In the Service of a 'Friend'

I am baffled, in disbelief even. I know me better than anyone but I cannot wrap my brain around how I've come to this point. Actually, there are many points, none of which seem to add up. I should just jump right into this. if I don't, I'll chicken out. So, here goes nothing and everything.

My ex and I have been doing the whole break-up to make-up thing for roughly five years. I was finally exhausted and decided to throw in the towel, (for the last last time), over a year ago. Kudos, to me. Right? Right.

This man spent months texting and calling, all day, everyday, begging me to take him back. There wasn't a moment of rest. Then, out of nowhere, he's homeless. Single me is like, ' Oh well!'. The other part of me with a small soft spot for this idiot, tells him he can come stay for a few months. Boy, was he happy.

We never lived together. The most we'd do is a weekend, and that would be too much for me to deal with, some times. I never enjoyed sharing my personal space with him. He is one of those people who really loves being around you, but you can only take him in small doses. I really should've thought about that before I decided to feel bad enough to allow him to stay.

There aren't any memories of me actually inquiring the why and how he ended up homeless, and I don't really care to ponder. I'll probably remember as I get further into the details. All I recount is saying that he was free to be here, like literally, no money, save it. He required a few months to get rent and security together and to find a place. Cool. Let's say from September to March was the timeframe. I do not want to put him out in the dead of winter. March is cold, still, but it's better than January.

My apartment is fairly large with two nice sized bedrooms. There's my room, the largest and my child's room. Needless to say, (we'll name him Alex), already set his pretty little mind on MY room, even though we are broken up, and the living room is as big as a stockroom of my favorite super store. There are a plethora of things I told myself to suck up for the next few months so that we could all co-habitate in peace. Sharing my room was one of them, but he should've asked before he assumed that it was a go. I only sucked it up after he dropped his too many bags down on my room floor and made himself comfortable on my bed in his outside clothes. Strike one!

We live in two different cities, about four hours away from each other. He's from the big city and I'm from the outskirts. I knew he hadn't planned on going back if he'd forgotten any essential items. So, I took a few days off work to make sure Alex was settled. Did I mention he's also jobless? Yep. The poor dear wound up without a place to live because his contracted gig was up. Then again, he and his landlady weren't getting along. She had a no women allowed rule, and as a hot blooded young man, Alex wasn't fond of it. Whenever said landlady felt to do so, she'd come up with new rules. There was 'no company after midnight', and 'no smoking on the porch', to name a few. Neither were rules when he first moved in. In my opinion, he doesn't like being told what to do. More than likely, he withheld rent until he was kicked out and then a few weeks later his job ended. Could've been karma.

My friend, Alex, has plenty of time off. He is able to sleep in, catch up on tv shows, news, and just relax. We were doing all of that together, and getting along, I might add. But, I had to go back to work, which I was all too happy to do. It was getting too crowded. As long as I'm home, he's home, literally in any room I walk into, Alex is right behind me. All I want, no, need is a few moments to myself. He won't even say anything. I can be in the kitchen boiling water for tea, and he'll come stomping out of the bedroom in gym shorts and a tank top, (like he pays bills here), grabbing me by my waist. And here I go, " Uh, excuse me, sir. Your hands do not belong there and will you go put on some pants, or at least some drawers under those shorts? Everyone can kind of see your little business down there!" His response, " C'mon. I'm home. We're all family here!" Strike two. At this point, I'm turned off, aggravated, and disgusted.

It only gets worse. Monday through Friday I need to be up at 3:45 am so I can get ready for work. One late night, in the middle of sleeping, I hear Alex yelling. He's not only yelling. As I'm squinting in the dark to try and make out what's going on and if he's okay, he hauls off and punches me in my face! Taken aback, hot, mad, and crying, I screamed. It took everything in me to stumble out of bed in pitch blackness to find the light switch. I look at him and he's flailing all over the bed, cussing. Apparently, there's a fight going on, but I cannot tell who's winning. I was an innocent by stander in a nightmare street brawl. Great. Even with the lights all on, he doesn't wake up. What do I do? It's so loud. The neighbors might call the cops. Dare I move in to try to wake him? I'd better do something else.

