Tag Archives: roommate

Dis-integrated

C wants me to have a sit-down with my landlady and my roommate.  It makes perfect sense, except…well, I don’t know if I can.

I’m in PTSD hell, and I just can’t deal with anything else right now.  It’s too many triggers all at once–the bar thing last weekend and now this bullshit drama.  And I have nowhere to turn, no way to process any of it.

I know that if we have a meeting, one of two things will happen.  Possibility one: I will switch to a terrified child part who will just apologize and try to make nice or will freeze and shut down because she can’t handle conflict–it’ll all be about avoiding the abuse that comes with conflict.  (I know, the two aren’t always linked, but in this case, roommate has actually been verbally aggressive, even though it was indirect, so this fear is not invalid.)  The other possibility is that I’ll switch to the angry teenage part who will just want to verbally annihilate the roommate and is very well capable of it.  That would be the part who posted the gif post yesterday–the one who’s just like, “Bitch plz.  I am stronger and smarter and a whole lot goddamn scarier than you are, and if you wanna know what a REAL threat looks like, I’ll fucking show you.”

I know that, at this point, given my levels of stress, panic, and dissociation, I won’t be able to stay me without switching.  C asked me today which part of me could deal with the situation, and the truth is there’s nobody.  We’re triggered in different ways and by different aspects of the situation, but we’re all triggered.  That seems to be the way it usually works in my system–the boundaries between us are not rigid, so the responses to situations blur together too.  What affects one of us almost always affects all of us.

It’s times like these that I really need a therapist.  I need someone who can help me sort out the triggers and get all of us more grounded in the present.  I need to be able to integrate the child parts’ desire to be nice and not hurt roommate with the teenage part’s “I’m above this and you can’t hurt me with your stupid drama” sense of self-assurance.  I know they’re parts of me, and I can see them and feel their feelings, but I can’t integrate them into me, and I can’t manage to stay present when I even hear or think about the roommate, so I know I won’t be able to if we sit down face to face.

I know what I need to be able to do to manage this meeting, but I have no idea how to get there.  It feels really hopeless and terrifying right now.

4 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized

Seriously? SERIOUSLY?

So apparently the roommate is also Facebook-stalking me.  I vented about the situation and made a snarky comment to the effect of, “If you hear a news story about someone in my town who murdered her roommate, that’ll be me.”  Roommate and I are NOT Facebook friends, but she texted me some bullshit about how that’s illegal and she was only talking about it because her mom thought the apartment was gross.

BITCH PLEASE.

I used to do legal research for a defense attorney, so do you really want to get in a law fight with me?  REALLY?  Please, do call the cops.  I’d LOVE to see them laugh their asses off at you.
10millionhearyourstupid
See, it’s not actually a crime unless I actually intended to murder you or I intended to intimidate you.

Clearly I didn’t actually intend to murder you.  I mean, please, go through my Facebook and count up all the other people I’ve said I wanted to kill.  It ranges from members of Congress to my immediate family to people who walk on my side of the sidewalk.  All those people are still alive.  See, for it to be a crime, there has to be both mens rea (“the thought of the thing;” basically, intent to commit a crime) and actus reus (“the act of the thing,” or an actual criminal act).  I definitely didn’t have actus reus, and I could probably argue successfully that I didn’t even have mens rea, since I never actually intended to hurt you or anyone else.  I could also name off the top of my head at least a dozen people who’d testify to the fact that I’ve said in person that I wanted to/was going to kill them but who didn’t feel threatened.  Obviously they’re all still alive too.
nothowitworks

As for intimidation, you’d have a hell of a time proving that one in court, too.  My Facebook post was public, yes, but since we’re not Facebook friends and you’ve never mentioned your Facebook usage to me, I had no reason to believe that you’d see it.  See, I don’t feel the need to check up on what people I’m not Facebook friends with me are saying about me.  That’s normal.  Facebook-stalking your roommate isn’t.

