Bath Anxiety

Never actually occurred to me to just look and see whether I could find a roommate to live with. I previously considered the two options to be extreme. Either I find another place to stay for free, or I stay…

Never actually occurred to me to just look and see whether I could find a roommate to live with. I previously considered the two options to be extreme. Either I find another place to stay for free, or I stay where I am because I can’t afford my own place and I don’t want to live in a shelter.

Just now, after another exhibit of spontaneous and unjustified anger towards me I slumped down into a low mood where I think for my mental health, I need to get out of here. Unfortunately I’ve been saying that for 11 months now. I moved here in September and we’re now into the first week of August so my one year anniversary is coming up.

I clearly I’m unable to tell whether I am a benefit or a hindrance to my housemate landlord. I have allowed myself to believe people are better off having roommates than living alone, because this is the case for me. There are hints that this is not the case for him, and as much as I am beneficial at times, I think that he would be much happier living alone with a spare bedroom that occasional women friends could use. I pick up on emotions that happier without me but feels obligated to allow it. it’s that obligation that makes his true emotions hard to detect part of my brain doesn’t want to because as soon as I start feeling guilt my arrangement will be even more stressful than it is now.

I am sad. I’m in that stage where you want to cry but I don’t. I suppress it and start to write, which is my way. I no longer have the joy of writing, because most of the time I’m writing as a means to vent frustration and sadness, rather than my former glory of writing great ideas or prospects. My experience has now taught me that my writings will probably go unread for the rest of my life, and after. They are for me and me alone. Another Avenue to success unfulfilled.

Life is more effort than I want it to be. I have had the luxury of not having to try hard and sustain. That advantage turns to a disadvantage at some point and I am out of practice at trying. I never had practice at doing.

Today’s frustration upset me more than usual because I could sense not only his usual outburst of anger, but his frustration at my reaction. I don’t fight back. I don’t defend. This time, it seemed to bother him more than usual, which ironically hurts me more than usual. At previous outbursts, I’ve been able to maintain my composure because I know his outbursts are unjustified and irrational. His reaction is short-lived and he gets over it quickly.

Takes me longer when I disappoint people to recover. Today’s anger was a reoccurrence. Apparently when I use the broken bathtub to take my monthly bath, it leaks in the kitchen. I have been led to believe this problem had been fixed and he would no longer be angry and yell at me for it, but apparently this is not the case. He got angry and yelled at me. My delicate and paranoid bathtub routine apparently leaked into the kitchen again.

Using logic, I see no way around this because there is an obvious leak but he believes it is me. He accuses me of splashing about like a 2-year-old and pouring water down the sides of the unsealed tub. Once I tried to explain that it probably was the same for him but he’s never downstairs in the kitchen while he’s in the bathtub so he doesn’t see it. That didn’t go over well so I don’t say it again even if I believe it to be true.

It’s exaggerated descriptions of the amount of water cannot possibly be explained by splashing. At least not the amount of splashing that I’m able to detect based on wet walls or other signs. Each time I’m yelled at this offense, I try even harder to assure it doesn’t happen. I run the garden hose at 1/4 of the pressure and only lifted above the level of the tub occasionally to wet my soapy hair to rinse the shampoo out.

If I am to believe him the splash is responsible for waterfall quantities of streams flowing through the ceiling. I can’t conceive away to change my process more than I already have. I’ve lived here a year and that probably taken only 10 baths. I hate it.

I hate everything about this place. Everything.

And yet, it is still easier to do nothing than to move.