This house I’ve lived in for two and a half years and had my daughter in is not mine. I get reminded of that constantly.
I don’t work because I’m a stay at home mom. So my money is not my own. I get reminded of that constantly.
When I moved into this house, I was expected to get rid of everything. So everything here is not my own. I get reminded of that constantly.
So, I am left with nothing but the clothes in the closet, my crafting supplies, an outdated computer, a calphalon pan set, a dresser, some knickknacks and a chair and stool set.
I have never felt welcome here and am treated with little respect. I am expected to do everything including stuff that has nothing to do with me. If I don’t do it, my son is expected to.
If I protest, it’s disregarded. If I threaten to leave, it’s disregarded. If I attempt to become independent, it’s squashed and I’m reminded of why my son and I are allowed to live here.
I am expected to take care of this man, this baby and this house and nothing else. If anything else comes first, like my son, it’s squashed.
I don’t like how I’m treated, so I’m leaving. I have no idea where I’m going. I have no idea how to take most of my stuff, but I’m leaving.
Fuck up thing? My youngest son is flying into town on Thursday and I can’t be homeless with him. I will have to stay put for another month until he leaves. Waiting. Wondering. Impatient for October 2nd.