Roommate Redux
I really feel like I'm doing Kaydie a disservice with what I've posted about her so far. We've had some great conversations; I can tell there's a smart, capable person somewhere inside of her. Unfortunately, she doesn't let that side show much. The more time I spend with her, the more I'm convinced this is a choice, that she prefers to be this timid, useless thing huddling in my living room. I have a hard time seeing her as more than just a lump sometimes, which I'm afraid just feeds her feeling (and acting) like less than a whole person. Which isn't to say I'm treating her badly, but I'm surely not showing as much compassion as I would to someone who showed a little spine, who put out a little effort.
If she were a nasty person, it would be easier to not care and just cut her loose, but she's not. She is a nice girl who really does have a bunch of problems which she does need help with. I'm not the person she needs. I can't give her what she wants, which is some serious hand-holding and professional help. She seriously wants someone to make all her decisions for her and tell her exactly what to do. Not in that sexy submissive way either. More in that terrified of taking control of her own life and in complete denial about what she can and cannot do way. She doesn't believe herself capable of anything. Anything. She doesn't want to do anything wrong, so she does nothing instead. At least, this is what I'm gathering from spending all this time living with her. I suspect it's a result of her childhood and her gender identity issues, feeling wrong most of her life.
It sounds sad, like she's someone who needs hugs and support and someone to guide her. And yeah, she is. Mostly. Sort of.
But those rare times when she does ask for help instead of just moping and hiding and hoping someone will come to her rescue--which is fucking annoying, take your princess syndrome elsewhere, honey--it's with the simplest things. How do I not sleep so late? Go to bed at a reasonable hour instead of playing video games all night; set an alarm. How do I tell so-and-so this? Say exactly what you just said to me; be honest. How do I eat more?* Actually eat when we set food in front of you. Or it's things she should be able to figure out on her own, especially with the aid of the internet, which she sure as fuck knows how to use. She doesn't try anything on her own. When we do answer her questions to the best of our ability, she either shrugs it off or comes up with an excuse to explain why she can't do whatever we suggested. She's the exact opposite of me**. I will almost always try to figure something out on my own before going to others. She wants others to tell her how to do things. As far as I can tell, it isn't because she wants to do it right; it's because she has zero confidence in her ability. Or because she's lazy. Or both. I really can't fucking tell anymore.
Either way, her utter unwillingness to do anything herself or figure anything out for herself or make her own decisions is wearing really fucking thin. It kills my sympathy for her. If she weren't so helpless and were putting out some effort (or at least trying to put out some effort), I'd be much more willing to continue to meet her half-way. She isn't. She doesn't want to.
Did I mention that she got a job? Yeah... that didn't last.
Her first day was last Thursday. Orientation. It seemed to go well. She went in on Friday and came home complaining about the long bus rides and how much her body hurt from standing so much, but she seemed excited, proud. She was supposed to go back in Saturday at 4pm. I was a bit worried when she was still asleep when I finally left my cave around 1:30pm to find her still sleeping, but fine, whatever, she's an adult and can manage her own time. When 3pm rolled around and we still didn't hear any life in the living room, we considered whether we ought to be good people and wake her up, running the risk of giving her the idea she can get a ride from us by just slacking off and missing her bus, or let her deal with the consequences of her actions. We aren't particularly good people. I was pissed that she couldn't be bothered to set an alarm. I was pissed that she couldn't be bothered to go to bed at a reasonable hour. I was unconvinced that she was actually dead asleep out there even as we walked through the living room repeatedly to use the bathroom or kitchen, to go downstairs to get delivery for lunch. I still don't believe that she slept through all of the noise we were making, which means she just kept that blanket over her head on purpose, waiting for someone to come rescue or punish her. So, yeah, work eventually called to ask where she was, which was when she finally decided to rise. She told them she'd be right in, but... then she didn't bother to ask us for a ride. If she had asked, we would have driven her in. She didn't. She waited for one of us to volunteer. (I seriously dislike this sort of passivity. I don't deal with it well.) When we didn't volunteer, she called out.
