I purchased and built a cheap 100$ desk because I’m in fcking grad school and I need a work space.
I guess that’s why I’m in my brother’s room, with a night table under my lap desk, which is holding my laptop, instead of in my own room with my own desk.
Because there is too much f*cking stuff in my room that I “can’t” get rid of, for some mysterious f*cking reason of my mother’s, for me to work at my own desk. I can’t fit a chair in there. I can’t move the stuff around at all to make room.
And now my mom is using my brother’s room for storage.
I’m supposed to make a professional interview with a professional background, which I guess will be this shit. In the attached picture.
Even though this room was completely clear of shit LITERALLY THREE DAYS AGO.
And this is tame compared to the rest of the f*cking house. The only piece of furniture I can safely use for eating, sitting, and sleeping is my bed, which was also coveredd in shit when I got home.
I got a stupid f*cking bench thing for Nestle (service dog) to use as a bed because There Was No Room For a Dog and it was $15 and my mom got it for me as a gift. Her exact words: “If she doesn’t like it, we can re-donate it because it wasn’t a huge loss”
Nestle didn’t like it. It’s still in my room. I’m not allowed to f*cking get rid of it even though my room is so full of furniture that I can’t move. Yes, even after clearing out more than 67 trash bags worth of donation, trash, and recycle.
My therapist who knows nothing about hoarding has been trying to help and only making things worse and worse and isn’t listening to me anymore.
I hate this house. I want to burn it down.