I Signed the 7th Lease for My Current Apartment Today

I signed the seventh lease for my apartment today.  I think some people would say that proudly; that they've been able to maintain their place that long, that they're a resident in good standing, that they're rent is discounted a bit due to being grandfathered in.  I am proud of those specific aspects, but I am not proud of going into my 7th year in this apartment.  If I'm honest, I'm rather morose about it.  I also turn 30 this November.  When I got this apartment in 2016, I was 23 to turn 24 that November.  This apartment was supposed to be a transitional one, a one year commitment.  Just a way out of my then ex-boyfriend's townhouse.  I was supposed to have a friend move in with me, which was why I signed on for a two-bedroom in the first place.  Thankfully, my mother always taught me never to agree to a contract I couldn't afford on my own, so while not having a roommate was annoying it was feasible, and it was "only going to be for one year anyhow".

I wasn't necessarily happy to be leaving the relationship I'd started in 2014, but I knew it was the right choice.  Break-ups are never easy, especially after relationships where you'd really put your all into it, where you felt you really gave it the good ol' college try and it just wasn't going to go the way you wanted it to.  We had rekindled a high-school relationship after years of dating other people, and things were good.  We grew together, even more than we had already grown separately, we adopted a cat, and he moved his cat into the apartment.  We moved out of my one-bedroom apartment into a three-bedroom townhouse, he had gotten two new jobs over the course of two years and was well on his way to finding a career.  I was myself around him, more so than most people, because he had already seen me at my worst.  He knew my worst secrets and he accepted me despite them, and we pushed each other in many ways.  But at the end, when the reality of life set in and time together became sparse, we both knew something was missing, even if we couldn't quite figure out what it was.  When I told him my reasons for being unhappy and wanting to leave, he accepted them, he took accountability there were no hard feelings.  He even graciously let me stay in the apartment for the four months I needed until my new apartment was ready.  When the day came for me to move all of my things out, he stayed out of the townhouse to give me my space and so he wouldn't have to watch me go.  

My mom, a few friends, and his new roommate all helped me move into my new place.  Once all of the furniture and boxes were in and all the help had gone home, I stood in my box-filled living room and my cat, Annabelle, popped her head out from around the corner and meow-ed at me.  I hoisted myself over some boxes to make my way to one of my oversized chairs, and patted the seat next to me to get Annabelle to jump up.  She did, and I teared up, "It's just us now, girl.  Just the two of us now."  And I sobbed.  All alone in my brand new apartment, afraid of what the next step would be.  After that minor breakdown, I was happy - or at least I was excited at the prospect of having my own place.  I was finally ready - or so I tried to convince myself - to be on my own.

Shortly after I had moved in, I also applied and was approved for a debt consolidation loan through my credit union.  It was going to close out all but two of my credit cards (that couldn't be included) and I would have my credit card debts paid off in four years (or less if I made additional payments).  Credit card debt I had wracked up after being in a three year relationship with a single father and his part-time daughter who I was financially taking care of for most of that time.  I felt burdened by that relationship, despite it having ended in 2013.  I was so ready for the day it would be gone, for that chapter in my life to finally be closed.  In four years it would be 2020 and I'd be 28, giving me plenty of time to save up towards a down payment on a house - or a trailer, I'm not picky - and I would finally be ready to accomplish the one goal I had set for myself when I moved out in 2011:  to have a home I could move my dog into.

Things turned upside down on me shortly after settling into the new apartment in 2016, though.  I met my Narcissist Ex and he manipulated his way into essentially living with me (though not on the lease, and primarily out of a suitcase, because, again, my mama didn't raise no fool).  We started bickering about money early on, mostly because I was trying not to spend it and he wanted me to spend constantly.  He didn't work the first eighteen months we were together, he eventually took some odd jobs which earned him a couple hundred bucks but it was hardly enough to cover expenses, not that he offered to help anyhow.  Ultimately, despite my best efforts to avoid it, I wound up applying for three new credit cards and maxing them out during our relationship.  So even after I paid off my consolidation loan a year early, I was right back in the same amount of debt I had been when I got the loan.  Fortunately, it was around that time in early 2019 that he was finally going to spend multiple nights at his grandpa's/mother's house and be out of the apartment for a whole weekend.  I texted my friend and asked if she'd drive me the 60 miles there and help me take his stuff to him, demand my key, and finally end things for good (after trying multiple times since we had first fought in December of 2016).