Despite that fabulous failure, we had a great time that night at Rocky Horror. She'd never been. She had no clue life could be like that, full of freaks and geeks and weirdos and the most normal looking people with the most open minds. She really has been sheltered, and this was a good experience, seeing that there was at least one whole theater packed full of such wonderful people, a whole culture built around openness and embracing your strangeness. It was a nice weekend, even. She went to work on Sunday without a hitch--greatly because she asked Justin before hand to drive her in--and we had cookies that night, and everything went well.
Monday, she was due to work until close and would get out at 9:45pm. She wanted us to pick her up, but we were heading down to Culpeper and wouldn't be able to. She said there was no bus running that late, but Justin says there's a 9:55pm bus heading back to town, and that he told her that. Still, on Monday morning--after I woke her up by banging on the front door because I was locked out, for which I apologized profusely--she called up work and asked if she could leave earlier to catch a different bus. They fired her right then.
I can't say I blame them. Add that to the Saturday sleep-a-thon and the fact that she's ceaselessly defeatist, refuses to prioritize and insists that she's a slow-learner (which I don't think is true)... yeah. It seems pretty reasonable to me. But hey, no more long bus rides for Kaydie. No more long hours of standing up and dealing with people.
Now, she can sleep all day and play Minecraft all night. Isn't life grand?
Seriously. We were gone Monday night, got home Tuesday evening. She hadn't lifted a fucking finger. She asked a while back how she could help, and I had told her then that it would help if she did some dishes. She made an excuse about why it would be difficult, but seemed to accept that all the same. When we came home, the sink was as full as when we'd left and she had more dirty dishes gathering in the living room. I guess I should be glad she remembered to eat? The past two days, she's been awake when I've gotten up to go to work. She was asleep last night when we came home from work. I'm sure she will be tonight, too. Just what I love, right? Coming home after a long day at work to find some lump slacking and sleeping and leeching up what little good will I've got.
We had decided to present her with an ultimatum yesterday: get (and keep) a job or get out. She tells Justin before we can get around to talking with her that she has a job interview on Monday. So, we skipped it. We want to be nice. We want to help her out, give her a chance to save and figure out where to go from here. My patience is wearing seriously fucking thin, though. I'm inches away from having a serious one-sided conversation with her about how very much I disapprove of her hiding the competent, intelligent person I know is there behind all this lazy, bratty***, I-can't bullshit. Yeah, she's right when she says she can't only because you can't do a damned thing if you never fucking try.
So, now we're in this awkward in-between place. I don't feel like I can talk with her like an adult right now because she doesn't act like one, so we won't be able to sit down and have a reasonable discussion about our stresses and expectations and what things we can and are willing to do to help her. If I felt we could have that sort of conversation and step away from it feeling comfortable and productive, I'm pretty sure I'd feel comfortable keeping her with us until she was able to get out on her own. Right now, though...
We really can't give her the support she clearly needs on our own. We don't need a child, and we surely don't need an adult child who will act all indignant when we call her on her bad behavior. She needs someone who can help her through the process of writing a resume. She needs someone with whom she can discuss her psychological issues, especially those mental roadblocks she has in place, more than once per month, without the focus being on her gender identity--which, seriously, is not what's holding her back here, even if they are intertwined. She needs someone who will help her pick up good sleeping and eating habits. She could seriously benefit from living in some sort of shelter or group home temporarily where they establish routine and provide social and psychological services. I get the feeling this idea will not be well-received. What other options are there, though? Sending her back to her mom? Keeping her with us indefinitely despite the fact that the situation isn't good for her or us? Throwing her out on the street?
