WARNING!
The following page contains targeted compromising information about someone in particular. While I can’t be objective by nature, I’ve put tremendous effort into sticking to the facts. I had to strip my soul of all humanity, dignity, and politeness to be able to continue writing.
Since you have chosen to continue reading, well, I won’t stop you. You have been warned.
Since that night, things had been evolving in a very weird manner…
Being Isolated in My Own Home
I could roll a D201 every month, and I would barely guess the rolled number. The same feelings of mine can be applied to seemingly random ex-partner’s visitors. I have no idea who he is inviting, as no one ever bothers to stop to say hi to me. Since the beginning of 2025, there have been so many people coming every few days and staying overnight for one, two, or three days that I entirely lost track of them. Having no control over my apartment has awakened intense fear that makes me shiver every time I need to leave the safety of my sanctuary, whether to use the restroom or to grab some food or water. Over time, this has only escalated. I keep hearing unknown mumbled voices through walls every once in a while, laughing and talking loud until late-night hours, no matter whether it is the weekend or a workday. Honestly, if this is what room sharing is also about, I don’t want it. Waking up to such a reality in its full strength devastated me.
Weekends at which I stayed at home were possibly the worst. Observing the frequency of silence combined with closed kitchen/living room doors for long hours and the variety of shoes I had seen at the shoe cabinet, my mind couldn’t stop making assumptions. Did my home become a furry swingers party lair? Or why is the door closed?! I just want food from the fridge… While I was occasionally counting the number of unique shoes, I couldn’t resist thinking of what all these people must have thought of me. What are the stories they have heard about me? How far have the rumors spread? How far have they traveled in the community? Such thoughts have essentially been haunting me for years, but these situations only made them more persistent. During some past arguments with my ex-partner, I was told a few times that I don’t have any true friends, only losers are staying with me, and in fact no one really cares about me because I am a bad person with no social skills who suffers from borderline personality disorder. Regrettably, I unquestioningly believed the claim at the time. But nowadays, I can’t unsee the similarities to the situation in which my mom happened to be years ago. She had been psychically terrorized by her narcissistic and psychopathic ex-husband since shortly after my sister was born. That person simply managed to turn every single mom’s friend and her entire family, teenage me included, against her. After I snapped out of his reach, he turned his attention to weaponizing my little sister from an early age against my mom too…
Anyway, on one Saturday in February, an influx of unknown and unannounced people stormed the front door of my home. Out of pure fear, I rushed to lock myself in my room. Indefinitely. I had never felt so scared in my life before. Then I realized that staying within the small area of my drolf’s den isn’t as simple as it seemed. At night, I managed to sneak out and dragged tons of 6-packs of beer from the basement storage to ensure I had at least something to drink. I kept them cool on the balcony in the temperatures slightly above 0°C. Food was a complicated problem to solve, so I simply resigned to it and hadn’t eaten anything for a full four days, even after the majority of the unknown people left. Luckily, due to anxiety and panic attacks, I didn’t feel hungry at all. When I had to take down my headphones to charge them, I could hear everything through the walls, which eventually brought my paranoia up to extreme levels. When the night was not silent enough, I didn’t dare to go to my bed and instead slept with clothes on, sprawled on my chair with legs on my desk. I neglected basic hygiene and, well… ended up using a plastic bucket for my restroom needs. Call me sick if you feel like it. I was telling the same to myself as my health was deteriorating quickly, but I hadn’t been able to fight my extreme fear at all. Instead, I applied my usual appeasement strategy, which never really worked long-term and was rather a strategy of ignorance. All of the precautions simply felt more and more comfortable to me than unlocking the door to my room and risking the exposure and feeling of vulnerability. Even after days had passed, I intended to avoid everyone but mainly the only person I knew that was still present in the house, as I greeted him back on the first day. Not because he did anything to me but because of what he was, a state police officer. I wasn’t exactly sure what triggered the strong flashbacks of the incident from January 2024, but I believe it was seeing the police footwear in front of the shoe cabinet. I recall the sight of police officers wandering inside my sanctuary, wearing the identical footwear, while keeping a close watch on me and telling me what to do. The PTSD had rebuilt itself far too strong for me to sustain. But I knew I couldn’t live like this. I had to do something. Desperate situations always begin to flicker a spark of determination in me, and so was this case.
