I'm afraid of coming home every day. I just am. Ever since My Fucking Parents threw all my shit out the house, ever since they gave me ultimatums to clean my room and myself, I don't feel welcome at home. I just don't. I guess I have felt this way before, and I might be repeating myself when I say this, but I'll say it anyway: This time feels different. Them tooling around outside my bedroom door -- My Fucking Mother working on her sewing, My Fucking Father working outside doing God knows what -- was annoying before all this but now feels kind of threatening. It's like they own the place. Which they do, but I've never felt threatened that my stuff or I will be thrown out.
This past week has been relatively mild at work, and that lightening of workload could not have come at a worse time. Because that means I have to go home, and I absolutely did not want to. I was afraid to go home. Back on Wednesday I went to the library to be a part of that fantasy football auction that no one showed up for, and I made a point to stay out as late as possible. Because I knew that once I got home, I'd have to look in the trash bin and the recycling bin to see what else of mine they tried to throw away, which meant I had to retrieve it, throw it in my car, then make time to get to my storage unit. One day I looked and saw that they tossed my old New Orleans Saints hat. The fuck you are. Then I have to see what else they moved inside my bedroom. Did they throw anything away from here? Did they move things around thinking that, like, hanging up my hats this way is best for me? And what would they say, goddammit, how will they threaten me directly?
I shouldn't be feeling this way. No one should. Everyone should have shelter where they can relax and feel secure. I don't care that I supposedly have a place here. I don't have a place here. My folks have made sure that they run this place and if they don't like something of mine, it's gone, and if I don't like it, then I'll be gone, too. These are my fucking asshole parents, by the way.
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I have thought about needing a new place to store my stuff -- not just because my place is changing ownership, but because there is more and more stuff I have had to move from home. I have checked prices for my current size unit and the next step up, and the difference in price is so great that I have initially balked at it.
But after feeling that I won't be safe at home, I have largely stopped being resistant of getting a 5" x 10" now. Part of it is the realization I just don't have enough space (and that does make me think I really have to go through my stuff). But I'm starting to think I that I should spend some time in a larger spot ... not to go through my things, but to relax.
I'm serious. I have had this fantasy (for lack of a better word) that I have moved all my things into a 5" x 10" but have enough floor space to open up a folding chair, close the door behind me, turn off the light ... and just nap. I can't nap anymore at home because of all the damn racket those two do out there. And I have no idea when, or even if, they're leaving. So if I need real peace and quiet, I think that I might spend the extra money for a bigger spot, buy myself a folding chair, and make that place my new, and real, safe space.
Pathetic? Probably. But I need peace, man.
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