Ugh. I want, so badly, to help her, and it's very easy to feel compassion for her when I'm not actually in her presence lately. When I see her being this useless, self-defeating, lazy lump leeching off us in our living room, all the warmth in my heart dies. She needs help. I know she does. I'm just struggling this week with how to help her find it. And with not giving her a quick, cruel dissection. (I can even rationalize it as being something she needs to hear, but I suspect I just want to vent some of my frustration with her at her, which means I need it more than she does, which means it's by no means a good thing.)
So, I'm not sure what to do now. We had set a date of October 30th for her to get her shit together or get out, but we haven't discussed it with her yet. I'm afraid of having that conversation. I think she'll break down and, instead of using her fear to fuel her toward action, will continue to wallow like she has been. I worry that she might, afraid of getting kicked out, do something self-destructive and drastic. But I also worry that if we don't talk about things soon, we'll just continue like this for another few weeks, another month, who knows.
I think I'd rather have her out, in some situation which would benefit her more. I don't think it's my decision to make.
* For what it's worth, I gave her a very serious answer to this one with some good advice on how to track what she's eating and try to pick up good habits (keep a food journal, particularly one online which will count calories), and she seemed to ignore it or eliminate the option as not appropriate for her, because, as best I can tell, I didn't just say, "Oh, don't worry! I'll tell you what and when to eat!"
** Part of me, then, wonders what I can learn from her. I'm not entirely sure I'm taking away the right lessons. Instead of learning how to be less neurotic and let people in to help me, my own behaviors are being reinforced, shown to be better in comparison to her passivity and helplessness. Does this, then, remind me that I'm strong, that I'm determined, that I'm not the unmotivated, lazy fucker I tend to think myself to be? Maybe.
*** Bratty? How did I almost forget to mention this! She throws little tantrums like a fucking child. No, really. Exactly like a child, with the huffy sounds, stomping feet and all. And last night? While she was talking with Justin over IM and it wasn't going well--evidently because she was being all whiny and pouty and defeatist and he wasn't putting up with that crap--I swear I heard her throwing shit in the living room. I don't care whose shit she was throwing. That behavior does not fly in my household. Once was bad enough, but I heard it twice. That was my first time raising my voice to her since she moved in. I don't want to have to treat her like a child, but if she's going to act like one, oh yes, I'll be laying down the motherfucking law in my own home. I told her, flat out, I will not tolerate temper tantrums and that if I heard her throwing things one more time, we'd be having a more serious discussion which she would not enjoy.
If she were a nasty person, it would be easier to not care and just cut her loose, but she's not. She is a nice girl who really does have a bunch of problems which she does need help with. I'm not the person she needs. I can't give her what she wants, which is some serious hand-holding and professional help. She seriously wants someone to make all her decisions for her and tell her exactly what to do. Not in that sexy submissive way either. More in that terrified of taking control of her own life and in complete denial about what she can and cannot do way. She doesn't believe herself capable of anything. Anything. She doesn't want to do anything wrong, so she does nothing instead. At least, this is what I'm gathering from spending all this time living with her. I suspect it's a result of her childhood and her gender identity issues, feeling wrong most of her life.
It sounds sad, like she's someone who needs hugs and support and someone to guide her. And yeah, she is. Mostly. Sort of.
But those rare times when she does ask for help instead of just moping and hiding and hoping someone will come to her rescue--which is fucking annoying, take your princess syndrome elsewhere, honey--it's with the simplest things. How do I not sleep so late? Go to bed at a reasonable hour instead of playing video games all night; set an alarm. How do I tell so-and-so this? Say exactly what you just said to me; be honest. How do I eat more?* Actually eat when we set food in front of you. Or it's things she should be able to figure out on her own, especially with the aid of the internet, which she sure as fuck knows how to use. She doesn't try anything on her own. When we do answer her questions to the best of our ability, she either shrugs it off or comes up with an excuse to explain why she can't do whatever we suggested. She's the exact opposite of me**. I will almost always try to figure something out on my own before going to others. She wants others to tell her how to do things. As far as I can tell, it isn't because she wants to do it right; it's because she has zero confidence in her ability. Or because she's lazy. Or both. I really can't fucking tell anymore.
