Technically the first time I moved houses was when I was less than a year old. This was due to the house I was born in burning down. After this it took a while for the new house to be built, forcing the entire family to stay in temporary housing on the farm premises.
After that the concept of 'moving houses' was very alien to me, however. Until 2003, that is, when my parents divorced and I found myself living in a small house in a nearby city together with my mother and younger brother. Half a year later we'd move again.
Then after a while I moved to Canada for a short while, returned to the Netherlands, stayed for a month in one place, three years in another, was forced to leave, found a new place, but tried to commit suicide before I could move into the run-down, super-expensive place I had found.
I stayed at my mother's place while I recovered from that ordeal, found a job, moved into an apartment which I shared with this other woman (see recent blog post), was forced to leave due to domestic violence, had all of my belongings stolen. I stayed first at my mother's place, then at my older brother's place, then briefly in Germany, then again at my mother's place for a while until I decided to move to Germany permanently.
There in Germany the first place I had rented was inhabitable, so I stayed at my employer's office, at a colleague's place, a student's place, another colleague's place, then ended up at my current apartment.
And now I'm being forced to leave this apartment.
The ironic thing I guess is that even though the owner of this apartment hates me and is fine with me drinking polluted water, shivering during winters from the poor insulation, suffer through noise pollution, I do not think that I can find anything better.
Back in 2012 when I sought a place to rent in the Netherlands I could still do this research myself. In 2013 I noticed that when I tried to find a place in Germany, I began to feel suicidally depressed when doing so. I still have this problem today.
What do I have to look forward to in trying to find a new place anyway? I won't find anything better. Nobody will just hand me that One Perfect Place. Shivering from cold, ignoring the noise while drinking polluted water and having people get upset at you for renting a place larger than one 'needs', this seems to be the best one can do.
This seems to be all that I am worth.
I do not want to search for a better place which likely doesn't exist. I don't want to start feeling suicidal again when I see how much I will have to compromise on again just to not be homeless. Being happy and feeling like one has a home aren't even considerations. This is all about raw survival, about not living on the streets, about not losing one's possessions again and to not want to just end this endless suffering called 'life'.
And that, in short, is why all I can do is hope and pray that a miracle happens in my current housing crisis. The only miracle which will come from my side is organising the moving company and packing up my belongings for yet another move. I wish, but do not believe, that a house exists in this area where I can actually feel safe and happy.
Depending on how things go, I may end up losing all hope and just wander into the streets one day, never to return to this life again. Just leave and walk. Until I die somewhere, alone and unloved, as a fitting conclusion to the utter pointlessness of my entire existence.