Drunk and Disorderly

Despite the protestations of my friends, I decided to room with a notoriously moody friend of mine who I’d known since high school.  At first her lack of boundaries and burgeoning alcoholism were merely annoying, but they steadily progressed to the point where most debates or conversations devolved into yelling matches. For a year, I endured temper tantrums, constant scolding for drinking all her booze (never touched it), never paying my share of bills (untrue), never cleaning the house (she’d come home two hours before me and begin cleaning – never leaving me any chores to do), and more. I knew things were going down fast when I came home to discover her attempting suicide. Instead of flipping out, or calling the cops (I should have, in retrospect), I calmly nursed her back from the edge. When I tried to speak with her about it later, and tell her how it had affected me, she blew up at me instead, calling me an awful friend who was never there for her.

A few weeks later, it all came to a head when she decided to throw another enormous temper tantrum — this time because I wouldn’t share my dinner with her (she had already helped herself to a large portion at this point). Having taken all the abuse I was willing to take, I threw my plate of spaghetti on the table, and told her to have as much as she pleased, because clearly it meant so much to her.  She had been saying some deliberately hurtful things to me during this whole episode, while I just stood there and took it. We then argued for an hour about whether or not she had even said those things. I decided to leave the apartment before I lost my temper. Instead of letting me leave, she physically blocked my exit, even grabbing onto me to force me to stay and talk things out.  As I was standing in the doorway trying to leave, she grabbed onto my messenger bag and the doorjamb in a death-grip, and refused to let go. So I did the only thing I could. I used my basic judo knowledge to try breaking her grip.  It worked, but she wasn’t expecting it — she careened into the doorjamb and stumbled over.

At that point, I ran out the apartment foyer and didn’t look back. Even though she had assaulted me, I had to wait a full month for her to move out. Apparently, she had told the landlord that she was moving in with her boyfriend. The one who had just dumped her the month previous. Not wanting to make things any more difficult, I just went along with the ruse. This was a situation that didn’t need any more escalation. After that, she had the gall to ask me if I’d help her move. I told her I would, and then flaked out on purpose. Fifteen years of friendship down the tubes because she wouldn’t put down the fucking whiskey. Thankfully, my new roommate is absolutely awesome.