I vented on Facebook specifically because I didn’t think you’d see it.  Unlike you, I have some basic consideration of other people’s feelings, even when they aren’t people I actually like.  If I’m not going to talk to them directly about what they’re doing that’s bothering me, I don’t pull passive-aggressive bullshit and scream about it where they can obviously hear it.  I deal with my frustrations in venues where I can reasonably assume that they won’t hear so as not to hurt their feelings while I deal with mine.  If you go searching for it, then that’s your fault.  It’s not my responsibility to protect you from unpleasant things you might discover while stalking someone.
fuckinnope
finger

I’m just so fucking far past done with this bullshit.  It takes a lot to get me really angry, but once I’m there…well, it’s not pretty.  I would never physically hurt anyone, but I can be pretty mean verbally.  It’s not a part of myself I like most of the time, but it is useful at times.  And once I’ve been pushed far enough that I no longer give a single fuck, which is where I am now…well, if she wants to start a fight, I’m goddamn well gonna finish it.

lastfuckigive
soilooklikeicare

I have so many other appropriate gifs.  Maybe I’ll do a whole recap of this post using only West Wing gifs because that demonstrates exactly how many shits I give about this.

Actually, I’m bouncing back and forth between “LOL this is is so ridiculous it’s funny” and “It’s not safe and I have nowhere to go that is safe, so I have to kill myself right now.”  It’s lots of fun, lemme tell ya.

10 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized

Can’t Take It Anymore

I’m in a serious crisis.  My roommate is in the kitchen screaming about me to her mother, and it’s taking EVERYTHING that I’ve got in me not to just kill myself right now.  I need to pee, but I can’t even come out of my bedroom.  I’m afraid to be in my own house.  It’s so bad that the only way out I can see is to kill myself.  I know I’m not rational right now, and I’m really trying to stay in control, but I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to.

I’ve called and emailed C and asked her to get in touch with me as soon as humanly possible, but I don’t know if she’s even working today since it’s a holiday.  She doesn’t have a cell phone, and she doesn’t have internet at home–so if she’s not at work today, then she won’t get my messages until tomorrow.  I don’t think I can make it that long.  Even if she does call me, I can’t say very much because Roommate might overhear.

I also texted the landlady and told her I need to talk about the roommate situation ASAP, but I haven’t heard back from her yet either.  She’s probably working too.

I even left a message for my case manager, but she only works Wednesday through Sunday.  Besides, her answer is just going to be to hospitalize me, which won’t help.  I mean, it gets you away from the immediate situation, but then you get out and you’re right back in the same situation.

I don’t know what to do.  I’m seriously falling apart, and I don’t have anywhere else to turn.  Even if I thought a suicide hotline would answer, I’d be afraid to call because Roommate could hear me.

7 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized

Triggers

Sorry I’ve been absent.  I have been/still am really triggered, and I haven’t been able to read–blogs or anything else longer than a few sentences.  Still really struggling and not sure I’ll be able to write coherently.

See, Thursday we went to Boston for a post-election party.  I thought it was just going to be the party, an overnight at someone’s place in Boston, and then home.  Instead it turned into bar-hopping with the campaign staff.  If you’re thinking that sounds like fun, you’re wrong.  See, alcohol is a trigger for me because my father was often drunk when he abused me.  Between the UC and the meds, I can’t drink.  Well, everybody else is getting fucking wasted, and they just leave me sitting in a corner by myself for hours, not even talking to me.  I told my RFD that I’m not physically capable of running all around Boston, and it was raining to boot.  Usually he’s really considerate about my limitations, but that night, he really didn’t seem to give a shit.  Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just that it was his last night with the rest of the campaign staff.  Whatever it was, he basically treated me like I didn’t matter–I got dragged to four different bars, and predictably, I eventually fell on a slick sidewalk at 1:30 in the morning and couldn’t get up for several minutes.  Oh, and for most of the time we were bar-hopping, our 20-year-old intern was just left sitting in his car because she couldn’t get into the bars.  I wanted to go sit with her instead, but my RFD made me stay because his phone was dead, and he needed my GPS to find our way back to where the car was parked.

