This is a story about peak stress...
Unsurprisingly I didn't sleep last night. I was too stressed, rehearsing all the arguments that I was going to have with the letting agency and the tenant vetting people, trying to rent a damn apartment. I was thinking about how I was going to react if the worst-case scenario happened: that there's no way that I'm able to rent an apartment because I don't fit neatly in the boxes.
In the morning things were just as bad as I feared. I got an email saying that the only way I was going to be able to rent the apartment was if I paid a whole year's rent in advance - £8,100!
I managed to compose myself and wrote a polite reply explaining that the whole rigmarole was vexatious and I would pay rent in advance if it was a reasonable sum of money, but to ask for an entire year of rent was ludicrous.
To my surprise I received a pleasant reply saying they were doing everything they could to make things happen for me to be able to move in on Saturday, but that I did need to ask my accountant for my tax returns, even though they show I pay no income tax.
With the support and encouragement of a friend, I got my accountant to send over whatever he had. My friend thought that it was just a box-ticking exercise and it didn't matter what was on the documents.
In the afternoon I got an email saying everything was fine with my references and I can sign the tenancy contract and collect the keys on Saturday. Most unexpected.
After having received emails that contained all the words I dreaded - "delay", "can't proceed", "pay 12 months up-front", "no other way" - I was sure the whole thing was doomed to failure. I was extremely distressed. To pay the whole 12 months rent would've wiped out every penny I can lay my hands on and leave me nothing for food, petrol and other living expenses. I thought the ship had sailed. It was a miraculous turnaround.
I feel a little stupid for raising the alarm so early, but I knew that my mood was going to quickly blacken when all avenues had been exhausted and there was no way forward. I wasn't kidding or being melodramatic when I said I was at my wits end. I know it sounds like a disproportionate response, but it's taken so much out of me getting to this point. I can't suffer any major bumps in the road - I just don't have the spare capacity to soak them up.
I can celebrate a little now. I've got my feet under the desk in my new job and I've got confirmation that I'm going to get the keys to my apartment on Saturday. Things are going well. It seems a little crazy that things could've swung in a drastic and deadly direction if my hopes were dashed, but all those sleepless nights add up to complete desperation; unbearable stress and anxiety.
There will be bumps in the road and sleepless nights ahead, but every time I overcome an obstacle life gets a little easier. I'm slowly re-entering civilised society. I'm slowly rebuilding my financial safety cushion that will allow me to deal with bumps in the road.
Of course I feel a little like I've blackmailed the universe to give me what I want. Of course I feel quite like a petulant spoiled brat child who had a big tantrum. I'm a little embarrassed. I don't care, because I need a job and a place to live and other essential things for a normal ordinary modest little life.
I'll believe it when the ink's dry on the contract. I'll believe it when the keys are in my hand. I still haven't been paid from my new job yet, for example. I'll count my chickens when they're hatched.
I'm not being negative. I really am looking forward to moving into the apartment. I can relax a little now. I've paid the rent and the deposit. Perhaps things will work out OK.