Abandoning The Beast

I've decided, I'm going to leave. I'm going to move out of the "sick house" I've lived in for the past 5 years, and back out into the real world. I'm not exactly ready, but I'll just plain have to be. Of course the issues I always had will always be there, and I'm no more well equipped to live amongst "normal people" now than I ever was. But I need the shock to the system, and I need to convince myself that I can still keep polite company before the nerves destroy me completely. That and the fact that the birdbrain next door to me is becoming something less than human. He shouts day and night in his sargeant-major voice (he's ex-army), and recently he's started banging with tools (he's building a model railway). Somebody get the man a Jane.

Thing is, there are many obstacles preventing someone like me from getting a "normal" home. Here in the UK private landlords are very reluctant to take tenants who are living off of state benefits, as beurocracy ensures that it takes months for them to get paid, by which time the tenant may well have absconded. And living in cheap shared housing with middle-class graduates isn't really an option, as these people have living standards that I will never be able to live up to. It's kinda hard to justify to an aspiring young professional that you've spent the last 5 years out of circulation, dealing with mental illness. Young professionals can't get their heads around something like that, and nor would I expect them to. And young professionals have a habit of drawing up mental dividing lines between professionals and non-professionals. Mentally ill people are service users; young professionals are service providers. And never the twain shall live under the same roof.

So the more I think about it, the more I realise as much as I ever did that my options are severely restricted. Maybe you think that I'm thinking about it too much, and you're wondering what the worst is that could happen. Well I'll tell you. The worst that could happen is that I move somewhere new without realising what the standards and expectations are. Then it hits me, and I freak out. This scares the tenants, and the landlord throws me out. And if I end up on the streets, it is no exaggeration to say that it will be the death of me. THAT's the worst that can happen. And bearing that in mind, that is probably why I have remained in an unhealthy environment for as long as I have. When I arrived here, I was 5 days away from living on the streets, and I will never forget that. Because when you're living with mental illness, stability and security is a very precious thing.

So while all this tempers the initial enthusiasm about moving, it does inform it somewhat. Much as I would like to believe that I can live under the same roof as healthy productive members of my own generation, the reality is that I can't. So what are my options? Well one-person flats I suppose, but at least I'm now in a position to know what environment would work for me, and make me feel secure and stable. Because I really must abandon the beast next door before he depends on me completely. You are the company you keep, as the happy healthy young professionals would have it. And if I'm living with Tarzan then perhaps I'm becoming less civilised by the day.

Part of me is thinking sod it: take a leap into the unknown and deal with the consequences. Good idea?