I've been having a tumultuous affair with my house ever since I bought it two years ago. Looking back on it now I have to admit it was love at first sight. From the minute I stepped in the front door I dreamed of living there and could hardly wait to move in. I fantasized about the times we would share together. Family barbeques in the back yard. Singing Christmas Carols around the tree. Sitting out on the front step watching the sprinkler system water the lawn. As my passion for the house grew stronger, I fantasized about taking a bubble bath in the soaking tub. It seemed I was filled with wild abandon.
Friends and family warned me that it was too expensive. That the lawn was too much for me to keep up. They said it was too big for a single woman. I closed my ears and paid no attention to their advice. They just didn't understand. The more they tried to keep us apart, the more I rebelled. I snuck away to see it whenever I got the chance. I finally decided I was going to live there no matter what.
I got a mortgage and moved in. The first summer was bliss. The house more than fulfilled my expectations. I'd come home from work and find flowers blooming. The ice maker on the refrigerator door made more ice then I could possibly use. And I could have it CRUSHED if I wanted! I felt safe knowing the security system was watching over me while I slept. Yes, I thought I'd be happy there forever.
Then... little by little the house started to turn on me. Weeds grew in the flower beds. The lush green lawn turned brown and looked lifeless. The refrigerator broke and needed a very expensive part. And sadly, I discovered that my family was right. the house WAS too expensive for me. Every dime I had went into the house.
No matter how much I tried... it was never good enough. I'm almost ashamed to admit it, but one night, my house key actually broke off in the door, and I was left shivering alone in the cold.
I gave up hope a couple of times and even threatened to sell it. Everything would be alright for awhile and then something else would happen. The garage door jammed one day and when I tried to close it, the frame buckled. I grew suspicious at every creak.
I lived in constant fear that something awful was about to happen. Money was tight and I was existing on Acme Frozen Entrees. I couldn't afford Lean Cuisine anymore. It got pretty bad but I was determined not to become a victim of foreclosure. I even tried financial counseling.
One night I came home early from work and found the powder room toilet leaking. I stood there frozen in shock. The tank was completely empty and the floor around the base.... well, let's just say it was warped and ruined. I shouted obscenities and even threatened to burn the house down. Thank God my kids weren't there to witness the ugliness that night.
I can't take it anymore. I've decided to end it while I still have my sanity. I've put the house up for sale. We'll sign the papers and probably never see each other again.
Like so many others, I am left heart broken. I don't think I'll ever love another house like this one. I've glanced at one or two when I drove by and saw a FOR SALE sign on the lawn, but then the bitter memories of owning this one came flooding back.
No... I'll never be the same. I'll just live out the rest of my days in a condo. Where I don't have to cut the grass or shovel the snow. I'm sure it will be smaller and have much less storage space, and I may not ever have my own bathroom or walk in closet again, but I don't care. I'm hurt and bitter.
Maybe someday I'll be able to forget this house. In time I might even be able to look at photographs of it and not cry.
Who knows? With therapy and medication, anything is possible.