I have always been the person that has a particular life in my head. My goal life. Nothing crazy, I don’t want to be rich and famous. I don’t even want to be rich. I want to be comfortable. I wanted the house where people come over and hang out, where we have dinners and game nights. Where laughter and music pour out the windows on a cool summer night. I dreamt of lawn games and gardens and a comfortable life where I wasn’t constantly full of worry. A house clean enough that I can come home at night and relax and not just see all of the things I need to do, because (in my fantasy world) I have someone to help me do regular household things.
So I bought a house. I had some money saved, I needed a place to live, the cost of me renting would be the same as a house payment anyhow. At 43 years on earth, I was tired of paying so much money into someone else’s investment (also, have you seen the cost of rent?).
Eight months in, and the regret is real.
Why did I buy so far from the city? Well, I wanted to be in Bath, ON. I love that place. I spent most of my weekends there, I have friends there, I knew it there. I put in an offer on a place in Bath, I was outbid. I knew i something else came up in any reasonable amount of time, it would be out of my meager budget. Deseronto came up, it didn’t seem that far. I could afford it. The truth is, most days it feels a lifetime away.
Why did I get something that needs so much work? I was so excited to put my mark on it. I’m not the “sterile, white, minimal” aesthetic kind of girl. I am the “dark, moody, academia, maximalist” type girl. I was told that I would have help renovating, that it would be a good project. I was told that I would have help with bills, and projects and general cleaning and maintenance. In eight months the basement has been painted. I do all the cleaning, pay bills and when I get financial assistance it’s more of a bonus as it’s inconsistent.
Now it’s just fights all the time. I feel unwelcome in my own home. I dread coming home, I dread the weekend as it’s just cleaning and trying to be invisible. I just follow along and clean up messes and try to keep up. I make meals, and bake and have to consider everyone’s wants and needs, when none of mine are considered when the tables are turned (which is rare).
I try not to speak, so I don’t get mocked or anger people. I’m stuck. It’s my house, my name, my mortgage and all I want to do is leave.
The true light in my time in this house has been Pearl. When I lost Tallulah, I didn’t think I would be able to love another dog. But the house was so empty. I needed someone here with me. So I obsessively stalked puppies until I found this girl. There are days where she is the only reason I come home. My sweet tiny little girl, full of the dickens, full of love, and full of beans.
For now I remain lost. I’ll push through and do my best, try to make that best better, maybe I’ll find myself again along the way.
lifeofnat 