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Everyone has different schedules, sharing tiny spaces, no room to move, no room to breathe, even the scent of an air freshener crowds the room to the point where there is no inhabitable space. Clouds of gas rolling, filling, expanding, inflating, growing, popping. Fucking popping.
You are pushed and prodded and pulled. You're shoved around as your things are moved, taken, claimed.
You did the responsible thing. You went to your job, saved a little of your money, bought something for yourself with no help at all. And now, it is not yours, it is ours. And now, it's not ours, it's theirs.
It feels like the world is closing in on you. Everything, getting closer and closer, crowding you, snarling, growling, bared teeth and claws, and you can kick and punch and fight for your life, but they'll only tear you apart.
You're willing to blame it all on me. You're scrabbling for reasons to make it all my fault. I'm a liar, I'm an addict. Never mind that you're pretentious, a know-it-all, cold, off-putting, and cruel. It's good to have firm beliefs. It's not good to have such firm beliefs you won't hear or consider anyone else's opinion. Deodorant is a wonderful thing. So is brushing your goddamn teeth. It's not all your fault, but it's not all my fault, either. The only reason I didn't leave months ago was because I love your daughter, and couldn't bear the thought of never seeing her again. And now I won't. Fuck you.
No matter what I do I seem to be in the wrong. It's my fault that my parents are upset all the time. I broke my mother's heart. I am the cause of all of the family financial problems. I don't work hard enough. No, I didn't do well enough on that. I don't cook well enough. I don't clean well enough. I am not good enough.