Tiptoeing from the room to the bathroom for a cup of water, something is dripping on the floor in front of me. I make it to the bathroom to find not only my nose bleeding but my left eye, also. I'm so scared and freaking out. How many times did I get hit? Was this on purpose? Now, I'm livid. Forget the cup of water. Let me go grab a pot from the kitchen with some icy cold faucet water. Ears ringing, head throbbing, with a filled to the brim, gigantic collard greens pot, I'm ready to risk it all to get Rocky to stop beating up the air and shouting at the invisible attackers.

Without another thought of ruining my mattress, I dumped the water on him. He screams even louder and jumps up from the bed, asking why'd I do that. The only thing from my mouth is, " You hit me! I don't know how many times! Look at my face! What is wrong with you?!" And here goes our friend, Alex... " I didn't do that to you! How'd that happen? Look at my pajamas! These were expensive! Where are we going to sleep? The bed is drenched!" Strike three! The man has night terrors and won't admit it. I didn't know, but now I do. Never have I ever experienced anything even remotely close to this. I mean, I don't even dream. There was something my doctor told me about not being able to get passed the light sleep stage to achieve deep and then rem sleep. I am a light sleeper. My diagnosis is clear, but I need Alex to get an evaluation for himself. Describing his blatant denial and disbelief of not only hitting me, but doing it multiple times, (at least that's what looked like happened), and causing injury, is infuriating. I got no more sleep the rest of the night. I cleaned myself up, as best as I could. The tears were still flowing because I was hurting and angry. There was no way I was going to work with my face all swollen. I called out a few hours later, for a few days. Having been a victim of domestic violence in the past, but this, not being that, and only me knowing it, I knew no one else could tell the difference. The pain and bruises were definitely the same. It was scary.

I spent at least an hour and a half in my bathroom. I just needed to be away from him. I really just cried, bawled my eyes out. The memories of abuse showed up and showed out as I looked myself in the mirror. I'm not an openly emotional person. If I'm to a point of tears, I'm beyond pissed. But, I pulled it together, took a few aspirin, and went back into the room realizing our friend, Alex, never once came to check on me. What strike are we on? Every move I made upon re-entering my room was done in complete silence. If he said anything to me, I do not remember because I blocked even his physical being out. I did not see nor hear him.

Fresh bedding and towels were put on the bed, by me, while our friend Alex searched for a change of dry and expensive pjs. He'd been on his phone, scrolling through social media when I returned. No wonder he didn't check on me. He was busy. After he was changed, he went to look for a snack. I know this because he ate his Italian bread and cheese in my bed! Let me not forget the nice tall glass of wine and plenty of crumbs that he so nicely brushed to the floor after he was finished. At this point, you all need to keep up with strikes for me.

Still roaming about nice and quiet like, I find dry, cheap pjs for myself, and grab my two body pillows off the floor. Placed evenly in the middle of the bed, from headboard to footboard, my body pillows were a barrier. With a look of disgust, Alex tells me it looks stupid and is unnecessary. In my head to myself, I'm saying the same things about my face. Lights left on, I think I should lay down at the foot of the bed. But, what if he has another bad dream and I get kicked? Off to the living room I go. Without an explanation, I just walked out. Maybe he thought I was in the kitchen. He comes out and it's dark. He screams my name, looking for me, but I lay curled up on the sofa like I can recall when I used to hide from my abuser. Though, back then, I was crouched behind a couch, contemplating my next move. It kicked in, again, and I was immediately distraught and disoriented. I didn't move. I couldn't move. I held my breath and waited for him to go away. He got closer to the sofa. It is a large sectional with throw blankets and pillows, kept neat. He better not mess it up. He knows not to. He didn't touch it. He didn't bother to turn on a light. Instead, he walked back to my room, mumbling to himself, and then, nothing for a long minute. By this time, I gathered that good ole expensive pjs wearing, homeless, jobless, Alex thinks I've left the apartment. How do I know? He was quiet because he was calling my cell phone. I heard him leaving a voicemail asking where I went. He was saying he was sorry for hitting me, but he was sleep and didn't know what happened, even after he woke up. He just wanted me to come back.

