Just last summer my parents bought a house. It is a nice place with hard wood floors and nice woodwork, but then there is my room in then basement.
The first time I saw my room I almost cried. I hated it. I wasn't given a choice whether I liked it or not. My parents didn't seem to see how I felt and there was nothing I felt I could do about it. The floor was covered with leaves and other debris. The left wall was not yet finished. The studs and yellow insulation were still exposed. The front wall was half rotten with water damage and the rest of the adjoining walls were littered with holes. The windows were coated with a layer of dust, cobwebs, and bugs, some dead, some alive. The door was yet to be hung on its hinges and two large holes are in the ceiling that have yet to be fixed.
As any one can see I had complete provocation to feel the way I did. I ether had to except it as my room or move out, which I was not financially stable to do at the time. I felt stuck and pissed off that I was put into that kind of position. I had wondered why my parents would want to do this to me, did they know how I felt,sure didn't seem like it.
At the time this all happened I did my best to ignore it all. I went running to the comfort of my girlfriend. Anything could have gone wrong but as long as she was there felt that I was happy. I slept at her apartment so I was able to avoid my room completely but a few weeks later things became rough between us and we broke up. She was the only thing that kept my worries at bay. She was my one source of comfort and she was gone for good. I was now left with a life that resembled my room, torn apart and crappy.
My life had seemed like it couldn't get any worse. I had spent the next few days sulking and feeling sorry for my self, not caring about anything at all. Soon I started to realize that sitting around sulking was only going to make things worse. So I got a job working so much that I didn't have time to think... [continues]
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