Living in Crazytown:
More than two years ago I had a bedroom that didn’t have windows in my bedroom at a good height when I sat at my computer. It was a small space, even smaller than what I have now. It sucked. I would have to stand up to get a good outside view or go downstairs and stand at the sliding door with a view to the backyard.
I didn’t like to be in any other part of the house, but my bedroom, because the crazy narcissist who lived there made it abundantly clear that while she wanted my money for rent, she did not and/or was not capable of being a decent human being and/or making others feel wanted and welcome in her home as renters, and instead did the exact opposite.
Actually she was explicit in not wanting people in her home. She was paranoid about her teenage children, saying that I could not have anyone else in her house, because they may sexually assault her teenage children, saying that I should not have conversations with them, but only speak to her and if she is not home to not speak to them. OOOkkaayy! Okay crazy.
This after living with someone who became my friend, who trusted me with her dogs, who trusted me with her grandchild. I kept telling myself I just needed a place to stay for as long as I could tolerate it, and find something else when I couldn’t.
Well I didn’t speak to any of them, for the most part, and stayed in my bedroom or went out on my bike as much as possible, as often as possible. That was much easier the first few months of living there, because I moved in the beginning of October and out towards the end of February.
She got jealous when I petted the family cat and he acted like he liked it, a few days after I moved in. She yelled at the cat, calling him a traitor. OOkkaay, crazy, I will try to avoid interacting with you crazy, your crazy children, and crazytown. I sure tried hard to be as unobtrusive as possible.
When I was in the kitchen one day when she and her teenage daughter were in there discussing something, I mistakenly agreed with the mother on a factual point only to have a visit from crazytown. The mother laughed at loud, jumped up and down, and taunted the daughter in a sing-song voice, singing she’s my friend and not yours, she’s my friend and not yours! Freaking crazytown.
Well I wasn’t in the running for either of their friends. Her treatment of me, her insistence on bizarre and inappropriate boundaries, some of which I have not shared here, which applied to me but never to them, and her being someone that I could not respect or like seemed to take her out of the running of being my friend and especially my being hers.
The daughter was not someone I could ever like or respect. I once tried to give her something of mine, she took it to the kitchen and ranted and raved about it to her mother, leaving it on the kitchen counter, wet, for some bizarre reason. At seventeen years old you should have more respect for others not to conduct yourself in this manner.
The son was no treat either. He was worthless, lazy, rude, and always lying about. I never once saw him lift a hand to do anything in the house. The sidewalk and garage area were always frozen over, with lots of frozen snow, making it difficult for me, potentially causing me an injury. Then he’d get on his gi and go to his karate lessons.
Before Christmas day she managed to make me ashamed of existing and having to have a place to be on Christmas day. She made me feel uncomfortable and uneasy about my existence because I didn’t have somewhere to be all day long so that they could have the day at the house without my living there. But I did live there, and I did pay rent to live there. I was gone part of the afternoon, going out to eat with one of my brothers.
The day after Christmas I was home alone and found a fifty dollar bill in the trash, I assumed it was his gift, and that he had mistakenly thrown it out with the trash associated with his action hero dolls and seriously what kind of thirteen year old still asks for, wants, and gets action hero dolls for gifts? I know, the rudeness and shunning was really beginning to get to me by then.
I picked it up, put it in my room and immediately called her and left her a message about it. The next day they were home and I brought the bill down to her in the kitchen. He was sitting around doing nothing and did not acknowledge me. His mother said come here and get your money. He got up and took it. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t smile at me. He never said thanks. Yeah, really classy, all the way, that’s class.
I now lived three-and-a-half miles from a grocery store, the library, and mostly everything. In the middle of winter, when it was freezing cold outside, with lots of snow, she would leave the house to go to the grocery store after knowing I was in the house, without once asking me if I would like to go along. I know some people just don’t think, she knew I had a bike, she knew it was how I grocery shopped and everything, she saw me biking in the middle of the winter, with sleety snow coming down, but never once thought to extend a ride to me. Okay, I thought, fine and dandy and tried really hard to keep up all my boundaries no matter what.
Well, fine, I see a boundary when I see it, I never asked for help when I needed something normal. I did ask for help the two times I was very sick and was glad that she did help me those two times. Still she demanded that I get out of bed and talk to her when I had a horrid sinus infection, after having biked to the pharmacy to get my medicine and only a few hours after taking the first dose. She demanded that I move all of my belongings back into my bedroom after it had been painted. I had had to move all my things into another room and stay in there for two weeks while my bedroom was being painted, imagine two weeks to paint a small bedroom and small bathroom.
She had brought crazy to a whole new level when she decided to have her interior painted, starting at the beginning of January, and tried to poison me over a period of two months of house painting in the middle of winter, without proper ventilation and with very dangerous paint fumes, The first day of painting, they painted the ceilings with a spray machine, they had forgotten to turn off the furnace and forgotten to cover the vent in the room they were spraying, getting the paint spray and fumes throughout the house. I got very sick.
I lived there less than five months all-together. She was worse than intestinal flu.
Trying to get far and fast away from miss crazy is the reason I ended up with the lazy worthless alcoholic fraudulent roommate, the one who made me willing to embrace homelessness fully, happily, just to get away from her.