Getting Weaker, less able to stay safe.

It’s not the thoughts of suicide that are getting stronger. Not that. But my ability to stay safe that is getting weaker. No proper sleep for months, no proper food for weeks, random and variable support in fighting this landlady who is evicting me. We are to be homeless again, and I am getting weaker and weaker, trying to fight it. Running out of hope. Running out of options. As winter approaches fast, we are faced with sleeping in the car, again. In this life 21st century life, you have to have money to get folk to listen and support. Solicitors, surveyors, anyone. They all listen to this landlady because she has the money to pay them. But no-one listens to me, when I complain I’ve had wet ceilings in the bedroom for over 2.5 years. That I’ve reported and reported, and no-one does anything. So I lose my temper, and get accused of not reporting it. It’s like I am speaking a different language. No-one hears what I say. Have no control over my own life. Getting weaker and weaker.

Tiz only my two little elderly doggies that keep me safe.  Their needs and problems, pull me back.  But one now has dementia so is unlikely to be rehomed.  The other has an ear-splitting bark which many find intolerable.  So, if I take them with me, our pain will be all over.