Life update.
Living in this household is stressful and aggravating, and exhausting. I had to do it. But-
Living here... is not *easy* for me. It's not *fun* or *enjoyable*
The level of stress here, I can feel it in my chest. The tension in my face and my shoulders. I'm constantly uncomfortable. And exhausted, from the psychological and emotional toil it reeks on me.
Yes, I'm grateful. But, the reality is- this isn't where I *thrive* to say the least.
I waste so much of my time and energy, trying to compensate or cope with the discomfort of living here- rather than, being progressive and happily living my life.
Is this partly, my decision making yes. I should delineate my focus toward other things, which I could do if I wasn't completely in quarantine. But until this is over, there isn't much I can do.
I just wanted to vent, about, this household and how it is true chaos. It's just, it's conditions that are borderline unlivable. It's got to be unhealthy.
If you lived it then you would understand my aggravation, stress, frustration, and desire to get away.
The feeling of being here is like, a dull ache in the back of your jaw. As if someone won't stop grinding away at your temples with metal.
I'm constantly on edge. I can't, make a noise- I tip toe, I close things carefully, I have to set down every cup with care because if the glass clangs, I'll set someone off. I'll be a nuisance. I'll be the target of rage- for a moment.
I can't, ask questions. I can't, speak my mind. I can't, talk to anyone really. I can't, "live" in this house. I can't, sit in the living room, I can't, use the office. I can't move *anything* in the kitchen- except, the dishes- but apparently even that- is never done "right" enough. I get yelled at over where I put, a cup. Or how I place them in the dishwasher. Or perhaps I used too much soap, or perhaps I'm not scrubbing enough, or perhaps, I'm leaving the water running too much. Or perhaps I made water drip on the floor and around the sink, or on the counter.
Even just arranging my room was such a task- I got so much flack for it and everyone stressed out over it for no reason- though I was doing it all myself (they had turned my room into a hoarding room of random bull shit- even though I asked them not to and frequently would come and clear it out, they kept stacking up more and more shit). The whole thing got done the same way regardless of whether they stood there and yelled and stressed about it for a few days. But, nontheless- because they are fucking dysfunctional insane chaotic stressful people, that was necessary.
I have to move things very quietly, or else someone feels the need to get involved, and starts telling me where to put things. Insisting, where I put things. Getting angry.
My, existence, here. Makes people angry.
I don't, fit. When I talk, they just ignore me or talk right over me. I don't have a voice here. They barely even know who I am, or care about me as a person.
As long as I stay quiet in my little yellow box in the back of house and don't bother anyone, all is usually well. Sort of.
But that's no way to live. I used to live that way, until it occurred to me how to live, another way. And then, when I moved out I blossomed. You know. I took part in my own life in a way that made me, less suicidal for one, and just, it was beautiful. The way my world opened up.
I am so much happier, alone. In my own car. In my own apartment, living my own life.With my own bank account, my own, cell phone records, my own computer which they can't route through. I like, my privacy. I like, no one watching me, breathing down my neck, judging me, criticizing me. Stressing out over every little move.
I can't even *breathe* the wrong way, I have to sit up straight, I have to dress a certain way, I have to behave a certain way, even my mannerisms I have to conceal, because the way I am naturally appears too homosexual, and dominant. And they want, feminine, submissive, *small* very very small, quiet, petite.
I am just so, controlled, that the stress of that is like, driving me mad.
this is why I don't believe in keeping animals in captivity. Stables, cages, shelters. Are inhumane to me.
Because it puts a great deal of stress on the animal.
I just, want to get out of here. That was my plan was to go work at the rehab in Oregon, but then my friend and the owner of the rehab had a falling out (I'm pissed at my friend doing this) and he basically shot himself in the foot, and shot me in the foot from getting a chance of working there. But, even if he still did allow me on board, the whole project has been delayed by the coronavirus. (He's building and setting up the rehab).
My room mate was supposed to help me pay rent, and then it would of been manageable, but he can't stay sober, which means he can't stop doing illegal things- and overdosing and ending up in trouble with cops or in rehab too often.
So because of that, that plan won't work either.
I was going to move in with my ex girlfriend and my friend J, but, that plan fell through when I realized, I didn't really, enjoy J's company that much and didn't want to live around her. And, my ex decided to go full tilt into cocaine and drinking, it was out of control. So I broke up with her. I just don't find that very attractive, at all.
Anyways, so yeah. All my plans fell apart. I got fired. ETc. So, I'm stuck here for now, until this CV thing passes and I can get another job. *face palm*
So I'm just trying to at least make my room my sanctuary... I feel like I might go mad from the stress. There is just, constant pressure and constant, "not knowing" what's going to happen. Who's going to explode, when. When will a fight break out. When will the doors slam. When are they gonna come find me, and drag me into something.
And I'm never, allowed, to, say, no.
I'm never, allowed to say, respect, my space. Respect, my privacy. Respect, my right, to autonomy. My governance, over my own body, my own decisions.
No, no no. *They own me.*
They really, think they do. That's how it goes, to them.
And there is, no, other way. Just- their way.
There is no room made for me, or consideration, or inclusion. I'm not even an after thought.
I simply don't fit, in the picture. Everything I say is unwarranted and, ignored. It's as if they would rather I didn't speak at all.
So I don't. And they're fine with that. They're fine with me blending into the walls. So, that's what I do...
But that's no way to live. As a 24 year old adult, it's, immature.
So, I find stress relief in the things I enjoy in my free time, which I can do quietly and no one, criticizes me for.
At least I have my kuerrigg. Coffee isn't helping with the immense fatigue, it's just a mental adjustment for me living here so, I keep taking a lot of naps lol. But if I didn't have my coffee I think I would loose my grip. It's the fine barrier between sanity and insanity for me. As long as I have it, I'm okay. But once I run out, I am... not as pleasant. I can't pretend to be nice anymore. And all the anger and resentment comes off on my sleeve and in passive aggression. It gets me in trouble.
Anyway, I uh. Guess I'll continue working on my room here and there, moved all furniture out of my apartment today and put it in the warehouse for storage. So I just have to move like my 'stuff' from there now, and put it in my room. Which luckily I don't have much of.
Also been working on a Sim house, watching YouTube, pinteresting and Spotify-ing. Journaling ofc. These are the things that keep me sane.
Candles, coffee, and a computer.
And my dogs.
