tell us about all the things you had to live through. show us your battle scars.
what were your reasons for wanting to move out of your parents house, other than just adulting.
or, why'd you have to change up the room mate situation, for good. tell us how fun it was living with your worst nightmare and be #relatable, like this guy
at first I wanted to watch this video to make sure *I'm* not the bad room mate.
and then, as I was getting through it I realized, this is my mom and dad lol
and I suddenly felt validated in wanting to leave.
for a while my parents just, didn't understand it. (years). why I wanted my own place.
it's a perfectly normal thing, for someone 18and up, to want to have an inch of independence but, to them this was like, abnormal and wasn't justified.
but suddenly I realized, no- I'm not crazy. they're actually difficult people to live with.
aside from, our own personal history. just, the way they are as people is difficult to live with.
we don't gel well as personalities. they don't treat me that great, at all. and it's basically like I'm not even there when it comes to consideration or empathy- these things don't exist for them.
I guess it never occurred to them, I'm a human being too and- things that bother me, I should be allowed to speak up about...
like hey, when you let dishes pile up in the sink to the point of getting maggots, e.coli, and salmonella- and flies- maybe we should, try and I don't know- do the dishes- instead of just leaving them in the sink to turn into science experiments. not only is it revolting- but, I'm the one who has to do them because no one else does.
it was a price to pay for living there, but the problem was, there was many prices. not only personal ones, that sucked but. the little things too.
like, my parents, are secretly nudists. at home, apparently. and underwear and bras, that's usually strewn about- along with dirty towels and clothes. and- while we're at it, let's just pile all the clean clothes onto of it so we can't tell what's dirty and clean.
oh but when the laundry piles up- it's my fault right.
living with the thick layer of dust that collects on our counters, the home that is as dirty as a barn- on the floors. the toilets and bath tubs that are so old they are rotting out of their pipes and coming unglued from our floors- the chipping tiles, the leaking ceilings, the disgusting shaving cream/hair/and toothpaste concoction left on every bathroom counter and sink- along with my mothers unkept hair brushes. oh and that's only the beginning.
my mother, is a slob. she's used to operating in chaos and dysfunction- so she pours messed onto the counters, all over the coffee bar area, and explodes things on the stove and microwave, and then just leaves it there. she leaves open every cabinet. she lets mayanoisse sit out for 5 days- and then puts it back in the fridge, so we never really know what's expired or not. and the fridge- is like jumanji. sometimes, we have ants running up the walls.
I come home, to poo, pee, and vomit- on my bed, and floors. sometimes on my clothes or homework for an added bonus. before doing my homework, I would sweep off the layers of disgusting cat hair and dandruff grossness, nails, etc. right off the table and then sit and do my work there. and island of cleanliness and oragnizeion- but not for long.
in the other room, we have my dad clipping his toe nails, in his underwear- and talking loudly on the phone while watching football and screaming at the TV. the beers are collecting everywhere, and little pieces of trash and napkins are left, by him like a trail. along with food crumbs and, whatever else. it's not a problem until your pet swallows it.
I asked him to be considerate of that but- never. he slams doors, and runs into you- because he doesn't care if you're in the way.
if you hurt yourself, there is no apology- even though it was his fault for knocking your head into the wall for the 85th time with his giant shoulder.
He taught me best, all the reasons manly men, are so, undesirable.
And my mother, lets her stinky feet soak into the living room couch, while she scrolls through her phone. While I clean the messes she left in the kitchen, and the poo and piss on the floor.
and the worst part is, they only notice you or talk to you, when you least want it- and about the topic you least want to talk about. so anything, argumentative or, hostile, complaining, bitchy, angry. why didn't you get groceries? where is your homework? who is this Sarah girl? do you have a Tumblr? why won't you give me your email password. make your bed. you're a slob. you're a mess. you're a bitch. no wonder no one likes you- you'll never have any friends. you'll work at mcdonalds the rest of your life. you're worthless. you're a cunt. you're a faggot, a carpet munching motherfucker. and- fuck you, you retard- it's all your fault.
