My Roommate is a Lazy Slob

I live in a house now. I have a roommate. Well two if you count Terry. Terry isn't actually a roommate, or even a house guest. Terry is a friend from my childhood. He's been with me for as long as I can remember. You'd probably call him an imaginary friend. But he was there for me when my mom and dad died. All I remember is that I was in the back seat of the car and the truck had pushed us off into the ditch. I woke up and tried to talk to my parents, but Terry was the only one who talked back. He told me I'd be okay and mom and dad were happy where they were going. He gave me encouragement, and provided me with confidence I so desperately needed at the time. He was there for me.

Not like my real roommate. Who never does anything. Never helps at all. He hasn't cleaned his room in months. His filthy dishes lay in the sink until I clean them, his unopened mail is piling up, and the cat litter box has never been worse. 

It didn't always used to be this way. He had a girlfriend that would come over and we'd all play board games together. It was really fun when she was around. She was a sweet girl. And I don't blame her for dumping him like she did. They got pregnant but lost the child during birth and she wasn't the same after. I could see it in her eyes. In the way that she looked at him. I think she just wanted a fresh start. Something that helped her to forget. Terry thought so too. We haven't seen her since.

That's when it all started to go downhill. He'd get home from work and just sit on the couch. Eating whatever he could find, usually my food. He'd start drinking and cursing at the TV until he finally passed out. Neglecting any and all household duties. I knew best not. To get mad at him. He was upset.

It got worse when he lost his job and turned to hard drugs. He would come home with any drug he could find. Pills, heroine, meth, coke; you name it. The toilet was constantly filled with bodily fluids of some sort. He'd be passed out in the hallway, or on the kitchen table in the middle of the day. Stealing became a regular occurence. Money would be missing from my wallet, and expensive items dissapeared from my room. I was done.

I finally worked up the courage to go talk to him and tell him what he was doing was wrong, and he needed to get help. One day I stormed into his room and demanded he get his act together. I told him everything that had been bothering me about his behavior, the state of the house, and he just sat and listened to me. I'm not sure if it did any good. Terry started talking to me and helping me more after that conversation. Terry even helped me clean the house. But my roommate situation has only gotten worse since then. He doesn't do anything anymore. He doesn't work. He doesn't bathe. Just sits in his room all day. While I clean. As per usual. 

It reminds me a lot of cleaning my hospital room after the car crash with my parents. I would clean every inch of the room while Terry would tell me that people don't usually live without their heads attached, like my parents. Just like people don't usually sit with a belt around their neck so tight, just like my roommate. He tried to tell me these things. No. You're wrong this time, Terry. He's just lazy. 

That's it... He's just lazy.