inhaler much, but now I've gone through two just in the past few months! I use it regularly, which makes me weak and tired and really just isn't a healthy habit. One of my roommates has also taken to smoking indoors, even though they are aware of my condition. They open windows in what I assume is an attempt to air the place out, but it all just seems to stay inside anyway. I've had many of my belongings damaged by these animals, had bugs brought into the house by these animals, the house constantly smells to high heavens, I just can't take it.

To make matters worse, I'm living in a very high crime inner city area. When I stay in my neighborhood, I almost get used to it, but then I drive out of town and see how much nicer EVERYWHERE looks compared to where I live. Houses are falling apart, people put most of their furniture on their dilapidated porches because they would rather be outside than live in these nasty shacks, stores are robbed at gun point, gangs congregate in the vacant lot next to my house, etc, etc.Sometimes one of the neighbors takes up the parking spaces in front of my house so I have to park far away and walk home in the dark because the church across the street won't let me use their parking lot in case of once-in-a-blue-moon situations like that.

My roommates aren't going to change their lifestyles for me. I've tried to bring up different issues and they just provide me with short term solutions (locking ALL the cats in the attic together, pooping everywhere and fighting each other) or buy me things. They beat around the bush when it comes to any sort of long term solution. I need to get out of here, but I can't afford to go anywhere else. I work so much that I can't even go back to school, and yet I don't make enough to live anywhere other than here. None of my friends or loved ones are looking into moving out or getting a roommate, so there's no one I can split rent with and I just can't afford this on my own. I'm so sick and tired of having nowhere to go.

All of this is just geting me more and more depressed. I was hoping the depression would pass and that I'd kick into gear to find a solution, but I can't even bring myself to get out of bed for anything other than work. And even that is a challenge. Only an hour and a half into my 8 hour shift today and I wanted to jump out a window. I moved slow all day, sometimes even just stopping altogether to just stare off into space. The worst part was that I cut myself in the bathroom suring my break, for the first time in over a year of quitting. It was only three small cuts, just barely worse than scratches, but it still makes me feel like a failure. I hate myself for trying it. It was scary, because as I was cutting, I realized I wasn't going to get any satisfaction unless I cut deeper and harder, maybe not being able to stop. Every time throughout my life that I start to cut again after a period of stopping, it's worse than before. If I keep going through that cycle, I may just end up severing my muscles one day. I'm most scared of telling my boyfriend that I did it. I know he won't yell and he won't get mad. But he'll be sad and disappointed, which is even worse. I make him happy and I love knowing that I do- I can't stand thinking that I could let him down.

I just don't know what to do. The more I search for new apartments or try to get in touch with people for room vacancies, the more disappointed and depressed I get. I'm more stuck now that I ever was. Even if my life was at risk when I lived at my parents, at least I had a clean, warm, sanitary place to sleep where all of the utilities and fixtures were functioning. But I can't go through the fear of wondering every day "Will today be the day my brother succeeds in taking my life?" His disease isn't his fault and I will never blame him for his anger, but I also can't live with it.

It's gotten to that point where whenever I try to think of another solution, my mind just takes over and automatically jumps to my stock pile of sleeping pills. It will take over if I don't stop it, but I won't be able to stop it until I get out of this place. Which I can't do.