Sunday, 20 March 2016

Apartments, or: The meaning of life

When pushed a bit, I can probably think of a lot of reasons why I do not care much for the apartment I have lived in the for the past two years, and which I still currently inhabit. Reasons such as the many free holes in the walls and related which makes this place as well-insulated as a sieve:

Even after two years of repairs, the place is still rather shoddy, and borderline lethal:

There's also the issue of the rather rusty waterpipes, which lead to amusing scenes like these:

Less funny and probably even less healthy is whatever that's in the water that has coloured what used to a brand-new water bottle this way after two years:

Not pictured in the above photos is the noise from the heating system, which all too often sounds like this:

And when the heating system is finally quiet, there is nothing like hearing the upstairs neighbour walking around (especially at 1 AM) and relieving themselves with one being able to hear every single, individual droplet because noise insulation is for sissies.

As a result my best friend in bed isn't the book I'm reading at that point, but my earplugs which to me are most precious than gold, even if inserting them and sleeping with them in every night for years on end can be excruciatingly painful sometimes.

Yet some nights even those earplugs cannot keep out the noise from someone stomping around above me head. I truly do hate those nights.

What especially adds to this fun is that I have a post-traumatic stress disorder [1], as well as a sensory integration disorder [2]. The latter prevents me from ignoring and shutting out sounds (over-sensitivity), while the former makes me feel terrified at certain environmental sounds, particularly those caused by humans and mechanical sounds.

Naturally I have tried to find alternative places to live, but as in so many cities, finding an affordable place which is also quiet and well-maintained is about as likely as winning the lottery. Twice. By finding discarded lottery tickets on the street.

The negative repercussion of this - aside from a lack of proper sleep and lots of unnecessary stress with associated physical problems - is a sense of hopelessness: the thought that no matter what else one may accomplish in life, one will still be stuck in an apartment which is terrible for one's psychological and physical health.

It raises the question of what one's life is truly worth if such conditions are deemed suitable to live under, even without the further complications of psychological and similar disorders.



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