29 Mutual Friends

The room was $200 a month—a perfect place to finish a book. No one said there was still hell to pay.

Warning: This story contains elements of emotional abuse.

November 2013. I put out a distress call on Facebook and set the security to public. It was the last thing I could think of doing, since there was nothing else in the room to save me. The post is now hidden on my social timeline, but I remember asking for anyone who could to call the police. I listed my address and said that if no one heard from me that day, to suspect the people I lived with. I would call the police myself, but this was a precaution.

The situation? I was trapped in a room with my housemate just outside the door. She was yelling, blaming me for having money, blaming me for being rich from self-publishing. I had barricaded myself in as a way to avoid conflict, too afraid of what would happen if I stepped outside. She said because I had blocked her on Facebook, she had to confront me directly instead.

I knew she was looking for a fight; if I so much as touched her, even to defend myself, she would tell people I had assaulted her. All she needed was a reason to fill out an eviction notice against me. All I was wanted to do was wait long enough for a good paycheck and move out.

I did everything I could to avoid her until then. But some days were so bad, I couldn’t deal with it alone.

My friends begged for me to leave. Where would I go, I said? I had just started a new job. I couldn’t leave until enough money was saved up. Despite everyone wanting to help me, no one had a place for me to stay. If I moved out before I had enough for living somewhere proper, I would be homeless or back in the same situation with someone else.

After posting my message, I warned my housemate that I was calling the police. I remember dialing the number on my computer and receiving an error message.

She had cut the line.

This was supposed to be the best time of my life. I had just published a book and was supposed to be enjoying the fruits of my labor. Now, I was afraid I was going to die.

How did things get to be so terrible?