I'd rather have a UTI
I finally moved out. I'm an adult. And this livejournal is no longer to be referred to as the lovejournal, but rather the vilejournal. Here is where I reminisce about my oh so unhappy life at BP's, (not to be confused with Boston Pizza), the establishment is officially (decided after only 2 sleeps) known as the Bitch Palace (originally it had been called the Princess Palace so that I could distinguish how vulgurily spoiled the brats I live with are, until I decided that bitch much more was a better definition of them). Soon the place may be re-titled to the YICBP (also known as the Yeast Infected Cunt Bubbles Palace).
Am I unhappy here? Not necessarily. I love being moved out, and I love the independance (I have to prepare after all for the much bigger trek to Montreal coming within the next year) But alas, it just makes me sick. I feel my core rotting here, and it's not very good. And it hasn't even been a whole week yet, maybe it is the jitters of finally being on my own or maybe it is symbolic of something much grander, that is YTBD. I've stressed about the move, despite seem quite excited and I've gotten myself ill from it, I had a cold last week, and this week I have a UTI (which is more pleasant then the harpies I live with now). The beginning of the story? I'm tired of telling it. They are con-artists, they are spoiled, they disgust me. And they are my roommates, and I need to deal with it. I think why I'm so upset is because of how they've treated my parents. I don't like how they ask and recieve, and they ask and my mom gives in. I don't like how they are taking advantage of the situation, and how they are so supremely selfish. In truth, I don't think I've ever really despised anyone before. I mean obviously, I have, but this time, not a word of a lie, as I approach the house I feel all consumed with rage and anger and bitterness. I'm fake here...I pretend to like them because I have to live with them for 11 more months, and I pray that'll get better. A part of me inside is soo sad. The first night I spent here alone, I felt alone (which I'm sure is more than natural) but it was a different loneliness, a solemn and dark loneliness, a loneliness I hadn't felt since before I knew love, since before when I was scared I would never be happy. If I had ever doubted before that I was depressed I can assure myself that I am not, because the low was so horribly low that I knew I had never felt that before. And that I knew the next day would be better because of a cliche.
The good part about being here, I see my friends again. People that I've missed and been distant from. I have Kim so close, and Andrea even closer (just a block away). Eben and I talk (only to find he is leaving once again), I have a new job with new friends and new classes with new friends. I have oppurtunities. I miss my boyfriend, because he isn't living with me, and I miss him because he is my heart and my heart is at my other house. I feel detached from him when I talk to him here, I feel like it's surreal, I feel like I preoccupied when I'm here because I feel like all I can think about is my sick disgusting obsession with how much they make the bile inside of me rise. I'm tired when I'm here, because it's lots of work being fake nice. And I don't feel like myself. I want to be someone like I'm known for being. For saying what's on my mind, for not even taking the time to realize what's coming out, for it to spew all over and then regret it later. But they intimidate me, and I back down. And I need to step up. I need to let them know I'm king here, that reasonable requests do not include a "DVD player, barstools, step stool, shower curtains". That they can go out and buy that shit themselves. I need to tell them that sharing condiments does not include eating my popcorn (especially because those 5 small microwave bags mean and represent alot to me because Louis and I bought them together when he lived here). They need to know that it's not acceptable to tell me to "Please keep it down" on my 2nd night in the house. That they can't tell me that my friends (who are allowed to get ahold of me when ever they want because I am available 24/7) can't call here after a certain hour, then contradict themselves and come strolling in making noise later than the "designated call time." That they can't leave me passive aggressive notes all over the place telling me that "you'll get the hang of it". They can't walk on me anymore, they can't take my pride, they can't make my cry.
They don't own me. They don't own the house. They don't own my popcorn, they don't own the TV downstairs. They don't own the phone bill. They don't own the 3rd office bedroom, they don't own anypart of me. And I want them to just go away. I've been here 5 days, I've slept here only 3. They don't turn off lights, they dont lock doors, they don't throw out garbage. They are so immature. FUCK OFF ALREADY!! I can't wait till thanksgiving cause they will be gone for 4 days and I will be able to take the plastic bag from off my head and breathe. And I will see my boyfriend and he will breathe real fresh delicious love back into me. And he will take away my hurt, my anger, the torment, the hostility and he will slay it for me.
