Rachel Wilson — крутилось 1 дн, охват 387

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My name’s Rachel. I’m 31. I live in Croydon, in a damp old house near Thornton Heath. I don’t rent a flat — I rent a room. Tiny. About six and a half square metres. Mould in the corners, window hasn’t opened in years. Three housemates I barely even speak to. I work at Wetherspoon — The Moon Under Water on the High Street. Big place. Always smells like spilled lager, old carpet and fryer grease. My shifts are 3pm till close. Most nights that means half one in the morning, ‘cause someone’s gotta wipe tables, clear broken glasses and deal with drunk people who won’t leave. £11.85 an hour, plus rubbish tips. On a good month — when it’s busy — I take home about £1,600–£1,700. Haven’t had one of those months in ages. Bills are suffocating me: Room — £645 (bills included, but the mould’s still mine to deal with) Council tax & bits — £97 Phone & internet — £58 Travel — £81 Food — £235 (I’ve basically been living on oats, rice and cheap pasta… haven’t had meat in ages) Netflix — £9 (shared) Toiletries & sanitary stuff — £22 Medication — £28 Random expenses — £60 (there’s always something) What’s left? £180… maybe £200 if I’m lucky. Some months I pay rent and I’ve got £90 for everything. I’ve been on my own for three years and eight months. Since Dan left. He didn’t shout. Didn’t hit me. Just said one day: “Rachel… you’ve become like a shadow. I’m tired of it.” And he left. I stayed. With two bags and that feeling… like I’d been thrown away. Since then, every night I come home barely able to stand. Take off my black Wetherspoon shirt — soaked through, stinking of beer and smoke. Chuck it in the corner. Sit on my worn-out bed and just stare at the wall. Sometimes I cry. Quietly. So no one hears. I’m 31. I don’t even have £1,000 saved. If my phone breaks — I lose my job. If I get ill — I lose the room. If rent goes up even £30 — I’m on the street. The fear never leaves. It sits in your chest. Tightens your throat at night. Wakes you up at stupid times. 3:47am. I