This is a self-indulgent post about me being miserable. Again. Scroll, scroll.
Two weeks ago I thought I had a pretty good plan for the upcoming year. I was going to stay in the flat I was in, which has its ups and downs but is overall a pretty good deal and all my stuff is here. I was going to keep living with my sister. I was going to stay in the job I'm in and take a statistics course so I could study psychology next year. I was going to do all kinds of personal stuff that would, hopefully, have been a real improvement.
But then about a week ago - conveniently, the day before the last notice day for our lease - my sister decided she wanted to move out and take our brother with us. I kind of groaned because it's a terrible time of year but fine, I thought, fine. So we gave notice and applied a few places and of course we didn't get any so I'm getting more and more stressed out.
And then my brother finds a place with some friends, my sister goes and breaks up with her boyfriend and decides she wants to go home and save money, and I am ... homeless. I can't, can not, live with my parents again - I'm going to have to do it for a couple of weeks probably anyway because I don't actually have time to find somewhere before the 28th of January but I just, if I have to have another conversation with my mother in which she informs me that I can't wear t-shirts because my body makes people uncomfortable and is clearly a sign that I hate myself because if I loved myself I would be skinnier and would wear flattering clothes - I mean, jesus, I thought I got up in the morning and put on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt because it was boiling and all I was doing was playing cards with my family, but apparently I was expressing my deep self-hatred. I'm sorry if I've made any of you guys uncomfortable with my body.
But I just can't live like that and I don't want to live with strangers and if my sister had just fucking said "I'm going to move home" last week I could have fucking found someone and I'm just. I didn't want to do this again. I desperately wanted just a year where I didn't have to fucking move, where I could have the same damn address for twelve months running. And I can't even complain to my sister because she's in her room, crying, and I'm in the lounge, crying, and this is not how this year was supposed to go.
Sorry for the really self-indulgent bit in the middle, there, guys. I spent a couple of years not talking about my feelings and it didn't really improve them, but I know it's dreadfully dull to read.
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