Even with the new anxiety medication that I’m on, nothing is going to be okay until we kick out our roommate. He eats everything. He lies about everything. He won’t look for a job and I’m so far gone mentally, that all I do is hole myself up in my room until my girlfriend gets home.

I don’t cook anymore, and if there’s one thing that I love doing it’s cooking. Like, take for example my chili, I made a pot last night. Big pot. Mostly hotdogs because, well, turns out all of our canned beans were not what they should have been. The two of us, we got one bowl. He devoured the rest. One bowl right after another.

I almost cried, not even gonna lie.

Having him here kills my motivation to do anything. I mean, for fucks sake, I can’t even play Dragon Age on our frickin’ flatscreen. He never leaves. Always right there. Cheerful and eager for conversation. And all I want is to buy bananas and not have him eat them. I want to work out and feel comfortable wearing shorts.

We’re so close to moving though ;A; In May. To our forever home. Where our cats can run up and down the stairs and I’ll have an office to look out over the city. I’ll fuss over colours while she laughs at me.

I won’t need a high dose of anxiety medication. I won’t shake all of the time, or cry all of the time because I’m a prisoner in my own home. I mean, it’s so bad that I’ve taken to chewing my fingers again. They’re a bloody mess, literally. I can barely hold my pen to draw but art, and Karu’s dry wit, is the only thing keeping me from completely losing it.

We tried, once, to kick him out but I have this problem about being too nice and letting people run all over me. We’re doing it this week though.

We are.

And he’d best try damn hard to get that job tomorrow. He’s going to need it.

Three months living with us and not paying rent, bills, or groceries. It end this month. I can’t take it anymore.