Roommate From Hell
If having a roommate from hell was a job, I would be overqualified.
Over the years, I’ve had my fair share of them. From treatment centers where I was forced to have multiple roommates—each with their own diagnoses, and sometimes multiple personalities—to questionable extended-stay hotels, I’ve done it all in the name of chasing my dreams. I’ve always believed in doing whatever it takes. Now, I don’t think it needs to be hard, but if it is? That’s still no reason to give up.
One time, I stayed in a shared hotel room for $20 a night. The guy I stayed with was… something else. He walked around with his heels out of his shoes, just sliding across the floor like a cartoon. He had visible blisters up his Achilles tendons. He was always on the phone. One night, he sleepwalked—stood in the middle of the room, yelling and making noises in his sleep. Then he sat on my bed. Woke up. Looked at me and said, "What?" like he hadn’t just climbed into my personal space uninvited.
He had a bunch of blackened needles on the dresser. Claimed they were for his diabetes. I never saw him use drugs, but I know those weren't for insulin. Still, it was mostly peaceful because I stayed to myself.
The hotel itself was a mess. Shared bathrooms at the end of the hallway. I’ve had people run at me in the hall. Women leaving their doors wide open, sitting on beds, inviting me in. Literal piles of feces in front of the toilet—not in it. Chaos.
Eventually, that roommate left, and another guy moved in fresh out of prison. He had a kid, a young son, who would come visit and sometimes even stay the night in the twin bed with him. He called me Uncle Rak. Which, looking back, is actually insane.
Then there was the psychotic roommate who took the lightbulbs out of the bathroom so I couldn’t see. He left tacks on the floor hoping I’d step on them. I do a lot of writing and he thought it was weird—as if writing was more unsettling than his behavior. I’ve had racist roommates too—ones who wanted to fight me, telling me things like, "I’m from the hood too" when, in fact, I am not from the hood, and neither were they.
Now, I’ve never had a roommate steal my identity and pretend to be me at a private school while teaching kids about rock music—but honestly, that might be the only time it’d be okay, especially if it ended with the kids winning the Battle of the Bands. (Spoiler: they didn’t.) Shoutout to School of Rock, though. A classic.
I can’t imagine being in a band with your best friend, then they get a girlfriend, and suddenly your dreams go out the window. Jealousy creeps in. Priorities shift. It happens all the time.
Granted, these kinds of living situations feel like forever. Like eternal hell. Like you’ll never get out. But here’s the truth: you will. And one day you’ll look back and laugh. Or cry. Or both. And maybe you’ll realize the universe was just trying to tell you something: you don’t want to live with anybody else. Ever again.
A Few Tips on Surviving a Roommate from Hell:
1. Document everything. Take photos, save texts, write stuff down. Just in case.
2. Invest in headphones. Peace can be purchased.
3. Pick your battles. Not every dirty dish is worth the war.
4. Lock your door. Emotionally and physically.
5. Leave when it’s time. Trust yourself to know when that is.
Because not every hell lasts forever.
