The living situation.

Now seems to be a pertinent time to address my living situation. It is unconventional, to say the least, and often contributes to my less brilliant moods.

I live with my “best friend,” who happens to be a twenty-two year old boy. We also started out as more than friends and our friendship status is rather ambiguous. It’s an unhealthy relationship and has been so since we met just over a year ago. And yet, knowing this, I allowed him to move in with me a couple of months ago.

The decision to let him move in made sense at the time. We were spending at least five nights a week together, whether at his place or mine. When he fell on hard times and had to move out of his apartment, it only made sense that he move in with me given the amount of time we spend together and the fact that I had room (theoretically) and that he could bring his dog along. Factor in that he really didn’t have many (or any) other options, and here we are.

I won’t go into how we met, or the drama that has surrounded most of our entire acquaintance. I will just say that it has been turbulent. It continues to be turbulent. It gets more turbulent every day. In short, it’s complicated.

He’s affected many of my major life decisions in the last year, and I can’t blame him for that, because they were my decisions. Just like I can’t blame him for my broken heart, because I was the one who had faith in him when I shouldn’t have.

I don’t usually want to talk about it, because it’s a situation I should have terminated a long time ago. Why haven’t I? Because I love the boy. Because I keep convincing myself that there is good to be found in him when he has proven time and time again that maybe there really isn’t.

He is a pretty, charismatic boy. There will always be someone to pick him up when he’s down, because he has mastered the art of bullshit. I just think it’s someone else’s turn.

I won’t go into details or specifics of exactly why and how things are going so horribly wrong. I will just say that they have gone wrong and it’s time to end things. I’ve said this before though, and things haven’t changed (or not for long, anyway). So just know that when my moods seem to fluctuate for no apparent reason, it’s probably because I’m letting some boy meddle with my brains and my heart and I just don’t want to talk about it.

Maybe one day I’ll learn to talk about him in a more meaningful sense, but mostly, thinking too deeply into the situation makes me angry. At myself. For not being strong enough to let go. Because the good times were just that good.