My Roommate nosleep

August 27th

Lately I've been contemplating killing my roommate. She does the

most pesky things, like leaving hairs in the sink of the community

bathroom. I'll come in to piss, and there's all these long, curly

hairs plastered to the white porcelain. Fucking disgusting. And

don't even get me started on the rings of bronzer and powder on

the counter. Does the bitch bother to clean it up? Nope.

When we first moved in, things were going well enough. She kept

to herself, mostly staying in her room, reading or watching TV,

and I usually did the same. But now that we've been here a few

months, she's gotten comfortable, too comfortable. I can't tell you

how many times I've dragged the damn trash to the dumpster or

had to unload and load the dishwasher, while she sits on her ass

in the living room, laughing obnoxiously to the punchlines of some

comedy show.

If things don't change soon, I am going to have to do something

about it.

September 1st

Well, I tried to talk to the bitch, but she actually had the nerve to

MIMIC me the whole time. I finally gave up, flipped her off, and

stormed to my room.

That reminds me, I think she's been sneaking into my bedroom. I

haven't caught her yet, but I am fucking certain of it. I'll come

home from work, and my bed is unmade, even though I make the

damn thing every morning. Plus, I've noticed empty beer bottles

on my nightstand. I mean, how could I NOT notice that?

God, all I seem to think about nowadays is plunging a knife into

her gut.

September 12th

Things have been a little better lately with the roommate. But

that's probably because I went to visit my family for a week.

Family. They and the roommate must be cut from the same cloth

because all they seem to do is boil my God damn blood. I sat

quietly as they said things like, "We hear you haven't been to work

in a couple days. We're worried about you."

As I listened, I daydreamed about tying them up and punching

their patronizing smirks into bloody pulps. It had to be my boss

who told them I'd taken a few days off, the meddling bastard. Too

bad I work for a family friend. I need to find a different job.

At any rate, even while I was away from my place, I couldn't seem

to think about anyone but my roommate and her stupid, fake,

maddening grins.

September 14th

I went and did it now. We were arguing, yelling, really, and I hauled

off and punched her in the face. While blood squirted out of her

like water out of a faucet, I just laughed. It made me giddy.

The whole thing started because she's been eating my fucking

food! Everytime I open the refrigerator, something new is missing.

I can't hardly stand it anymore. Maybe it's time to find a new place

to live, as well as a new job.

September 15th

That fucking bitch. She took my favorite blouse, I know it was her

because who the fuck else would it be? She's the only person that

comes into this God damn apartment! When she or I want to

spend time with friends, we go out and meet them somewhere.

I am itching so much the past few days. I've scratched my arms

raw, I'm itching so much. I swear, I'm allergic to her. My face

hurts, too. She's driving me mad!

September 16th

My itch has gotten so bad that I have to wear long sleeved shirts

and jeans everyday, even if it's hot. I've absolutely massacred my

arms and legs. Feels like things are crawling around inside me.

September 20th

Last night, I dreamed of blazing hot suns and rivers of blood

flowing through tiny trenches of dirt, rich in life-sustaining oxygen.

I awoke so refreshed until I walked into the kitchen and saw the

mess that whore left for me to clean. The sink was piled high with

dirty dishes; the trash was so swollen, pieces of garbage were

littered on the floor all around it; and beer bottles were all over the

counter! What did that slut do while I slept? Have a party?

I went to confront her about it, but I got so angry trying to form

words that I reached out and scratched the shit out of her

instead. She sobbed and gave me this ugly, wounded look. She

makes me feel like I've got worms tangled up in my stomach.

And my head, my fucking pounding head. What is going on in me?

September 24th

Today I tried to set the apartment on fire. I lit all the candles I

could find, turned the oven on broil, and twisted each knob of the

stove's burners to the highest setting. I was all set to walk out

and hope for the best when that cunt came in and started whining

about her period. Reluctantly, I gave her some of my pads. By that

time, she'd noticed the stove, oven, and candles.

I offered her no explanation, just went to my room.

September 25th

She wants us to move out and go our own ways. I don't want to.

That bitch deserves punishment. Why should she get to move on ,

scot-free, after the torture I've endured at her hands? I feel like

she's in my brain, digging her fingers around in it as if it were play

dough. I've got to do something about her, got to.

Gotta act fast.

September 26th

The funniest thing has happened. I went to attack her with a

kitchen knife, but the bitch got the better of me, and now I'm

sitting here bleeding out. All I can do is laugh, really. I mean, isn't

that some fucking shit? Go to kill someone and end up getting

killed yourself.

I don't have much strength left, so...

October 19th

They've only just now allowed my sister to bring me some

personal possessions. I honestly don't know how she got this

journal in here without them (my sister included) rubbing their

dirty fucking hands all over it, violating me and my privacy with

their prying eyes, but I guess I've hit a stroke of luck-believe me

when I say that if sis had read it, she'd have let me know.

At our group session today, I could actually say I am grateful for

something, for once. Not that I'm going to because I don't want

them reading it or, worse, taking it away from me. I'm having to be

very cautious about where I pull this out, as it is.

Now that I've got some of my things, I'd really rather my sister

not come back, with her concerned (yet somehow still judging)

eyes, swollen from crying, I assume.

It was my mom who came through my front door. I'd forgotten I

gave her a spare key, for "just in case." She came to check on me,

saw me bleeding and nodding in and out of consciousness,

screamed, and called an ambulance.

Everything is real foggy after that. I have flashes of memory, like a

drunk who blacked out, but I don't recall much until I was released

from the hospital and had been here a couple days (so they told

me). They say I was functioning rather normally during those first

couple of days, minus lack of attempts at communication.

So, it was the beginning of October when I came back to myself. I know this

because I saw some CNAs fluttering about, taping fall leaves to the

walls and hammering nails into doors for Halloween wreaths to

hang. I was just aware again, suddenly. A nurse, Claudia, came to

me at the table I was sitting at in the cafeteria, and asked me how

I was doing. Little bitch, I'm in the nuthouse, how the fuck do you

think I'm doing?

I muttered, "Where am I? Dead?"

She chuckled after her look of mild astonishment faded, said I was

not, and ran off to fetch Dr. Leonard, who touched and poked and

prodded my body with his calloused hands and ice cold

instruments.

I had a good long session with the doctor the following afternoon.

Now we arrive at the point I've been getting to, journal, the real

fucking kicker: he tells me I lived alone in my apartment and only

imagined a roommate. Says I slit my own wrists, that I wasn't

attacked. I spat in his powdery-dry, smug face for that. I mean,

what in the good God damn is going on here? I'm not fucking

suicidal!

My family reiterated the same story as the pompous doctor. These

people...

I swear, it's like I'm the only sane one in my life.

Submitted October 05, 2015 at 07:18AM by SuperQueen0208 http://ift.tt/1Oe32Kv nosleep