Anyhoo, I promised I wouldn't kill myself until I'd spoken to her first. I am trying to hold onto my home and have made an offer to my landlords of a rent I can afford in the hope they will prefer to keep the place occupied, rather than refurbish and let again. They were thinking about it and I have yet to hear. I have an extra bedroom you see. If I sub-let it the council will take the income from that off my housing benefit and the DWP will also take the same amount from my ESA, so I'd actually be twice as badly off. They would allow a joint tenancy and that, I suppose is the next step. I would have to convince my landlords it is worth the hassle for them, and I would also have to find someone I could trust to live with.
Better by far though than what I could afford on my own around here. I've lived in places like that before and I can't go back. Which is where the suicide comes in. Logically I know it is better to survive in a dump than be dead. There's part of me though that won't do it again because I would become terminally depressed with no chance of recovery this time. I've lived with the dealers on the landing, the alcoholics with their fights and chaos, the crazies running amok with a carving knife. The dog shit on the stairs and the constant thump, thump of a sound system somewhere.
I have worked hard to get out of all of that. I've worked hard to be a part of my little community, to keep myself afloat, and to give back. To get out of the lay-by of life and be part of things.
Just heard! My landlords have come back with an offer I can just manage. Just. I was going to delete the above but I'm keeping it there as a reminder never to give up hope.