In the second bar, while I was sitting alone in the corner, the only sober person, this drunk businessman in a nice suit comes over and starts hitting on me.  Then he grabbed my breast, and I just froze.  I just sat there and let him.  I have extensive martial arts experience, and even though I’m not physically capable of as much as I used to be, I could’ve gotten away from him.  If nothing else, I could’ve hit him with my cane.  But I didn’t do any of that.  I didn’t say no, I didn’t say stop.  I just sat there and let him do it.

Now I really hate myself.  It’s just like with my father.  I mean, okay, when I was a kid, there wasn’t really anything I could do about it.  Even as I got a little older, he had me believing that he’d kill me if I fought or if I told anyone, and I didn’t have the reasoning skills to realize he wouldn’t have gotten away with that–he’s really just not smart enough.  So back then, I had an excuse.  But I let it go on when I was old enough that I knew he wouldn’t kill me and I really could’ve stopped him.  I mean, I was 19 the last time he raped me.  There’s no excuse for that.  I just let him.  If I’d fought or said no, he probably would’ve stopped, but I never did.  So that’s on me.

Now I just want to tear myself to shreds.  I want to cut my breasts off–I never wanted them anyway, and if I did that, no one would want to touch me.  I’m also really struggling with sexual self-harm urges.  It’s something I used to do but haven’t in a long time.  But I can’t stop the flashbacks and the body memories, and it would put me back in control.  I know how fucked-up that is, but sometimes it’s the only thing that works.  If I do something worse that any of them ever did to me, then what they did can’t hurt me anymore.

And on top of everything else, my roommate is being horrible.  I came home to a gross apartment–mold in my microwave, a half-empty beer on the kitchen counter, an unflushed toilet, and sopping wet washcloths and a giant hairball in the bathtub.  I just pulled the washcloths and hairball out of the tub and dumped them on the bathroom floor, and this morning, she pitched a hissy fit over it, stomping around and slamming doors and shit.  (Another big trigger, on top of all the other triggers.)  I’m sorry, but you’re fucking 29 years old, and I’m not your goddamned maid.  I pay rent too.  I don’t mind messiness–books and papers and stuff sitting around is not a big deal, but I don’t want fucking mildew growing in my bathroom or mold growing in my kitchen.  In general, I don’t want things growing in my living space.  (Although right now growing some pot for myself sounds pretty ideal.)  How fucking hard is it to dump out the rest of your beer or to hang up your fucking washcloths?  But EVERY FUCKING DAY when I go to take a shower, there they are.  I don’t leave my shit for you to clean up, and you have the goddamn nerve to pitch a fit when I move your messes somewhere obvious as a reminder that maybe you should, you know, be a fucking adult and clean them the fuck up?  Bitch, get on the NOPE train to Fuckthatville.

My landlady is away for the weekend, but I’m thinking about talking to her about this when she gets back.  I’m hesitant to do that on the one hand, because I feel like we’re both adults and should handle our own problems.  But on the other hand, I’m so triggered by her screaming and slamming doors and stomping around that I literally CAN’T deal with it like an adult because I dissociate and switch, either to a terrified child or a really aggressive teenager (hence all the swearing in the last few paragraphs), neither of which is good for dealing with a tense situation.  Plus, if I do want to kick her out, I’m going to have to go through my landlady because Roommate is on the lease now.  I’m not even sure I legally CAN kick her out.  I just know I can’t deal with much more of this.  I’ve been taking photos of the grossness when it happens as documentation, but I’m not sure what the laws are.  I just know I can’t live like this.  I spend a lot of my time afraid to come out of my room when she’s home because I will snap if she starts yelling or bitching at me.  I just have so much other shit to deal with that I really cannot deal with hers on top of everything else.

19 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized

Hypersensitive?

