Roommate

My roommate found a place. She's moving out next week. Before me. I'm jealous, because she has been more on-top-of the situation than I have, and fortune has smiled on her. She found a cute place for cheap in a location that would have been perfect for me (super close to school). Plus it all seems rosier since I'm looking through the eyes of envy. Sigh. I've tried to look for somewhere for me but I'm no good at it... Sigh.

It will be nice to be here without her soon, though. I can't keep living with her. Not that she's a terrible person by any means. But I've had enough.

Roommate, here's why I can't live with you anymore:
~ It started a few months ago when I found myself grumpy towards you when I came back after spending a couple days out of town. You were here when I got home and it took you like an hour to ask me how my trip had been. It felt like you were oblivious to my life. And that grumpiness hasn't gone away over the past months.
~ You came home one night upset that someone had accused you of being self-absorbed, and I couldn't help but agree (although I didn't tell you that). I hate it that I think that.
~ I've hit compassion fatigue. I just can't care anymore. I can't handle your drama. My life is not one of wondering if we should call the police because of the rapist at the door and midnight trips to the hospital - but with you in it, it is. You call me every time you're crying, you vent to me about your job and your love life and your family and everything else, you've come home drunk and hysterical asking not for your mom but for "Roommate", and when I go away for a couple weeks you go so crazy that your boyfriend can't handle it and you both start saying "Good thing Michelle will be home soon." It's too much. I miss serenity. I can't be your primary support anymore. I've become unable to care. I've started to resent it whenever you need me. And that is not fair or kind to you (and it's pretty miserable for me too).
~ I come home hoping you're not home. When I hear someone at the door, I hope it's not you. I'd rather be here by myself.
~ I have a pretty good sense of my own personal property - I know what is mine and what is not. And as a result, sometimes I have a hard time sharing. You, on the other hand, are wonderfully generous, and then you expect that I will be the same. You also seem to forget what is yours and what is not. And so everything becomes communal. Well, "everything" and "communal" in the sense that you use a lot of my stuff, but I use very little of yours, and when "my" stuff runs out I am the one to buy more. And that bugs me. Sometimes I just stop having things on hand so that I'm not providing them for both of us or because it's hopeless to buy them because as soon as I do you take them. That's why I don't make ice cream or buy gravol anymore.
~ It bugs me that you use my makeup. You have your own, and I don't want whatever eye infection you get next. It especially bugs me when I find my makeup and brushes in your makeup box - or when I can't find them at all. Recently I tried to bring part of this up nicely - I bought you another blush brush and explained as I gave it to you, "now you won't have to use mine anymore!" I don't know where that one went, but you're back to using mine again.
~ You don't treat things as nicely as I think I do, and so I fear that my things have taken a lot of wear and tear by living with you. You burnt out three blenders before I said I guessed you could use mine until you got another one... And you never did get another one. You were using mine under the condition that you'd keep it super clean, but I think I scrubbed at it for half an hour the other day to get all the grime off it.
~ It still bothers me that you ate some of the super special chocolates that my Mom gave me for my birthday last year. You didn't even ask, you just rooted through the box that I was trying to keep so pristine and helped yourself to what was a special luxury for me.
~ You forgot my birthday this year, or just didn't consider it worth keeping track of.
~ You never say thank you for gifts I give you on special occasions. You never give me gifts on these holidays.
~ I wish I had made a list of everything I owned, especially books and CDs, before you moved in so I wouldn't just have to rely on noticing what I don't have anymore. I know you've helped yourself to my bookshelf, intending to borrow but never returning. After I asked for one book back, you said you'd find it for me but you never did, so I ended up buying myself a new one. I shouldn't have to do that! I noticed I was missing a CD, so I checked your room and found three empty scratched up cases of mine in there (one for a CD you already owned). These were precious to me...
~ Other things have gone missing too. I can't help but think it's you. And I'm kind of suspicious, so I'm kind of paranoid. (Did I have that much shampoo in my bottle yesterday?) But some things are valid concerns. You say you don't know anything about it, but how can we just lose a metal mixing bowl and a pot lid and a casserole dish lid and five spoons?
~ You have slept more nights on my couch than on your bed. Couch cushions don't get washed like sheets do, and my couch is much sadder now after being your bed for so long.
~ I'm embarassed that our place is always such a disaster. That's why I don't have people over. And I can't blame you for that because you do more cleaning than I do, but I think that if it was just me, things just wouldn't get as messy. And I feel too overwhelmed by all the mess to do anything about it.
~ You haven't just done more cleaning than I have, you have done most of the cleaning. So really, I don't deserve to have any grievances. But I do. And although you have shown me much grace, it is not healthy for me to be indebted... And I don't really think it has been healthy for me to be excused from cleaning responsibilities either. I need to look after myself. (Still, thank you...)
~ What you do reflects on me. When you yell at the landlords, they feel upset with "us". When you fight with the lady upstairs, "we" fight with the lady upstairs. "Our" house is a place that has beer when you bring it home. "Our" carpet has melted patches from your hair straightener (well actually my hair straightener that you used constantly). I'm just not sure you're someone I want to be defined by.
- The melted patches on the carpet match the warped patches on top of my television and the holes in my couch cushion. My possessions will forever bear the marks of your hair straightener.
~ I haven't been strong enough to tell you these things. I don't want to cause conflict. I haven't known how to bring them up. So I have buried them and pretended things are okay. And now I am so dissatisfied that I can't keep living this way, but I don't know how to fix it - the only thing I know how to do is leave.
(Sigh... Woe to my future relationships...)

It's not all bad though. We've had fun together. We've laughed a lot. I used to say that I loved living with you, and although that is no longer very true, I won't take back that you are probably the roommate I've most enjoyed living with. And a lot of that came out of your openness and neediness (I used to feel flattered). We've been together for almost two years - longer than I have lived with any other non-family person. Every so often you do things that just amaze me. Yay you.

What I've appreciated most about you (on top of how you've picked up my slack) is how you haven't judged me. If I sleep in 'till noon (or later) or I'm still in my pajamas at 5 or I eat junk for supper or my room is a mess, you don't look down on me. I haven't had to hide anything. And that has been so important to me. Thank you. I would be hard pressed to find that in anyone else.

I'm sorry I can't live with you anymore. I hope you do well on your own.