Either way, her utter unwillingness to do anything herself or figure anything out for herself or make her own decisions is wearing really fucking thin. It kills my sympathy for her. If she weren't so helpless and were putting out some effort (or at least trying to put out some effort), I'd be much more willing to continue to meet her half-way. She isn't. She doesn't want to.
Did I mention that she got a job? Yeah... that didn't last.
Her first day was last Thursday. Orientation. It seemed to go well. She went in on Friday and came home complaining about the long bus rides and how much her body hurt from standing so much, but she seemed excited, proud. She was supposed to go back in Saturday at 4pm. I was a bit worried when she was still asleep when I finally left my cave around 1:30pm to find her still sleeping, but fine, whatever, she's an adult and can manage her own time. When 3pm rolled around and we still didn't hear any life in the living room, we considered whether we ought to be good people and wake her up, running the risk of giving her the idea she can get a ride from us by just slacking off and missing her bus, or let her deal with the consequences of her actions. We aren't particularly good people. I was pissed that she couldn't be bothered to set an alarm. I was pissed that she couldn't be bothered to go to bed at a reasonable hour. I was unconvinced that she was actually dead asleep out there even as we walked through the living room repeatedly to use the bathroom or kitchen, to go downstairs to get delivery for lunch. I still don't believe that she slept through all of the noise we were making, which means she just kept that blanket over her head on purpose, waiting for someone to come rescue or punish her. So, yeah, work eventually called to ask where she was, which was when she finally decided to rise. She told them she'd be right in, but... then she didn't bother to ask us for a ride. If she had asked, we would have driven her in. She didn't. She waited for one of us to volunteer. (I seriously dislike this sort of passivity. I don't deal with it well.) When we didn't volunteer, she called out.
Despite that fabulous failure, we had a great time that night at Rocky Horror. She'd never been. She had no clue life could be like that, full of freaks and geeks and weirdos and the most normal looking people with the most open minds. She really has been sheltered, and this was a good experience, seeing that there was at least one whole theater packed full of such wonderful people, a whole culture built around openness and embracing your strangeness. It was a nice weekend, even. She went to work on Sunday without a hitch--greatly because she asked Justin before hand to drive her in--and we had cookies that night, and everything went well.
Monday, she was due to work until close and would get out at 9:45pm. She wanted us to pick her up, but we were heading down to Culpeper and wouldn't be able to. She said there was no bus running that late, but Justin says there's a 9:55pm bus heading back to town, and that he told her that. Still, on Monday morning--after I woke her up by banging on the front door because I was locked out, for which I apologized profusely--she called up work and asked if she could leave earlier to catch a different bus. They fired her right then.
I can't say I blame them. Add that to the Saturday sleep-a-thon and the fact that she's ceaselessly defeatist, refuses to prioritize and insists that she's a slow-learner (which I don't think is true)... yeah. It seems pretty reasonable to me. But hey, no more long bus rides for Kaydie. No more long hours of standing up and dealing with people.
Now, she can sleep all day and play Minecraft all night. Isn't life grand?
Seriously. We were gone Monday night, got home Tuesday evening. She hadn't lifted a fucking finger. She asked a while back how she could help, and I had told her then that it would help if she did some dishes. She made an excuse about why it would be difficult, but seemed to accept that all the same. When we came home, the sink was as full as when we'd left and she had more dirty dishes gathering in the living room. I guess I should be glad she remembered to eat? The past two days, she's been awake when I've gotten up to go to work. She was asleep last night when we came home from work. I'm sure she will be tonight, too. Just what I love, right? Coming home after a long day at work to find some lump slacking and sleeping and leeching up what little good will I've got.
