This is the truth.
My life hasn't been an easy one. In everything I've struggled, and at every turn I come under the scrutiny of my family. The judgement. Why am I not better than who I am? The truth? They couldn't handle. The people I've lived with. The things I've dealt with? Sometimes even I don't even want to know.
I stopped "Living" at home when I was about 15. Everything I owned was still there, but I had license, and friends, and things with my family were going downhill. So i just stopped living there. It started with staying at a mates. for two or three weeks at a time. Sometimes more. I would come home for a week, and go away for four. I suppose it didn't help that I had quit school.
I turned 16. I got a job, and a car. I started housesitting. My grandparents went away when my grandfather was having chemo. I housesat. For six months. Bought my own food. etc. Everything. I guess I got the taste. By 16 I was a regular smoker, and I certainly wasn't a stranger to alcohol. My family? Back of my mind. Coming from a strong christian upbringing, i was breaking free... and in all the wrong ways.
At 17 I got myself a really good job in the town over from mine. I got on really well with the people I worked with, and soon moved in with a workmate, sleeping on a mattress in the living room for 3 months. Chain smoking, smoking pot, and drinking was a daily occurance.
Not long after my 18th birthday I moved into my first official flat. I was living with a girl. Lets call her "Sarah"... She seemed pretty cool, and in fact we got on like a house on fire. All her friends were straight away my friends, and I even began to call her mother "mum". Unfortunately the financial pressures of having a big house for just the two of us started to kick in and we decided to find another flatmate. A guy moved into the two bedroom sleepout outside, lets call him "Joe". He was straight. I mean so straight, I actually thing he might have been gay. His parents were rich, and constantly gave him everything he needed. I soon found out that "Joe" like "Sarah" was BiPolar. Neither of them felt like having a job, so both of them spunged off the government. It was alright to start with. I would get up at 6, be at work at 7, finish work at 5, and have tea, and go to bed. On the weekends we would get on the piss, and go out town. We started having parties. The parties were epic. To start with. They wen't downhill. The people got seedier and seedier, there were burns all over the carpets, from dropping spotting knives, the ceilings, once white, were now kind of brown from all the smoking, and there was rubbish everywhere, and there was NOTHING I could do about it. Of course during this time I had met "David".
It all came to a head when "Sarah" got particularly mental and I announced I was moving out. She went bitchy on me and psycho, and I hurriedly moved in with "David".
Everything was fine in the start. I lived with him, and in the house also lived his sister and her fiancee, and a friend of theirs. We all got on really well, and we all liked each other, and we had some amazing parties. Unlike parties at my old flat, the property was never damaged. There was no drugs, and there was no fights. It was great. Unfortunately I had got really sick, and lost my job, and was regularly having seizures. This i know put a lot of stress on "David". He got his dream job back in the town I had just moved from, and we moved back. We moved into a flat with two girls that just seemed awesome when we met them. Turns out its because they were drugged up to their gills. It gets worse.
Not only did they do every drug known to man, but the dealt half of it as well. We had parties. (come to think of it now, our partying was probably half the problem). The night never ended well, and within a couple of months, after only a year and a bit together, "david" and I broke up, caused, in part, by "Sarah", who I had tried to be-friend once again, who aparently was more interested in "david" than me. The day we broke up my best friend moved me into her house. Me and my cat Kiera, who I had gotten just after I moved in with "david" thrived in the new environment, and despite being heartbroken, and regularly taking way to many sleeping pills with wine, Things started to look up.
I was going out 4 nights a week, getting home trashed at 4am, sleeping til 3pm, and starting all over again. I was still sick, but i was improving. Christmas came and "David" and I started talking. we had both come to the decision that there was nobody else and on new years we got back together. at the same time I was well enough to start work, and i started looking for a job. Unfortunately my relationship with my best friend was deteriorating due to our rediculously different personalities constantly being shoved together, so I also started to look for a new place to live. I got a job and moved out in the same week.
I moved in with an older lady. I decided that if I wanted a more relaxed situation, then I would need to live with someone more mature. Not long after I moved in she announced she was a lesbian and her partner was moving in. I was slightly weirded out, but I was alright with it. Drugs re-rared their ugly head. The partner was a heavy pot smoker. Well I don't know why, but one day, six months later, the partner decided she didn't like me living there, and the lady asked me to move out. So i looked, and advertised for something LONG TERM. I was sick of moving. I was sick of uprooting my cat! Every time she got comfortable in a situation we would be moved on.
I found a place. It seemed nice. The guy was lovely, he had four daughters, and it was an enormous old house. I had my own entrance, my own carpark, my own bathroom/toilet, and the kitchen was right outside my bedroom. It wasn't to be. First of all the girlfriend turned out to be psycho, and came to me in the middle of night whenever they two of them had a fight, and the kids turned out to be demons!. They would use my toilet, and not flush it, and use all my shampoo, conditioner, bodywash etc. And once again, he constantly smoked weed.
When he started being awful to my cat, then I started getting uncomfortable, and it got to the stage where I was sneaking out first thing in the morning before anyone got up, and coming home extremely late at night when I was sure they were all in bed. I was terrified of seeing him. I was terrified that something would happen to my cat, and I was exhausted. For three months.
My best friend and her mother came to me and asked me to move back in. They love me, they trust me, and they hated their new flatmate. They were going away for 9 months and didn't trust him not to steal everything. So i moved in, and they left. A few weeks later he moved out. A couple of weeks later, i got a new kitten.
Now my life is good. I live alone. I have my cat and kitten to keep each other company when I'm working, and I see "david" regularly. I don't have to clean up after anyone, hide when people come to the door, or pay other peoples bills.
Finally. I'm in a place where I don't need to be ashamed.
And "david" and I are celebrating our 3 YEAR anniversary next week.