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Time to button mash the escape key.

My head’s too full of junk and thoughts are rushing round to fast. My arm is numb and I’m still waiting for the caffeine to kick in. And for some reason I woke up with My Chemical Romance’s song “You know what they do to guys like us in Prison”. 

So this is the life update where I officially say I’ve had too much. The pain has massively out weighed any feasible gain. I’m looking for the escape hatch or the button for the injector seat. I’m cutting my losses and calling in all favours. To any one that owes me even an ounce of blood, it’s time to pay up. Yet it feels like I’m initiating nuclear warfare.  

The night before last I finally found something that was important to me in my forsaken room. Yet reality stuck it’s knife in me pretty quick and I found what I thought was a maggot in the bag. Before I knew what was happening, they were every where. I felt like I had lost my mind because I was being charged at by the second infestation in my room that year. Yes second. There’s a reason why I don’t talk about specifics about my room or my house. Well I’ll be a whistle blower for this hell hole, because I want out. It’s damp, the several breeds of mold make me sick, like I have the flu all year round and I always wake up with a headache. It’s cold, even with the heating on. I don’t mean multiple blankets cold either. Despite how much I love snow, if it were to snow heavy I would probably die of pneumonia or something equally dire. The moisture and mold on my walls freezes. And I’m so physically cold I’m vomiting and the coldest setting on the shower burns me. My joints ache like I’m in my 70s because of how cold it is even in summer. Could you seriously imagine wearing jumpers, and thermal clothes in warm weather because of how cold it is in your house? I have to sleep in 3 sets of clothes, thermal base layers, jumpers, dressing gowns, hats, gloves and scarfs, plus several blankets and duvets in winter and I was still cold. I honestly think I would be warmer on the streets. And I still stayed there. I was like a gambler hoping my odds would pick up even though they owed thousands.

 I even still have to sleep in the same bed I was raped in.

Yet my parents would never do anything until I was half mad, pulling out my hair and wanting to jump off the roof. 

So it turns out that the problem wasn’t maggots but moth lavea. To make it worse, every one at that house is now turning it round as if it’s my God dammed fault. I’m being blamed for every thing because I can’t throw out stuff that my parents think of a special that’s really just junk. Or women’s clothes that my mum thinks I might need one day when I come round to my senses and give up on this ridiculous and fanciful idea of being transgender. Plus I left an empty cup that had water in it, as if that’s the most unholy thing ever. 

I’m also being guilt tripped about my sister missing xbox time with her partner and they missed a show they watch on Thursdays. As if another infestation isn’t a serious fucking problem and I’m just over reacting. It’s like a horror movie and I’m just banging my head against the wall and screaming like I’m in an asylum because I’m the only one who sees this as a problem. 

So I’ve had enough. I can’t take this anymore. This isn’t a last call for punches before I go top my self. Hell f*cking no.

In the end I called my love and he picked me up under the guise of fixing my p.c. (Which is kind of happening anyway…) I’m at his house and I feel like I’m prepping for doomsday and all I can think of is how funny it is my nickname was Pestilence in high school. 

I’m desperate, refusing to give in and drink alcohol and planning to bring the whole thing down. I just don’t think I have the strength to go to my granddad (who signed the house over to me and my sister,) and declare that I want out. For 20,000 he can have it back even though I’m tempted just to sign the f*cking sh*t hole back over to him. I don’t care anymore. I’m leaving either by force or I’m going to follow the white rabbit to hell, but I refuse to go mad. There is stuff in my life worth fighting for. 

So I’m looking for some where to stay until it blows over. I can’t go into emergency accommodation or get help for being homeless because of the half house I was given. I don’t have enough for a mortgage and the legal side would take too long. I don’t have enough money for a hotel and I don’t know who to turn to because I’ve never asked for help in my life. I’ve always been so independent and stubborn that I couldn’t even ask for help in Primary school. I’m trying to arrange somewhere to hide on Monday under the guise of hanging out with a friend and it’s a Friday. I’ll be back in Manchester on Tuesday so I’ll talk this through with my councilor and see if there’s anything she or the foundation can do to help. I’ve always got the option of staying at my bed mate’s, parent’s place with him but I don’t want to be a burden. He has a friend who just bought a place who might be able to house me for a bit. However I just want to blow the whole thing open, save as much of my stuff as possible and just disapear. I should leave my family to deal with this sh*t and get on with my life but it feels like I’m just running away, giving in and failing. I’ve just gone through to much crap to even care anymore. I’m holding up my hands and saying I can’t cope. This is it. I’m done. I want to move one and get on with my life. I want my own space. I want to be me. I want to live my life and get better. I want to walk away from this whilst I still can instead of getting carted away by the special doctors and wake up in a padded cell. I’m at my limit and if I go back there I’m going to break. 

It’s bad enough I want to rent a bulldozer…not that I ever would. I can’t even stand being in a car and I can’t drive. 

Oh and the song if you’re wondering… I haven’t heard it in years but it’s massively appropriate. (I looked it up) There’s a few lines in it that really reflect how I’m feeling. One of which I used to repeat when I was in high-school and was crying. “They’re never going to get me, because I’m like a bullet through a flock of doves.” I think the song is about going mad in Prison…  and believe me that house has been a prison for me since I was born.

And yet I know if blogging about this helps me get it out of my system there’s a chance I’ll give in and go back there like the abused little child I am, because part of me has been trained to think ‘mommy knows best’. So please if you know me try and hold me back for as long as possible because I’d do it for you. 

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