Leo and I cleaned up Truman's newly vacated room. Leo stacked the remainder of Truman's belongings on the bed, then fell over something and broke his toe, putting him out of action. He wouldn't put ice on the swelling, and spent the rest of the day alternating between swearing profusely and talking nonsense through a haze of codeine.
The vacuum cleaner broke down once and for all, pitiful specimen that it was, so it was me and my asthma against the carpet of dust, crumbs and cigarette ash Truman had so thoughtfully left behind. Thankfully our flat has laminate floors throughout, so all it took was a broom, a Swiffer, several inhaler breaks and a long string of curses.
With the hard work out of the way, I was able to set up my beloved Wii once more, complete with balance board and yoga mat. I rewarded myself with an evening of BBC shows via the Wii, with a pile of crochet in my lap and Lola, the youngest cat, asleep amid the stacks on the bed.
I despise feeling angry - I have never found a way to express it constructively - but Truman's actions have enraged me. I am used to people in this city being mercenary, being selfish, yet having that sort of behaviour in one's home feels like a violation. We took Truman in when he had nowhere to go, yet as soon as another opportunity came along, he dropped Leo and I like a hot potato. We still cannot contact him, yet his belongings are still in our home. If he ever paid us rent, as per our agreement when he moved in, I certainly haven't seen any of it. He left the flat with no warning, no thanks, and no thought to the trash he left behind him.
This is not the first time that Leo and I have offered hospitality, only for it to be abused. But coming from Truman, this hurts - Leo especially. He often defended Truman to me, particularly through the trauma we all went through when he first moved back in. They have been best friends for years; in his desire to create a family around himself, Leo often called him "brother". After the many betrayals and upheavals he has experienced since I have known him, Truman was his last remaining "brother".
Just this once, I am able to look past what I fear is a burgeoning addiction to painkillers in Leo. In his situation, I would want to shroud myself from reality too; from personal experience, codeine is a short and sure route to comforting illusion.
Crochet and television have put some time between myself and my anger, but I wish they were so effective at solving the underlying problem. This is the second time that Truman has made my home feel unsafe and unwelcoming to me. My home is my refuge from the outside world and all the people in it that scare me so much, and this sense of violation I now feel does all sorts of damage to my state of mind. Truman never considered the effect of his leaving on my depression, just as he never considered how the state he left his room in would affect my asthma. Having written about his tendency toward self-destruction, it deeply grieves me to have to write now about his destructivity toward the people that care about him. Neither Leo nor I can tolerate any more destruction than that which this year has already brought us.
Before medicating himself, Leo told me he was washing his hands of Truman. Knowing what that must have cost him to say proves how deeply Truman's offence runs. A few days ago, I feared for his future. Now, I only hope that he can lie in the bed he's made.
The vacuum cleaner broke down once and for all, pitiful specimen that it was, so it was me and my asthma against the carpet of dust, crumbs and cigarette ash Truman had so thoughtfully left behind. Thankfully our flat has laminate floors throughout, so all it took was a broom, a Swiffer, several inhaler breaks and a long string of curses.
With the hard work out of the way, I was able to set up my beloved Wii once more, complete with balance board and yoga mat. I rewarded myself with an evening of BBC shows via the Wii, with a pile of crochet in my lap and Lola, the youngest cat, asleep amid the stacks on the bed.
I despise feeling angry - I have never found a way to express it constructively - but Truman's actions have enraged me. I am used to people in this city being mercenary, being selfish, yet having that sort of behaviour in one's home feels like a violation. We took Truman in when he had nowhere to go, yet as soon as another opportunity came along, he dropped Leo and I like a hot potato. We still cannot contact him, yet his belongings are still in our home. If he ever paid us rent, as per our agreement when he moved in, I certainly haven't seen any of it. He left the flat with no warning, no thanks, and no thought to the trash he left behind him.
This is not the first time that Leo and I have offered hospitality, only for it to be abused. But coming from Truman, this hurts - Leo especially. He often defended Truman to me, particularly through the trauma we all went through when he first moved back in. They have been best friends for years; in his desire to create a family around himself, Leo often called him "brother". After the many betrayals and upheavals he has experienced since I have known him, Truman was his last remaining "brother".
Just this once, I am able to look past what I fear is a burgeoning addiction to painkillers in Leo. In his situation, I would want to shroud myself from reality too; from personal experience, codeine is a short and sure route to comforting illusion.
Crochet and television have put some time between myself and my anger, but I wish they were so effective at solving the underlying problem. This is the second time that Truman has made my home feel unsafe and unwelcoming to me. My home is my refuge from the outside world and all the people in it that scare me so much, and this sense of violation I now feel does all sorts of damage to my state of mind. Truman never considered the effect of his leaving on my depression, just as he never considered how the state he left his room in would affect my asthma. Having written about his tendency toward self-destruction, it deeply grieves me to have to write now about his destructivity toward the people that care about him. Neither Leo nor I can tolerate any more destruction than that which this year has already brought us.
Before medicating himself, Leo told me he was washing his hands of Truman. Knowing what that must have cost him to say proves how deeply Truman's offence runs. A few days ago, I feared for his future. Now, I only hope that he can lie in the bed he's made.