the straws that broke the camel’s back:

i shall write them here, so i do not adopt a rosy glow of the past. this ended for a reason, and i will not lower my standards.

the lack of daily maintenance of the litterbox, resulting in the stench of catshit permeating the apartment every day. dirty dishes were left in the sink every night, despite my vain attempts to clean up everything that had been used to make dinner. all clothes (dirty or otherwise) were strewn throughout the bedroom, constantly rumpled and all one color: black. nothing fit properly, there was no pride in appearance, no confidence, only fear and acts of desperation. the enamel kitchen table swiftly became cluttered with sketchbooks, junk mail, nail polish, used paper towels, paint supplies. the $800 couch given to me by my parents was soon marred and stained with pus and blood oozing from the cat’s cancerous growth(s). clawmarks litter the bolsters, though i think i can minimize their appearance. for undisclosed reasons, she would often storm in the door and before i could say a word, angrily demand “why are you looking at me?” any day she declared “i’m hurting” would be hell, or she would rot the day away on my bed and mope around the kitchen. i never knew what to say or do, and that made it worse. we had sexual contact once, last july. after that, i never wanted to touch her again. all plans were overly general and in the future, there were no concrete, small steps ever taken to achieve anything. complaints piled up and there were no actions. after a while, i stopped trying to help (though it was not my place to begin with). the bath mat was constantly wet, the bathroom never fully dry or aired out. she constantly showered and doused her hair and skin in products but nothing seemed to help.