teenage dream

There’s only one place in my house where I can go without fear of being intruded upon or interrupted; one sanctuary. The safe haven of any teenager: my bedroom.

I’ve had the same bedroom with the same setup for over ten years, ever since my brother was born and pre-natally kicked me out of my old bedroom. At the age of seven I got a loft bed (which made me feel like hot shit) and slowly began the ambitious task of filling up my room with books and cool nicknacks and, and my mother would say, junk. She’s said this for years, but only recently did she decide to take some action.

Nobody is allowed into my room without my express permission, so I generally expect everything to stay more or less the same as how I leave it every day. Keeping that in mind, imagine my surprise coming home from my part-time job the other day and seeing everything in my room tossed onto the floor and rearranged with my bed missing and my desk dismantled. (Full disclosure: they threw my bed away.) I didn’t even have another bed to replace my old one and my room floor was full of everything that was perfectly in its own place before, so I was completely room-less (emphasis totally necessary). When I pressed for an explanation, she just said that “Adults don’t sleep in princess-y loft beds”—disregarding the fact that 1) I am not an adult and 2) that is no reason to run in and throw everything on the floor without at least warning me first.

Now I’ve gotta clean up my floor while trying to readjust everything and fit the stuff in my already-small room into the substantially smaller amount of space. I’ve spent two days cleaning and I’ve only finished, like, 15% of it. It’s gonna be a while.

I’ve always had a little space to call my own that I can control entirely, and to suddenly not have that leaves me feeling more than a little disjointed and out of place. All of a sudden I don’t have anywhere to just relax in peace or get dressed or sleep or anything. And I understand that this sort of thing is completely trivial—it’s not like my life will end because my room is in disarray, and I’m lucky to have my own room at all—but just this once, I’m gonna disregard that and say how it just affects my mentality. It just feels like I’ve been evicted, I guess. I’ve spent so much time in this space, building it and working and learning in it, and to see it all torn apart…it hurts a little, somehow.

At least this’ll be motivation to clean it all up faster. The sooner I get everything back to normal, the sooner I can get past the mental block and sleep in a normal bed again.

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Victoria

Writes words mostly on the go. Lentils are life.

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