I wish I could say this mom

I feel like I'm suffocating in this 784 sq ft town house that I'm forced to share with you and my disgusting half brother. I'm stuck, in a too small bedroom for a growing adult. Unable to have any of my things outside my bedroom door, so I'm forced to stuff and squeeze the things that express me on to shelves that have no room, onto the floor that I can't walk on, into the closet that as no space. I'm forced to sleep on a trundle bed, twin sized, which I must sleep diagonally on or curled up on to fit. The mattress is disgustingly old, over a decade or so. But I'm stuck with it because you want to keep the trundle for when we move, and will get a new mattress for it after we do. I can't wash my sheets, covers, pillows, towels, or blankets evey week, like what is recommended, because the washing machine is broke, and I can't afford to continously go to the laundry mat to clean them.

I myself feel disgusting. From being unable to clean these things, which would probably help with my acne, but also because I'm forced to share and use the one bathroom this "house" has with you, and a 40 yr old who doesn't know what hiegien is. God, I feel dirty every time I take a step out my bedroom door, for right there is the living which that man inhabits and sullies with his gross being. I haven't sat on the carpet nor couch since he's lived here full time back in September of last year. He never washes his hands, doesn't pick up after himself, rarely showers, he is nearly the perfect definition of a slob. Gross, disgusting. He scraps and refuses to actually get a job. He drains money constantly, leaves food everywhere, constantly gets in trouble with the law, his dirty laundry sits out in the open in the living room because there is no room to house a third person here and so the smell coming from it leaks into the entire house. He brings bugs into the house along with strangers. Let's said strangers also use our bathroom and shower and my personal hiegien products which I now hide in fear of these random strangers using again.

I hate him. I truly, wholly hate him.

I believe he's the reason grandma got really sick to the point of hospitalization when he lived with her. She died not long after she was hospitalized, remember? He had so much junk sitting on her property that it took us months to clean it. Us. Not him. And he brought more back here that it has taken over the small backyard we have, the living room, the kitchen, your room. Everywhere but my little room. I can't remember the last time I didn't feel gross and claustrophobic going into my house. His truck and two trailers take up the street behind the house, which is directly connected to the other 5 town houses that make up this fist unit of many in this tightly packed community, that they are blocking my view of on coming cars more then half the time I need to drive off to work. He doesn't have a care in the world for anyone but himself. I relish the time he is away, and dread every moment he's here. I want him gone. Far, far away. But you will never do that. You're even looking for space in our new house for him. He doesn't deserve it. Never has and never will. I don't want to live with him anymore. I've lost count of the nights I've cried over him being here over the last three, almost four years.

I wish I could live far away from here with friends. But we're all in different states and none of us can afford it yet so I'm stuck here with you and him. I can't even muster the energy to hang out with the one friend who had moved back nearby again because I'm exhausted from work and from what my home is that I spend my two days off from work in my room, trying to recuperate any energy to get me through work and what lies behind my bedroom door for another week.

You, who is my mother that I do love but can never be emotionally vulnerable too. You don't even know I'm Trans, something that I have been certain of since I was 13. I'll have felt this way for a decade come next year. But I dare not say anything for I fear my half brother's reaction. You don't even know that I cry even longer and harder now after having to euthanize my cat a little over a month ago. Something that has left me deeply depressed still, but you want me to get over it sooner because my sadness is inconvenient to you. Like she hadn't ment so much to me in ways I can't explain. Every time I think about how she's not here anymore, it feels like I'm having my heart ripped out over and over. My lungs stepped on and my throat crushed as I quickly become congested with snot and tears to the point that I can barely breathe.

But that sadness is inconvenient to you because that depression has led to my room becoming a cluttered mess, more than it already was. And some how that becomes your problem even though it's not your room. I give credence to the saying that a cluttered room is a cluttered mind. But it's hard to unclutter when I have no where to put anything. That when I do put things back to where they go, my room still feels a mess and looks like nothing was done. I'm frustrated with my bed because my blankets and pillows and the covers are a complete mess but I can't do anything about it because I have no room to fix it. I want more room to move. I need more room to breathe.

I'm suffocating in my own home, in my own room, in own skin, in my own mind. And you won't do anything to help me breathe.