and then, at night, my favorite part comes. where mom and dad argue! over what? who fucking knows. but it usually starts in the dining room, then we have a part 2 in the living room halfway though a movie. and then we have the slamming of doors and mom walks out, dad blames me. and then when she comes back, they fight in the hallway and it moves to the bedroom. the doors keep slamming. mom threatens to kill herself. dad blames me again, trying to involve me now- to clean up her emotions for her. the screaming keeps going, the crying is endless. and I'm expected to empathize. until they finally have enough sense to seperate themselves. and mom leaves again, to a hotel or, sleeps on the couch. and every time she leaves she says she's never coming back, or she might kill herself, or set the house on fire.
sometimes, I had the courage to bang on the wall beside their bedroom and ask them to please shut the hell up. or creep in their door, "can you keep it down, I'm trying to sleep."
but, after years of that, you just learn to invest in really good head phones and they become your best friend. and you also learn not to give a fuck, and to be unphased by mad bull shit.
so fights break loose in the kitchen or at dinner, wherever, you and you just slip off to the bathroom and text your friends, "lol, parents fighting again." and sneak out the window. they pick you up and you go out at night, and don't come back for a while. because it's easier just not to be there when it happens.
oh but when you come back, at 4am or, maybe the next day, maybe two days. they're still fucking fighting, and they never notice you were even gone.
and they wonder why I wanted to move out.
my dads anger got the best of him, everyday. and if my mom wasn't getting the brunt of it- or some random dude on the phone he was screaming at? or his brother, or mother. it would be me. I know his reactions, I learned them like the back of my hand so when he starts yelling, or my mom too- I immediately hide electronic devices. because those are the first things to get cracked in half with a sledge hammer. then, I brace myself to run, start putting on shoes. planning to escape when I get the chance. then I back myself up against a wall- so he can't throw me into it. which, he usually does get to that part rather quick. or if they leave the room really fast- I know it's because they're getting something to hit me with. with my mom I just try to make it to my car as quickly as possible, when I was old enough to have one. so I just start looking for my keys when it starts. quietly. and then bolt as fast as I can. Because if I don't, she chokes me, or hits me in the face. starts throwing my stuff around for dramatic effect. so I take whatever I value most with me in a purse, grab my backpack etc. run to a friends house. I learned to always have a bag like that, all my shit together. I still do it now as an adult living on my own, out of habit. I just don't feel right, if I don't have a go bag packed. even though it's only rarely come in handy.
they chase me out to my car and I just close it really fast and drive away. just like you mom. learned from the best!
hahah #when you have issues lol
they also had no sense of personal space or boundaries so, they removed the door on my bedroom at one point.
and I learned to keep my devices wiped. my email clear. all messages cleared, or only using messaging apps and even those kept clear.
I stopped telling them who my friends were. stopped saving contacts. made my social media a facade.
kept my entire life basically secret. if not it was just, fuel for fire. I learned to keep everything a certain way, and it was safest that way.
it took years to stop being so meticulous about keeping my devices perfectly pristine and everything that I owned being so perfectly organized. a control freak, essentially.
that way, if a book was moved or, my closets clothes were moved around. I knew what they went around in that day. not a shoe out of place. I put something onto of my laptop in a certain way. if it was moved, I knew they had opened it and gone through it.
just little things like that.
it also taught me though to do the same to them. I became equally if not more so sneaky than they were. Hiding behind corners listening to phone calls or watching conversations with friends and employees. Checking their emails, their mail, their bills- and then resealing things. Looking through their bags. Their drawers.
I don't know why but, yeah this compulsion continued when I had new room mates, and I had to re-learn boundaries, and normalcy. Like, in my first serious relationship I didn't understand it wasn't normal to be yelled at, hit, controlled. I didn't understand it wasn't normal, to fight like we did screaming at the top of our lungs at each other, and that he had to control- my devices, my computer, my phone, my social media he had to own me, I couldn't have my own car, I couldn't go places without him, and if he hurt me no matter how bad- it was always my fault. and this was all very normal to me. fearing the people who love and hold closest, and being subject to them, their terror, their narcissism and their control was a comfort zone to me, and feeling like a doormat, never registered because I had no idea what level I was supposed to be respected on, and had none for myself, no self worth and no intrinsic value. I barely had a sense of identity, because iw as so busy pleasing others. I never got a chance to make my own life.
because my life was constantly criticized and every move was wrong, and it was all on show for, my tyrannical inconsiderate narcissistic, emotionally, physically abusive parents.
