When a screaming man who appears to be under the influence of methamphetamine walks into your home on a Sunday afternoon, you reassess the “need” vs “want” ratio in your life.

For example, I used to “want” a dog.

Now, thanks to meth mouth McGee, I need one. Not just any dog, mind you. I’m talking about a mean, snarling hound. If it can’t eat seven fat babies for Sunday brunch, it doesn’t merit consideration. I want Cujo on steroids, the hound of the Baskervilles on amphetamines, Marley and Me’s evil junkyard doppelganger fresh off a two to three year prison stretch for assault with a deadly weapon.

I’m not even going to give it a name. I’ll just call it “dog” to avoid familiarity with known and wanted gang members.

But seriously, folks. The experience threw my false sense of security out the window. My first year of living off campus, I felt perfectly safe…for the first month. During the second month, people started shooting each other in my backyard. Prostitutes started hanging out behind the local gas station, gang members had brawls in my parking lot and the house directly behind mine was robbed. My car was broken into twice.

By December of the same year, two of my friends had been mugged less than a block away. I started carrying a knife on my belt.

Thankfully, I never had to use it. When the lease was up, I moved to a new townhouse on the other side of town. The neighbors were kind and friendly, the housing was fairly isolated and a day care facility was across the street. Once again, I felt perfectly safe…for the first month.

During the second month, I learned that the house a few doors down had already been robbed twice already. The second time they’d taken everything, from the extension cords to the dirty clothes. They even took the time to burn a gang symbol into the living room carpet with bleach.

In the third month, someone urinated down my window well, through my open window and onto my bed. Month four brought the arrest of a convicted pedophile who had been hanging around the day care.

Finally, in my last semester at NIU, a man who appeared under the influence of meth walked into my living room. Screaming and gesturing wildly, his shirt was covered in blood and paint. He had a hospital wristband and open sores all over his face.

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon and I was surrounded by textbooks and notes. I had six hours of homework ahead of me and a paper to write before going to bed early so I could wake up in time for one of my three jobs.

And an apparent meth addict walked into my living room.

It is beyond ridiculous to ask anyone to live in such an environment, college student or otherwise. The simple fact of the matter is this: I do not feel safe here, and at the moment I don’t see any solution.

I’d adopt a dog or buy a gun, but my apartment complex doesn’t allow either.