so today in TOK (for all of you not familar with the IB, that means Theory of Knowledge and is kind of Philosophy) class my teacher said that if my friend wrote my biography, it would be two sentences long. And for some reason that pissed me off. A lot. I mean I get that she was trying to say that I was very young and all, but that doesn’t mean that I haven’t been through anything, that I don’t have a story to tell. Basically it just made me really angry that she made assumptions about me, although she doesn’t really know anything about my life. So anyways, to prove her wrong (although she most likely will never see this) I decided to write about what happened to me last Friday:
23:30: I am lying in bed, fast asleep, exhausted from a week of school and the usual troubles. I awake from a noise downstairs. Somebody is struggeling to close the door. I didn’t think anything by it and lie back down.
10 minutes later: I hear a noise again, right outside my room’s door. Somebody is running into things. I get scared. Now the person is struggling to open the door to my room, running into it over and over again. Then finally the door opens and my roommate comes in, her shining her phone’s flashlight directly into my eyes. I begin to say something, until I notice the state she is in. I think that maybe she is not just drunk but also on drugs. At this point I am terrified. For some reason I have the feeling that she will try to hurt me. She falls into bed, jacket still on, flashlight still shining into my eyes, unconscious in mere seconds. I can’t fall back asleep. I try to distract myself from the fear I’m feeling. I watch movies, check for my room mates breathing now and again.
2 hours later: I hear spitting noises. She is throwing up now, too drunk to even sit up. I don’t know what to do. The whole room stinks.
1 hour later: The smell is getting worse. I think I might throw up myself. And I really need to go to the bathroom. My room mate is on the floor by now, still unconscious. I put a blanket on the puke that is still on her bed, step over her, trembling and rush out of the door. Once I’m in the bathroom, I start shaking, crying. I stay there for as long as possible until I need to go back.
Back in the room I fall asleep, my adrenaline finally wearing off.
The morning: I wake up and look around. She is awake but hasn’t made any effort to clean up the mess she made last night. She doesn’t apologise. She talks to her mum on the phone and laughs, I want to hit her. I don’t.
30 minutes later: My host mum finally comes in. She knows what happened, but decides not to do anything about it. I’m furious.
After that I leave to meet up with friends who help me get rid of some of the horror of the previous night.
When I come home my host mum asks if I wan to move to the single room next to my old one. I immediately say yes.
Now: I still have nightmares about it all. I haven’t slept properly in about a week. I can’t look at her, won’t talk to her. I’m angry, disgusted, terrified. Whenever I see a drunk person on the street, my hearts starts racing, I start shaking. The smell of puke in the whole house is slowly becoming less prominent and having a single room is brilliant, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget.