I am not okay

I do not share my space well. My home is my safe place where I can throw that mask across the other side of the room.

My mother in-law is currently living with and has been for the past two odd months. Essentially she became homeless and made the decision she’d like to be closer to our kids. Our house is meant to be a stepping stone. Two weeks top is what I was led to believe.

She is loud, American, unclean, a loser, knows it all, and is constantly trying to talk to me about Doomsday, Jesus, how to raise my kids and how I can grow my own vegetables.

The idea was that she’d pay a small amount of money as “rent”. No money, no help around the house, no respite as she sits on my fucking lounge day-in, day-out. I really feel like I’m being punished for something. It’s my space.

I would normally try to escape as much as I can but some fuckwit doctor has said that I’m not meant to drive for six months because of a seizure I had. A seizure that I can’t get any answers on or appropriate tests. I am not okay with being trapped.

She also dobs on me, ringing Michael to tell him the things I’m up to. She tells me that my daughter is difficult because of who I am. And I got mugged because the devil came inside. And I tried to kill myself because I wore a bracelet with peace signs.

I have a Buddha statue at the front of my house and a framed image in my lounge room. To avoid her preaching my husband hides them and tells me we can put them out again when she isn’t here.

I spend most of my time in my bedroom. I am terrified of people coming to my house on the of-chance she answers the door, breathes her disgusting on them and assaults their minds and ears with whatever fucking garbage that comes out.

My house smells of cigarettes. My son has her sleeping in his room on the bottom bunk. His room smells, everywhere you look there is rubbish building up so at one big lot she can put it in the recycling bin. Rory isn’t sleeping well because she coughs all fucking night.

Not only do we have to house her, we also get the privilege of looking after her 7 year old cattle dog that barks and fucking barks. We also get to pay to feed the little bastard.

You’d think that one plus would be free babysitting. No. Left with their grandmother my children would stay in pj all day, skip lunch, and left to their own devises. We once went out one night and assuming my children would have been put in bed I came home to find they were still up. 11pm. Just imagine the anger we endured because they should’ve been in bad hours before.

Right now I spend all minutes of the day being angry. I want to sit on the floor of my shower and cry but even that isn’t something I can do without having her walk in, dob on me or remind me that I just need to let Jesus into my heart.

I want to use my toilet with the door wide open, walk around without clothes on or very little. I want to have my house smell better. I want to be able to put whatever statues I want around. I don’t want to feed another person and animal. I want to be able to eat cereal in the nude (I don’t do this but it sounds like a good idea).

So, the solution would be to find her that place to live with her fuckwit dog. After being told there is nothing out there I present four potentials. Three of them won’t do because those areas are too cold. I find her a place in Boorowa to rent. She fucks up and the owner isn’t keen to have her as a tenant.

I have another four to present to her and she is still sitting on my fucking lounge not paying rent and dishing out cleaning tips to me.

It feels like I always miss out. I’m told that it’ll just be a little longer Abby. I have hit my fucking limit though. I’ll be looking for a place to stay soon. I can’t fucking do this. It’s my fucking house.

 

 

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