Eventually he was fully gone, after months of harassing phone calls, text messages, emails, PlayStation messages, messages to friends, messages to my new boyfriend, posting on my job's Facebook page, and a wellness check, I finally successfully blocked him on everything and he stopped trying to contact me.  I was so scared those first few months.  Living alone, knowing I couldn't afford to move, knowing that my ex knew where I lived, knew my schedule, could show up whenever he wanted and there was nothing I could do to stop him.  It was the first time since I moved out of my mom's house that I actually made sure the windows and the sliding door was locked every night when I went to bed and every morning before I went to work.  

I was broken - not from heartbreak or the loss of the narcissist - but by the damage he'd done and left me to heal.  I was convinced - once again - that I could go it alone.  I would stay single, I would live alone, I would take up space, (I had previously chosen not to really utilize my second bedroom in case I needed a roommate, it would require less effort to find places for my things), I would go where I wanted when I wanted with whoever I wanted and I would never ask for permission or apologize for who I was again.  Or, at least, that was what I hoped would happen.  Instead, I found myself trapped in the web that narcissists weave.  Even with friends I've had for years, I would need constant reassurance that I wasn't bothering them, I took every declined invitation as a personal attack or punishment for some wrong I must have done to them, I would apologize constantly, I felt guilty, I felt worthless, and I was a loser for being in debt.  I was drowning, once again, due to my willingness to give into men and allow them to take full advantage of me and my finances.  I was back in the same amount of debt - almost to the penny - and I was devastated.

Despite me telling myself I wouldn't move another person in, my current boyfriend and I quickly went from friends to live-in boyfriend status due to some unforeseen circumstances.  I laid down some ground rules early on, he accepted the terms, and that was that.  He's the first person I've lived with that started out paying me half of the bills.  (One ex, once we moved into the townhouse did take over bill paying but the years prior he didn't help much).  It was nice to be with someone who actually took me seriously when I said we needed to split things, and who actually shows up with the rent on time instead of when they feel like paying it.  Things are better, and I'm (once again) working towards being debt free.  But it's definitely an uphill battle, and it's depressing to feel like I'm in the same place at 29 as I was at 23.  When my current boyfriend and I first moved in together, we were watching something where the woman had a mental breakdown.
He made some comment about, "Please don't ever freak out on my like that, okay?"
I told him, "Make sure I'm not still in this apartment when I'm 30 and I can make that promise."

Unfortunately, this 7th lease will take me well into my 30th year.  People make a big deal out of turning 30, and a lot of people keep asking me how I feel knowing my 20s are over.  For me, the age or the number doesn't mean all that much.  Ever since the breakup where I lost my relationship with my ex's daughter, I've joked that I feel like a 36 year old divorcee who lost her kid(s) in the divorce.  Most days I still feel that way.  What devastates me about this 7th lease, and about my upcoming 30th birthday, is that I haven't accomplished the one thing I set out to do as an adult:  I wanted a home I could have my dog in.  A home that I could have multiple pets in - without paying non-refundable deposits or monthly pet rent.

When I got my very first 1-bedroom apartment in 2011 it was going to be a 1-year thing, then we'd move into something where I could have my dog.  But that didn't happen.  Then the townhouse in 2015, we agreed was temporary until we could afford something for me to have my dog.  But then I left.  Then this apartment in 2016, was supposed to be a one year transition, then I'd move into something where I could have my dog.  My dog will be 13 this year, and while his health is good, the best case scenario is he'll live another 6 years and I doubt I'll have a house in under 3.  I will be so devastated if something happens to him before I'm able to bring him home, to my home.  Not that where he is now is bad, he has free reign of a house and a yard, he has a step-brother with him, and he is well cared for.  But I miss him, and my mom tells me he is always so sad when I leave.

Six years in the same apartment, and soon that will be 7, and most likely 8 if I'm realistic and honest with myself.  So while I'm grateful to be stable if I'm honest I'm not happy.  But at least this gives me something to talk about in therapy.