I don't want to be rude, but...
I used to be such a cool person. Not like popular cool, but the kind of cool where I just didn't give a fuck and lived my life the way I wanted. I enjoyed myself and I was really into communal eating at the time. The idea of "Family Style" appealed to me and there was always food everywhere and sharing a bowl was no problem. I was happy then. My mom was the controlling force in the house and she was always so clean and she kept everything around her clean.
It's from living with other people that I started pulling in tight on myself and turning into a germaphobe. I don't like to share my food. Because if that gets contaminated, the germs will get inside my body and that's just horrifying to me.
It was only after my parents' divorce that I discovered how messy my family is. I'll pick up after myself, but my dad doesn't. My sister was kind of messy, but she would rinse her dirty dishes before putting them in the sink, and I appreciate that.
I don't like cleaning in front of other people. It makes me uncomfortable to be watched while I'm doing things. When I'm alone I dance and sing all the time and I play the music loud and I'll exercise and am so much happier. When other people are around it feels like I fold in on myself. Some wilty flower.
I knew this guy once and we were great living together. I was his beard, which really amuses me now, and even at the time it was the most comfortable relationship I'd ever had. We could talk for hours about movies and comic books and it was absolutely hilarious when he discovered my yaoi collection (the expression on his face!) Too bad he couldn't keep it platonic.
I woke up one night to find him at the side of my bed, watching me sleep. It was startling, but I sat up and talked with him for hours in the darkness. We were always doing that kind of thing and I was starting to feel like I wasn't alone. I got to really liking cuddling on the couch, and it's something I still miss even now. To wrap my arms around him or have him wrap his arms around me as we watched TV, it made some monster raging in my chest calm down and I could have stayed with him forever.
Except he started getting weird. Crawling into bed with me. Wrapping his arm around me with that look on his face, like he wanted to peel me out of my skin. Not in a horrible, psycho-killer kind of way, but in the "I want to love you forever and have your babies" kind of way.
And that's when I realized that I had to get out of there. Not just because he was making me uncomfortable with his smoking eyes, but because I realized I didn't like him enough. I loved his cuddles and having someone to watch movies with, but I wasn't comfortable enough with him to tell him that I'm asexual. I didn't care about him enough to get over my discomfort at talking about sex.
So I told him goodbye and moved on.
It was living with him, though, that I realized what it was like living with someone that cleaned up after himself. I got spoiled by it.
Ending up back at my old house with my family... I've been forced back into a shell to keep the germs away. With all the animals and the stained carpet and a man that doesn't wash his hands, clean up after himself, and holds a filthy and incontenent little dog on his lap all the time.
It horrifies me, watching him stick his hand in the pickle jar without washing it first. Watching him reach into a potato chip bag and feel every chip until he finds the ones he wants to eat. Having him cook on the stove and splash grease all over my tea kettle and the counter without cleaning it up.
It's bad enough he leaves dirty clothes around for me to pick up and the way he trashes the house right after I clean, I can deal with that. But he never washes his hands and touches everything and the entire house is covered in chicken grease fingerprints. It disgusts me and there's nothing I can do about it because I don't want to end up homeless and he's done so much for me.
If he hadn't let me come to stay, I would be out on the street. Every single dime I make has to go to paying down my nearly $25,000 debt, so I'm so glad my dad let me come home. There's no way I can say anything to him about how grossed out I am--all those old neurosis coming to the forefront--because he'll start yelling at me and sometimes it makes me afraid.
I've become so shrunk down living in this house that I feel as though I'll carry it around with me forever. I'll walk around with poverty seeping from my skin.
It's from living with other people that I started pulling in tight on myself and turning into a germaphobe. I don't like to share my food. Because if that gets contaminated, the germs will get inside my body and that's just horrifying to me.
It was only after my parents' divorce that I discovered how messy my family is. I'll pick up after myself, but my dad doesn't. My sister was kind of messy, but she would rinse her dirty dishes before putting them in the sink, and I appreciate that.
I don't like cleaning in front of other people. It makes me uncomfortable to be watched while I'm doing things. When I'm alone I dance and sing all the time and I play the music loud and I'll exercise and am so much happier. When other people are around it feels like I fold in on myself. Some wilty flower.
I knew this guy once and we were great living together. I was his beard, which really amuses me now, and even at the time it was the most comfortable relationship I'd ever had. We could talk for hours about movies and comic books and it was absolutely hilarious when he discovered my yaoi collection (the expression on his face!) Too bad he couldn't keep it platonic.
I woke up one night to find him at the side of my bed, watching me sleep. It was startling, but I sat up and talked with him for hours in the darkness. We were always doing that kind of thing and I was starting to feel like I wasn't alone. I got to really liking cuddling on the couch, and it's something I still miss even now. To wrap my arms around him or have him wrap his arms around me as we watched TV, it made some monster raging in my chest calm down and I could have stayed with him forever.
Except he started getting weird. Crawling into bed with me. Wrapping his arm around me with that look on his face, like he wanted to peel me out of my skin. Not in a horrible, psycho-killer kind of way, but in the "I want to love you forever and have your babies" kind of way.
And that's when I realized that I had to get out of there. Not just because he was making me uncomfortable with his smoking eyes, but because I realized I didn't like him enough. I loved his cuddles and having someone to watch movies with, but I wasn't comfortable enough with him to tell him that I'm asexual. I didn't care about him enough to get over my discomfort at talking about sex.
So I told him goodbye and moved on.
It was living with him, though, that I realized what it was like living with someone that cleaned up after himself. I got spoiled by it.
Ending up back at my old house with my family... I've been forced back into a shell to keep the germs away. With all the animals and the stained carpet and a man that doesn't wash his hands, clean up after himself, and holds a filthy and incontenent little dog on his lap all the time.
It horrifies me, watching him stick his hand in the pickle jar without washing it first. Watching him reach into a potato chip bag and feel every chip until he finds the ones he wants to eat. Having him cook on the stove and splash grease all over my tea kettle and the counter without cleaning it up.
It's bad enough he leaves dirty clothes around for me to pick up and the way he trashes the house right after I clean, I can deal with that. But he never washes his hands and touches everything and the entire house is covered in chicken grease fingerprints. It disgusts me and there's nothing I can do about it because I don't want to end up homeless and he's done so much for me.
If he hadn't let me come to stay, I would be out on the street. Every single dime I make has to go to paying down my nearly $25,000 debt, so I'm so glad my dad let me come home. There's no way I can say anything to him about how grossed out I am--all those old neurosis coming to the forefront--because he'll start yelling at me and sometimes it makes me afraid.
I've become so shrunk down living in this house that I feel as though I'll carry it around with me forever. I'll walk around with poverty seeping from my skin.