We had decided to present her with an ultimatum yesterday: get (and keep) a job or get out. She tells Justin before we can get around to talking with her that she has a job interview on Monday. So, we skipped it. We want to be nice. We want to help her out, give her a chance to save and figure out where to go from here. My patience is wearing seriously fucking thin, though. I'm inches away from having a serious one-sided conversation with her about how very much I disapprove of her hiding the competent, intelligent person I know is there behind all this lazy, bratty***, I-can't bullshit. Yeah, she's right when she says she can't only because you can't do a damned thing if you never fucking try.
So, now we're in this awkward in-between place. I don't feel like I can talk with her like an adult right now because she doesn't act like one, so we won't be able to sit down and have a reasonable discussion about our stresses and expectations and what things we can and are willing to do to help her. If I felt we could have that sort of conversation and step away from it feeling comfortable and productive, I'm pretty sure I'd feel comfortable keeping her with us until she was able to get out on her own. Right now, though...
We really can't give her the support she clearly needs on our own. We don't need a child, and we surely don't need an adult child who will act all indignant when we call her on her bad behavior. She needs someone who can help her through the process of writing a resume. She needs someone with whom she can discuss her psychological issues, especially those mental roadblocks she has in place, more than once per month, without the focus being on her gender identity--which, seriously, is not what's holding her back here, even if they are intertwined. She needs someone who will help her pick up good sleeping and eating habits. She could seriously benefit from living in some sort of shelter or group home temporarily where they establish routine and provide social and psychological services. I get the feeling this idea will not be well-received. What other options are there, though? Sending her back to her mom? Keeping her with us indefinitely despite the fact that the situation isn't good for her or us? Throwing her out on the street?
Ugh. I want, so badly, to help her, and it's very easy to feel compassion for her when I'm not actually in her presence lately. When I see her being this useless, self-defeating, lazy lump leeching off us in our living room, all the warmth in my heart dies. She needs help. I know she does. I'm just struggling this week with how to help her find it. And with not giving her a quick, cruel dissection. (I can even rationalize it as being something she needs to hear, but I suspect I just want to vent some of my frustration with her at her, which means I need it more than she does, which means it's by no means a good thing.)
So, I'm not sure what to do now. We had set a date of October 30th for her to get her shit together or get out, but we haven't discussed it with her yet. I'm afraid of having that conversation. I think she'll break down and, instead of using her fear to fuel her toward action, will continue to wallow like she has been. I worry that she might, afraid of getting kicked out, do something self-destructive and drastic. But I also worry that if we don't talk about things soon, we'll just continue like this for another few weeks, another month, who knows.
I think I'd rather have her out, in some situation which would benefit her more. I don't think it's my decision to make.
* For what it's worth, I gave her a very serious answer to this one with some good advice on how to track what she's eating and try to pick up good habits (keep a food journal, particularly one online which will count calories), and she seemed to ignore it or eliminate the option as not appropriate for her, because, as best I can tell, I didn't just say, "Oh, don't worry! I'll tell you what and when to eat!"
** Part of me, then, wonders what I can learn from her. I'm not entirely sure I'm taking away the right lessons. Instead of learning how to be less neurotic and let people in to help me, my own behaviors are being reinforced, shown to be better in comparison to her passivity and helplessness. Does this, then, remind me that I'm strong, that I'm determined, that I'm not the unmotivated, lazy fucker I tend to think myself to be? Maybe.
*** Bratty? How did I almost forget to mention this! She throws little tantrums like a fucking child. No, really. Exactly like a child, with the huffy sounds, stomping feet and all. And last night? While she was talking with Justin over IM and it wasn't going well--evidently because she was being all whiny and pouty and defeatist and he wasn't putting up with that crap--I swear I heard her throwing shit in the living room. I don't care whose shit she was throwing. That behavior does not fly in my household. Once was bad enough, but I heard it twice. That was my first time raising my voice to her since she moved in. I don't want to have to treat her like a child, but if she's going to act like one, oh yes, I'll be laying down the motherfucking law in my own home. I told her, flat out, I will not tolerate temper tantrums and that if I heard her throwing things one more time, we'd be having a more serious discussion which she would not enjoy.