You tell me that you have anxiety and depression and that you're bipolar and you ask for my advice, for my help, for my sympathies, and then push it all away. Yes, there's a lot going on in your head and I do feel sorry for you, but that absolutely does not give you any excuse to be as much of a fucking dick as you have been. You've been wanting to leave uni for months, umm-ing and ahh-ing about whether or not you should just jack it all in and move back home... and to be quite frank, I think you bloody well should. You've pushed away all your friends you've made here. You reject all of their invitations to come out clubbing with them, to join them for a little trip to Tesco, to go to their flat for predrinks. You refuse all of that so you can invite yourself to my fucking house and sit on my bed and pour out all your troubles to me.
I have things to do, you know. I need to do my food shopping, my washing up and cooking, my laundry - and no I definitely do not want you in my room watching me as I hang up my knickers and bras to dry. I have my own friends to see because you are such shit company, and you leave me feeling emotionally drained and absolutely exhausted after just ten minutes in your presence. You make me feel so uncomfortable yet I don't feel I can tell you to fuck off and leave me alone because you'll always say something about your mental health, and then I'll feel like a bitch for even thinking any of this. But enough is enough.
I see you trying to sneak glances down the front of my top when you sit opposite me in class. Sometimes I look up and you're staring at me so intently that I suddenly feel a little bit sick. I hate that I know if we're in the same room, you're watching my every move, and if I write something down, or get my folder from my bag, you always ask why I'm doing it, what's it for, should you write it down too. I don't know, for fuck's sake, make your own decisions for once in your life. You're in this room too, listening to this lecturer too, so don't act like you've been left all alone with no guidance and pretend you need me to help you with every fucking little thing.
Don't you dare look at pictures of my boyfriend, notice his skin colour, and ask with a nasty smirk on your face if he speaks with an Indian accent, if I can understand him. Don't ask me why I've chosen to be in a long distance relationship, and smugly say you don't think it's worth my time. I'll tell you what's not worth my fucking time; you. You actually disgust me. Not just your thoughts, the things you say, but physically I am repulsed by you.
You lie back on my bed, stuff my pillow under your head without asking, and rub your greasy hair all over it. When you scratch your beard, it makes the most disgusting sound, and I hate when you pick at your moustache hairs, pulling them out and leaving them on my sheets. You put your sweaty feet on my pillows too, and when I ask you nicely to put them back on the fucking floor, you take no notice. When other people talk to me, you cut right across them, interrupting anything they're saying and talk so loudly over them. You never notice the uneasy glances they give you, that I give you, as you speak in a cocky manner about everything and anything, as if to assert your power over them.
You love being the powerful person in any kind of relationship you have with everyone you know. That's why, whenever you invite yourself round to my house, I'm too scared to say no, and I make sure my housemate will be in, and I make sure both mine and her bedroom doors are open. That's the only way I feel safe when you're around because you can be so aggressive and domineering. But then you'll flip, and be on the verge of tears, saying you don't know what to do with yourself, with life, and that you don't know where you'd be without me.
But I know where I'd be without you. I'd feel lighter, happier, more free, and I'd have a hell of a lot more time to myself. Sometimes you come over and don't move for four or five hours. I ask you to leave and you'll say oh not just yet, and start talking about something new. Just today, I woke up to a text from you saying "I'll come over at 12 if that's okay". No, it fucking wasn't okay because I was still in bed and definitely didn't want your company. Or last week when you wanted to come over at 6pm and then texted to say "It'll be closer to seven if you don't mind". Well, I fucking did mind because I had plans for seven but when I went out, you made me feel guilty for it. Fuck off. Fuck you, you nasty, creepy little dick.
Don't come to me needing help, begging for my time and my sympathy, and then try to make me feel like shit for everything. What I wear is no concern of yours. Neither is how I decorate my room, or who I choose to fall in love with, or who I spend my free time with. Don't question all of my choices. I don't want you in my life but it's really fucking hard to make you see that. I just want you to leave me alone.