Five long years of knowing him, being together, sometimes sleeping next to each other, and this never happened. If I get over the fact that I was injured, and if he can come clean about doing it, with a sincere apology, we could've moved on from it. He could've acknowledged it is an issue and I could've accepted it. Alternative sleeping arrangements could have been discussed, and all would be well. That is not what happened. To me, the absolute worst outcome occurred. I was, inadvertently, thrust back to memories from a life long gone, and I was terrified. His unwillingness or incapability to be in the moment of reality with me, probably due to embarrassment, dragged my torture down memory lane on for too long. That was the only incident, of that magnitude which took place. I never slept much after that. I recorded him a few times just to show him I wasn't making up anything. A few videos have him laughing super loud, crying uncontrollably, even fighting, again. I also recorded him moving in the bed like he's having sex, whispering, and making noises. Gross. He was more mad that I taped him than he was about what he did to me during one of those episodes. The room was his for the duration of his stay. I took to the sectional.

My sofa is a thing of beauty. Sleeping a full night on it isn't ideal. I believe I slept on it several weeks, even less than ideal. I am safe on the sofa, but my back and neck are over it. I'm over him being here. How did I end up catering to him; cooking his meals, washing his clothes, and cleaning up behind him as if he's a child, all while working full time with an actual child to come home to and care for? How? Why YOUR friend, Alex needed to be told not to pee on the bathroom floor, but if it should happen, he should clean it up, is way beyond me. " I didn't pee on the floor! I don't do that! I'm not a baby!" There would be no comment to any of that, but since he is the only person in here of the male persuasion, I really need to know who else is leaving puddles on the floor. And why hadn't there ever been any prior to him coming? I've never felt so inconvenienced in my own dwelling. I feel like I'm the guest, the maid, the unpaid help. There are just so many unanswered questions.

How could I not have known Alex has a sleeping disorder? When did he become such a slob? He hasn't cleaned a thing since he's been here, not a dish, a fork, a plate. He drinks all of my wine, liquor, bottled water, and juice. If I want more, I have to go out and purchase it myself. The one time he did replace a bottle of liquor, he bought a PB, (personal bottle), for twenty bucks. The bottle he called himself replacing was top shelf. There's no comparison. But his pajamas are expensive. Go figure.

We're in October, the end of it. Yes, the end. I will not survive until March. I already know it. I cannot. There's sleep deprivation, food crumbs on the nice floors, my room, (my sanctuary), littered with bottles, cans, food wrappers, and napkins. Granted, there's no waste bin in there, but I don't need one because I do not eat in my room!

Your best friend, Alex, came in as I'm typing this up to tell me he has a new jobsite to report to on Monday. Good for him. I mean, that's great news. I gave him some great news, too. He has two weeks to pack up and ship on up out of here. My exact words were, and I quote, " Look here, bruh, uh...I cannot do this anymore. You've been the houseguest from every type of hell known to man. You're rude, lazy, and inconsiderate. I mean, you used a whole box of brown sugar to make iced tea? Who does that? I was saving that sugar for a recipe. You didn't ask if it was okay. You used all of my good good lotion ,and my toothpaste. You have dirty dishes all over my room, clothes on the floor, and used tissues. It smells like foot cream, ass, and moth balls in there! You walk around and don't offer to do or buy anything. As much as you eat, you should make enough for everyone. I'm tired of you peeing on the bathroom floor. Because of you, it now looks like the showers of a gym, just bare everything. If it's not pee, it's your no no area hairs scattered about. This place needs to be sanitized. It can't happen with you here. I need my space back, my bed, my ever loving peace!". Your good best friend, Alex says, and I quote, "No. You have peace. I don't bother you. We agreed that I'm staying until March. I'll decide because I need to save money. I'll leave in March or after I've saved enough.". That last line sums up why we are no longer together. Alex is a narcissist. On the surface, he's nice and sweet, but it's all just to get his way. When he can't get what he wants, he tries to play bully. But he's four whole hours away from his city. We're on my turf!

I said what I said, and I mean it. Alex has less than two weeks to get himself and his mess out of this unit. He doesn't have to leave the town, but he definitely has to get out of this building. He can go, or he can go.