I'm rather ashamed to admit this, but I have spent the better part of the last year concocting interesting ways to end my life. During my last semester of college, the stress was so great that I'd often spontaneously cry in front of my computer while I did my work. Then I graduated and felt a sense of relief. I moved out of my apartment and into a basement, thankful that I had a job. I was going to be working an early morning shift twice a week, but I assumed I'd get used to it because I believed that one could become used to anything.

After a month or two I began to feel somewhat odd. My sleep schedule had been violently murdered by work; I was awake when I didn't want to be and tired when I shouldn't have been. Since I had to go to bed early to accommodate my schedule, I was unable to hang out with friends very often. The basement I lived in was always dark, and cockroaches crawled all over the place. Before I moved in I was deathly afraid of roaches, but I became accustomed to finding one on the floor, in the bathroom, crawling up the wall or hiding behind picture frames.

I began to dread going to work, especially on the days where I went in at 3 am. I could never get enough sleep; I was always exhausted. I felt isolated in my dark basement and my mental well-being took a turn for the worse. I entered a dark period where I thought about ending my life at least once a week. When the alarm went off each morning, only one thought ran through my head: I can't take this anymore.

Finally, I talked to my bosses about my schedule. I said that I was having an extremely difficult time adjusting to the hours and that I was unsure of how long I could keep working them. After a few months of protesting, they agreed to change my hours in the new year.

On Christmas, it rained heavily. The basement flooded. Water began pooling in the closet in the morning, and by the time I came home from work (yes, I worked on Christmas) the entire carpet squished when I stepped on it. Luckily, my mother was in town for the week so I was able to stay in her hotel room while my room was operated on by industrial fans and carpenters. Shortly thereafter, a friend informed me that she'd just broken up with her fiance and was looking to move out of the apartment they shared.

Now she and I are roommates in an apartment downtown. I awoke on the first morning here and opened my window. Sunlight poured in. I hadn't seen sun crash through a window in six months, and I hadn't realized what a difference it could make in my life. I no longer automatically scan the floor for roaches, and ever since I've been taken off the morning shift, work has become relatively enjoyable. I don't make a lot of money, and that's what prompted me to move into the basement. But now I know that I'd rather pay a little more each month to be greeted by natural light each morning, and I hope to God I never have to kill another roach again.