Living Without a Basement in Rural Iowa

I’m too poor to protect myself from a tornado. Period. End of story.

I can’t afford to buy a house. Houses have basements. Apartments do not have basements. Or storm shelters. Or anything. I live in a tiny apartment building from the ‘70s. Two floors. It’s basically made of matchsticks and drywall. It shakes and makes ominous cracking sounds in the slightest gust.

I live in constant fear. I know I will die in this place. I know that it will kill me. But I’m too poor to afford anything more.

I can’t get my fear under control because I know it’s completely rational. My priorities are correct, and everyone who disagrees with me is stupid and wrong. I need a basement. I’m not safe without one. But I cannot have one. Ever. I have seen therapist after therapist and they all stare at me blankly when I explain that my greatest fear is dying in a tornado and I have no basement. They have a basement so they don’t care and they can’t empathize with someone who doesn’t, and even if they could, there’s nothing they can do for me anyway.

Whenever there’s a tornado warning, I lose my fucking mind. I have a massive panic attack. My heart rate goes up to 180 and stays there until the storms are past. Then I have chest pain for days afterward. I take beta blockers every day. I slam down clonazepam the moment there’s a severe storm warning. It doesn’t matter. Nothing dulls the fear. Nothing slows my heart rate. Because my fear is real and justified. And at the heart of it, I’m deeply, deeply angry at the world and my parents and myself for leaving me in a situation where I can never protect myself from this inevitability.

It’s only a matter of time before they’re pulling my mangled body from the rubble, or I die of a massive heart attack before they have the chance.

And I have no idea what to do.

What can I possibly do?