At the end of my involuntary self-isolation experiment, I contacted the flat owner to discuss potential amendments to our rental agreement. You know, having my ex-partner’s signature on the contract paper makes taking any official actions against him damn hard. I never intended to drag the flat owner into my own personal drama, but legally speaking, it was solely necessary. I had strong arguments to support my request as well. My ex-partner has never contributed a single cent to help cover the rental expenses, and I’ve been fully covering all of his needs for more than four and a half years straight. After I got to know him, he resigned from his job to move to Prague to start an IT career here. However, he shortly realized that pursuing his ambition was not that easy. At that time, I was happily supporting him because I believed in him and our shared future. But as years went by, his situation hadn’t changed at all. He had been refusing to take any temporary job, even a part-time one, for the whole time, claiming that he’d lose his focus and motivation. He also accused me of not providing enough support or even demotivating him due to my seemingly overly successful career.
Out of curiosity, I did the rough math. My bank has a nice feature, which shows you the net sum of all payments to a given bank account. To be fair, I had to average out the grocery expenses and divide those by two. On the other hand, I fully paid for all conventions, Christmas presents for his friends, family, and even myself, and other minor expenses. After we broke up, my conscience didn’t allow me to stop feeding him or paying for his mandatory health insurance and a psychologist. I also couldn’t disrupt his only source of income, which I provided by paying him a fixed €4 hourly rate for all the time he spent on learning programming for his future career or doing house errands to maintain our huge apartment clean. So, as of February 2025, the rough total to support my ex-partner’s career was around €40,000, excluding the theoretical split of the rent, which I never asked for. But if I also included half of the rent from both apartments we lived in, that sum would be a staggering €68,000. In general, both numbers omit the other expenses for living, like electricity costs. For months, he had been keeping the TV in the living room turned on for 8 to 12 hours every single day, as well as his desktop computer in his room. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t sitting on the couch looking at the TV or at his desk doing something on his computer. I haven’t received the electricity bill for 2024 yet, but my expectations are basically negative when I consider the hundreds of burnt watt-hours.
Of course I must give him some positive credit. He goes shopping regularly, buys the necessary groceries, cleans up the kitchen, and does laundry. However, I would argue that my contribution to the general household mess is significantly less than 50%, as I only visit the kitchen and living room a few times a day at most. Speaking of cleaning in general, it is still me who cleans both bathrooms and toilets, as well as mirrors and windows. For the periodic cleanups of the floor, I bought a Dreamehome robovac for €1,000 to save our time and effort, but it isn’t flawless. So barely once a month, I dedicate myself to performing a deep cleanup of over 125 m2 of floors. I cannot confidently say that I am not providing him with enough chances and work opportunities. I guess he just isn’t motivated enough by the salary I pay him. And I couldn’t blame him at all if the circumstances were different, but they weren’t.
Struggling Not to Feel Alone
I am so tired of it. I can’t handle the truth anymore, as my reality has collapsed into a single 20 m2 room. Back in February, at night, I was writing this post while quietly lying on the ground in a dark corner of my sanctuary with no lights on. Every day, I shook with fear and consumed copious amounts of alcohol to keep myself from losing my sanity. I couldn’t leave, as the fear had surrounded and tied me up. I refused to unlock the room, as I stubbornly wanted to avoid any interaction with him. I would rather not see him at all, ever. I just wanted him to be gone forever… Maybe I went crazy after all. But no matter what, I had my job, my fursuit, and my piano, and I was shortening the endless evenings by expressing myself ^^
I do absolutely realize that by publishing this post, I will unleash the purest and shittiest hell on myself. But in my perception, I’ve already lost all of my friends and only have a handful of people and family left I can talk to. As for the safety of my home, running away to my boyfriend’s place is as fast as opening two doors, sliding directly down in the garage, and jumping into my car, especially at night. Naturally, this is only applicable when I haven’t consumed any alcohol. Therefore, I have escape options. But honestly, I realized I can’t live a nomadic life for too long. I always start to feel homesick after a few days. I miss playing my piano, my desk with screens, my walls, all the decorations, and everything that I’ve emotionally connected with the feeling of being home. I can’t say the same about the rest of the apartment, which I rarely visit these days. Living in such circumstances makes it nearly impossible to invite my boyfriend to visit, as my ex-partner rarely leaves the house. I am always asking myself, “Why is it not possible for him to visit one of his numerous friends for a weekend?”
No matter what, I keep my belief and hopes. I am patiently awaiting the end of this hell, and my determination is stronger than ever. I believe in a bright future where I reclaim my entire apartment, enjoy the freedom to do anything I want, and invite anyone I want for as long as I want. I keep fantasizing about it once in a while. With the most awesome person standing at my side, though, we will definitely pursue this and many other shared dreams together ^^
- D20, a 20-sided die used in many board games. ↩︎
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