no matter what I did as well, it was never good enough so I had this insanity, where I put too much pressure on myself to be perfect, and even when I *was*, it wasn't. Enough. It never ever was enough, and I'd over work and stress myself to the point beyond human capacity, and still blame myself when I was burnt out and couldn't possibly work anymore. I'd tell myself I wasn't tough enough, good enough, smart enough, capable enough. My therapist is like, dude you're like, really smart you're a great student and you have all this stuff going for you and you're a good person. But, in my eyes it wasn't that way... I thought I was a terrible person somehow. And that all the work I did amounted to just the bare minimum, compared to, what I could be doing. Unfortunately I had to learn how to stop being like this, the hard way- by working myself to a point of basically mental breakdown one year in college. I was more accomplished than anyone in my family, and most people I knew- but for me, I was just the runt of the litter. I still struggle with this delusion like, believing you're, the worst employee when really you're excellent. That you do everything wrong, that you suck. And then they compliment you on your work and you're confused, like, do they pity me? Because someone actually appreciating you, is so confusing. Same with love. They don't really mean that. Any excuse in my head can be made for that, but love? No, they don't really mean that. It doesn't register, it *can't* with me.
I got used to having no control- so I developed a "control me" syndrome along with a sort of passive personality. That was, lazy and, lethargic, and, depressing. I gravitated toward people who told me what to do, how to act, how to think. Because I was just so used to not being allowed to decide for myself how to act or how to be. I had no opinions of my own, I had no political views, I didn't even know, what my favorite food was? Or what my style was, in clothes, just little things like that.
I had no boundaries, I had no idea how to say no. I had no self worth, this was something I had to learn, at the age of 22. How I'm supposed to be treated. How people are supposed to act. And when they don't, it's not your fault- it's just wrong.
And when I was particularly young, I was even confused about a sense of what right and wrong was. I was also disillusioned in that, I believe I deserved the abuse that was given to me and I thought it was normal. To be blamed for things. To come home and be beaten for a zero on a homework assignment. It's my fault right, I didn't do the homework. I genuinely thought, everyone's parents hurt them or reacted with intense anger every time you don't do an assignment. I really thought that's how the world worked. At 14 years old. Not five. Fourteen.
I had to be told by a fucking therapist that I didn't deserve to be treated that way. I didn't know I felt anything about it, until tears just started coming out and I didn't know why or how or what place in me this emotion was coming from. But I cried, so much.
I thought it was just from all the pressure I was under you know. It was a lot. But yeah uh, it came from something much deeper than that, which is that, when you're a human being not being treated right, and you're a child. That shit hurts. But because it was like, so much- I just naturally developed this weird ability to like, not notice it. If I did have feelings about it, they weren't there- not to my knowledge.
It was like, oh ok, my dad just beat me senseless with a bat and then spit on me, and I think may have a minor concussion. Hm. I guess I'm just going to play animal crossing now, and think about something else. *scrolls through Tumblr listening to music*
Or, I'm too sore to walk at school right now, but, when someone asks you why you're limping you just naturally say, "eh, I fell earlier hah." because the real story is too long.
The worst thing though that made me go the most crazy wasn’t being beaten and hurt or screamed at or verbally abused and blamed for things
it wasn’t their control or abusing boundaries, or their neglect of my physical and emotional needs or their lack of compassion and consideration
it wasn’t that you made excuses for them or blamed yourself, or the lasting impression that had on you in life.
it was the feeling of isolation and entrapent that was the most damaging and the most difficult to overcome mentally. During it- and, the permanent lasting effects of that sort of trauma.
Being held in a room against your will, that will make you really crack. Especially when it’s done in such a menacing way.
Tldr all the way but maybe they didn't want you to move out initially because you didn't have a job and they'd have to pay for the apartment you'd get. You sure love complaining about your parents, I wish there was more to your personality other than "my parents are mmmbad, I'm gay," and "i need to type about my trauma 24/7 just in case you guys missed it."
Make and post more music you inbred Tumblr fuck
Tldr all the way but maybe they didn't want you to move out initially because you didn't have a job and they'd have to pay for the apartment you'd get.
She has a hella disgusting entitled attitude. I woulda dropped her off on the side of the road like a dog.
You sure love complaining about your parents, I wish there was more to your personality other than "my parents are mmmbad, I'm gay," and "i need to type about my trauma 24/7 just in case you guys missed it."
But she's also entitled, that's a personality thing I guess