Because he's my prince, and that's what he does. He always saves me.
Am I unhappy here? Not necessarily. I love being moved out, and I love the independance (I have to prepare after all for the much bigger trek to Montreal coming within the next year) But alas, it just makes me sick. I feel my core rotting here, and it's not very good. And it hasn't even been a whole week yet, maybe it is the jitters of finally being on my own or maybe it is symbolic of something much grander, that is YTBD. I've stressed about the move, despite seem quite excited and I've gotten myself ill from it, I had a cold last week, and this week I have a UTI (which is more pleasant then the harpies I live with now). The beginning of the story? I'm tired of telling it. They are con-artists, they are spoiled, they disgust me. And they are my roommates, and I need to deal with it. I think why I'm so upset is because of how they've treated my parents. I don't like how they ask and recieve, and they ask and my mom gives in. I don't like how they are taking advantage of the situation, and how they are so supremely selfish. In truth, I don't think I've ever really despised anyone before. I mean obviously, I have, but this time, not a word of a lie, as I approach the house I feel all consumed with rage and anger and bitterness. I'm fake here...I pretend to like them because I have to live with them for 11 more months, and I pray that'll get better. A part of me inside is soo sad. The first night I spent here alone, I felt alone (which I'm sure is more than natural) but it was a different loneliness, a solemn and dark loneliness, a loneliness I hadn't felt since before I knew love, since before when I was scared I would never be happy. If I had ever doubted before that I was depressed I can assure myself that I am not, because the low was so horribly low that I knew I had never felt that before. And that I knew the next day would be better because of a cliche.
The good part about being here, I see my friends again. People that I've missed and been distant from. I have Kim so close, and Andrea even closer (just a block away). Eben and I talk (only to find he is leaving once again), I have a new job with new friends and new classes with new friends. I have oppurtunities. I miss my boyfriend, because he isn't living with me, and I miss him because he is my heart and my heart is at my other house. I feel detached from him when I talk to him here, I feel like it's surreal, I feel like I preoccupied when I'm here because I feel like all I can think about is my sick disgusting obsession with how much they make the bile inside of me rise. I'm tired when I'm here, because it's lots of work being fake nice. And I don't feel like myself. I want to be someone like I'm known for being. For saying what's on my mind, for not even taking the time to realize what's coming out, for it to spew all over and then regret it later. But they intimidate me, and I back down. And I need to step up. I need to let them know I'm king here, that reasonable requests do not include a "DVD player, barstools, step stool, shower curtains". That they can go out and buy that shit themselves. I need to tell them that sharing condiments does not include eating my popcorn (especially because those 5 small microwave bags mean and represent alot to me because Louis and I bought them together when he lived here). They need to know that it's not acceptable to tell me to "Please keep it down" on my 2nd night in the house. That they can't tell me that my friends (who are allowed to get ahold of me when ever they want because I am available 24/7) can't call here after a certain hour, then contradict themselves and come strolling in making noise later than the "designated call time." That they can't leave me passive aggressive notes all over the place telling me that "you'll get the hang of it". They can't walk on me anymore, they can't take my pride, they can't make my cry.
They don't own me. They don't own the house. They don't own my popcorn, they don't own the TV downstairs. They don't own the phone bill. They don't own the 3rd office bedroom, they don't own anypart of me. And I want them to just go away. I've been here 5 days, I've slept here only 3. They don't turn off lights, they dont lock doors, they don't throw out garbage. They are so immature. FUCK OFF ALREADY!! I can't wait till thanksgiving cause they will be gone for 4 days and I will be able to take the plastic bag from off my head and breathe. And I will see my boyfriend and he will breathe real fresh delicious love back into me. And he will take away my hurt, my anger, the torment, the hostility and he will slay it for me.
Because he's my prince, and that's what he does. He always saves me.