I don’t know if I’m being hypersensitive or if my roommate is being a passive-aggressive asshole.  Or possibly some of both.

I know I tend to be overly sensitive, especially with people who’ve triggered my PTSD.  Once I’m in that state of heightened alert, everything seems like a potential threat.  I know I’ve been wound up more than usual since her screaming-on-the-phone-and-banging-around-for-hours thing a few days ago.  My anxiety’s been through the roof, and my depression has been worse than usual.

Then this morning I get this text: “Not to be a pain or anything cuz I’m sure your [sic] busy knitting or something but my older sister is stopping by tomorrow night for dinner so I’d appreciate it if there was some type of usable communal space on the counters or living area so that I can be able to cook and quite frankly I’m not going to make her eat in my bedroom.”

I’ll ignore the blatant abuse of the English language here, but this whole thing comes off as really snide to me.

For starters, half the crap on the counters is hers.  Yeah, I had some empty boxes and stuff, but that took all of about 30 seconds to get rid of.  I’ll wash the dishes I left out.  No big deal.  Meanwhile, has she cleaned up any of her stuff off the counter?  NOPE.  Has she even taken the trash or recycling out a single time?  NOPE.

biden_cameralook

I told her from the get-go that I’m disabled and can’t always do a lot around the house.  I never made that any kind of secret.  In the three weeks she’s been living here, I’ve had three doctors’ appointments and an ER visit, so it’s not like she doesn’t know I’ve been sick.  The fatigue has been really bad the last few days, and I’ve barely managed to make it from my bed to the bathroom without passing out.  Doing anything more than that has been virtually impossible.  Still, I cleaned the bathroom last night, on my hands and knees, because it was gross, and I didn’t want her to have to live with it.

This morning, I tried to clean up more, but I had to sit my butt down on the kitchen floor because I was about to pass out.  And if you’ve ever tried to sweep or mop while using a cane, you’ll know that’s pretty much impossible.  So if she wants to floor clean, she can damn well do it herself.  As far as I can tell, she’s done no cleaning since she moved here.  Ordinarily, that’s not a huge deal to me as long as things don’t get gross.  But then she wants to act like it’s all me?

biden_ryan_wtf

(Yes, I think I am going to illustrate this whole post with Joe Biden gifs because of reasons.)

But I think what really got me was the line, “I’m sure you’re busy knitting or something.”  I don’t know how to read that as anything but bitchy and passive-aggressive.

biden_no

Again, this is a case of, “You knew from the get-go that I’m disabled.”  I never hid that.

Most of me wants to jump in with, “Nah, bitch, I’m organizing a third of the state for a fucking election in two weeks, much of which, yes, I do from home.  But that doesn’t mean it’s not fucking real or important.”

But the truth is I haven’t been doing much organizing the last couple weeks because I’ve been too sick and fatigued.  And you know what?  That’s fucking okay.  I don’t have to justify my goddamn existence with what I do.  I get that she has a regular nine-to-five job, and I don’t.  But that doesn’t make me any less of a person.  It doesn’t make me any less worthy of respect or compassion.  Just because I don’t get a paycheck the same way she does doesn’t mean that what I do isn’t also important.

biden_factsmatter

(I do have Biden gifs that aren’t from the 2012 VP debate, but that debate was just so glorious.)

But I have Chronic Nice Girl Syndrome, so I’ll go clean the whole kitchen and living room, do all the dishes, and pretend like none of this bothers me.  I’m so afraid of conflict that I’ll literally sacrifice my health to make Roommate happy.

But after this, I’m done.  She’s done no housework, so I’m not going to either.  Eventually she’ll get the point, or so I hope.  Just because she has a regular job and I don’t, that doesn’t make me automatically responsible for all the cleaning for an apartment we use equally.  If she’s not going to do any work, then I’m sure as hell not going to either, especially since it takes much more of a physical toll on me than it does on her.

biden_dealwithit

23 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized