I'm exhausted.
I'm just so tired. I can't deal with this anymore. I'm ripping my hair out to try to find a way to work this out. I've tried talking. It doesn't work. I've tried writing notes. Those don't work. I've tried all that I can think of. Without me, her Christmas would have been non-existent. She bought no decorations, no tree, and really sucky ass gifts for me.
I guess I'm at the breaking point. I've once again asked her to move out. I can't deal anymore. I'm going crazy and on the verge of a breakdown. I want my simple life back. A life where I don't have to worry about all the bullshit. Will it never get better for me?
Our place is always a mess. Always. It's not for my lack of trying. I'm constantly cleaning, doing dishes, picking stuff up. It's like a big tornado comes through as soon as she enters. She has no idea what the word clean means. Her friends were here last weekend. Nikki is white trash and an embarrasment to be around. I left out sheets to cover the futons with so I wouldn't have to wash the futon covers from her STD ridden ass. Well, they didn't get used, but the futon certainly did. Now I have to try to get everything clean before my friends arrive in town next Monday, because you can't count on Monika to do anything.
She owes me close to $1,000. It should be more, but I've been really forgiving. I'm not a bank. I'm tired of supporting her. I'm tired of living in filth. I'm tired of her breaking my furniture and ruining my things. I'm tired of her not taking the trash down. I'm tired of her calling me a prude and a bitch behind my back because I don't sleep around, I haven't made out with all my guy friends and because I tell her when I'm frustrated and because I get angry when she lies about everything. She's a liar and a horrible person and I'm pretty intoxicated so I'm bound to ramble right now.
She's taking my identity. She's listening to my bands. Watching my obscure movies. Adapting my style. Wearing my accessories. Taking my haircut. Reading my books. Stealing my football teams. I just don't get it. Be your own person. I'm actually tired of her not buying any sort of entertainment for the apartment. I've passworded all my music on the computer. I'm going to lock my DVDs away in my room. Maybe then she'll learn.
Funny thing is, I've lost 50 pounds and she's gained at least 15. She's starting to look like crap because she can't dress her new beer bellyesque tummy.
I just want her to go. Far away. To a place where she can't steal my friends, my boyfriends, my life and so on. I want her to get away from me. I've been through enough torment. Enough pain. Just go. Go home. I'm done rescuing you. Go back to your miserable life. Go back to your horrible suicidal existence. Go to the crying and non-eating. Go back to the being the slut of the town. Go back to being ridiculed and considered easy. Go back to making $6.00 an hour. Go back to driving a shit-ass car. Go back to having never really been out of Western PA. Go back to owning nothing and having the parents harassing you constantly for your miserable existence. I'm tired. Just plain tired.
I don't ever want children. I don't ever want young adults. I don't want people in my life and you're the reason why. It's abuse. It's neglect. It's selfishness. What have you ever done for me? Nothing. I throw you a massively great 21st birthday party. You write me a check on my birthday. Not even a gift card, but a check. Hah. Gee, thanks. Lots of thought went into that.
You're just a waste. Of time. Of space. Of my emotions.
Sister for sale. Hell, I'll pay you to take her. I hear she's great in bed. And well, that's about it.
I guess I'm at the breaking point. I've once again asked her to move out. I can't deal anymore. I'm going crazy and on the verge of a breakdown. I want my simple life back. A life where I don't have to worry about all the bullshit. Will it never get better for me?
Our place is always a mess. Always. It's not for my lack of trying. I'm constantly cleaning, doing dishes, picking stuff up. It's like a big tornado comes through as soon as she enters. She has no idea what the word clean means. Her friends were here last weekend. Nikki is white trash and an embarrasment to be around. I left out sheets to cover the futons with so I wouldn't have to wash the futon covers from her STD ridden ass. Well, they didn't get used, but the futon certainly did. Now I have to try to get everything clean before my friends arrive in town next Monday, because you can't count on Monika to do anything.
She owes me close to $1,000. It should be more, but I've been really forgiving. I'm not a bank. I'm tired of supporting her. I'm tired of living in filth. I'm tired of her breaking my furniture and ruining my things. I'm tired of her not taking the trash down. I'm tired of her calling me a prude and a bitch behind my back because I don't sleep around, I haven't made out with all my guy friends and because I tell her when I'm frustrated and because I get angry when she lies about everything. She's a liar and a horrible person and I'm pretty intoxicated so I'm bound to ramble right now.
She's taking my identity. She's listening to my bands. Watching my obscure movies. Adapting my style. Wearing my accessories. Taking my haircut. Reading my books. Stealing my football teams. I just don't get it. Be your own person. I'm actually tired of her not buying any sort of entertainment for the apartment. I've passworded all my music on the computer. I'm going to lock my DVDs away in my room. Maybe then she'll learn.
Funny thing is, I've lost 50 pounds and she's gained at least 15. She's starting to look like crap because she can't dress her new beer bellyesque tummy.
I just want her to go. Far away. To a place where she can't steal my friends, my boyfriends, my life and so on. I want her to get away from me. I've been through enough torment. Enough pain. Just go. Go home. I'm done rescuing you. Go back to your miserable life. Go back to your horrible suicidal existence. Go to the crying and non-eating. Go back to the being the slut of the town. Go back to being ridiculed and considered easy. Go back to making $6.00 an hour. Go back to driving a shit-ass car. Go back to having never really been out of Western PA. Go back to owning nothing and having the parents harassing you constantly for your miserable existence. I'm tired. Just plain tired.
I don't ever want children. I don't ever want young adults. I don't want people in my life and you're the reason why. It's abuse. It's neglect. It's selfishness. What have you ever done for me? Nothing. I throw you a massively great 21st birthday party. You write me a check on my birthday. Not even a gift card, but a check. Hah. Gee, thanks. Lots of thought went into that.
You're just a waste. Of time. Of space. Of my emotions.
Sister for sale. Hell, I'll pay you to take her. I hear she's great in bed. And well, that's about it.