Title: A Stranger in My Own Home
Journal Entry: January 20th, 2024
I moved again. Final year, new place, same story. I've moved around a lot, but let's skip the reasons why. This time felt different, though—like a fresh start, a clean slate, endless possibilities. After everything with the boy on the bus, I was proud of how far I'd come. I thought I'd found my calm, the peace I craved.
I was wrong.
In my final year, school was a whirlwind of projects, deadlines, and classes. It was no longer just about surviving; it was about juggling a thousand demands while the economy weighed down on every decision. Paying rent, managing household utilities, feeding myself—it all became a mountain I wasn't prepared to climb. I picked up an online job to cope, but that only added to the exhaustion.
I let go of anything non-essential, including proper meals. My health took the brunt of it, and soon, I was physically deteriorating. My clothes hung loose; my energy dwindled. Tears caught me off guard, sneaking in when I least expected them. But I couldn't afford to stop.
I was running on fumes, barely holding it together. Every day felt like a losing battle, and every night reminded me of how far I still had to go. Sleep became my escape—my only refuge from the chaos.
Then, my roommate began to reveal her true colors. The friendly, accommodating facade faded, replaced by someone controlling, manipulative, and insecure. She used my things without asking, guarded hers obsessively, and picked petty fights. Living with her became unbearable.
My sanctuary turned into a battleground.
I tried to be accommodating, patient even, but it was futile. She projected her insecurities, craved validation, and tried to assert superiority in the pettiest ways. She embodied everything I disliked in a person, everything I tried to avoid. Her behavior wasn't just annoying—it was suffocating.
Once again, I found myself asking: "Where did I go wrong?"
I wasn't running from my problems anymore; they were waiting for me every time I came home. I was suffocating in that room.
So, I did what I always do when things get too much—I ran.
I left home early and returned late. I spent hours in school, in cafes, with friends—anywhere but there. But no matter how much I avoided her, the tension lingered. She was like a wolf in the dark, waiting for me.
I should've fought back, but I knew it wouldn't solve anything. It would only escalate the situation. So, for the sake of peace, I stayed quiet. I had bigger issues to deal with: looming projects, financial stress, emotional fatigue, and a sinking sense of uncertainty about my future.
Almost 20, and I felt stuck.
Everyone around me seemed to have their lives figured out, while I was just trying to get through a single day in peace. I couldn't escape this time. No path forward, no clear plan. It was checkmate.
Then, as if the universe wanted to mock me, he resurfaced. The boy on the bus.
He texted out of the blue, apologized, and tried to make amends. I suppose I should've been grateful—or excited? But I didn't feel anything. Not love, not hate, not anger. Nothing. I'd healed. That chapter of my life was closed, and I wasn't looking back.
Life felt like a cruel game, testing my limits, seeing how far I could bend before breaking.
I decided I needed an escape—a break from everything. So, I went to a party, hoping for noise to drown out the chaos in my head. Same strategy as before, same outcome.
I thought I'd grown. I thought I'd changed. But as I stood on the sidelines, lost in my thoughts, I realized I'd been lying to myself. Convincing myself I wasn't weak when deep down, I still was.
And that's when HE sat beside me.