For most of my adult life I have always been a bit of a pushover.
I always allowed things to happen simply because I didn't want to start problems, have a conflict, or have to deal with the fallout of saying my piece.
If I've wanted something for myself, I usually have to hide it. If I say "please do not knock on my door, I am working." I would have to deal with countless interruptions and a lack of respect for something I so plainly stated. This started again yesterday. We recently moved from spending time with one side of my family to the other.
After spending nine months away, I forgot.
My words go unheard. My boundaries are ignored because even when I had some before I left, I could never find a way to enforce them. People are constantly knocking on my door to interrupt me while I am in the middle of things for trivial reasons. For things they absolutely did not need me for. For answers to questions they know I have no input on. They interrupt phone calls, or when 
They interrupt me when we are trying to relax and play video games.
My space and what I do in it belongs to me. Not them. But the lack of acknowledgment and respect for that was proven from the moment I returned.
These are all clothes that I have gotten rid of or thrown away over the course of YEARS. They are clothes my sibling and father have gotten rid of over the course of YEARS. She "rescued" them, rewashed them, and hid them somewhere and they have now taken over the only space in the house that is actually mine. She also has issues with her short-term memory so she does not believe us when we say that these are all things that we've previously owned.
I have nowhere to put our bags we returned with. I literally have to reclaim my room like some kind of hellish conquest. And ensure that my grandmother will not put her hands back in the bag to "save" the clothes again.
I shared this story over in the Adsactly chat room when we were joking around and 
Now, the chest high pile of shit is pretty good. I mean, I could probably stop there.
But sadly, it is worse. We returned to find that the plumbing on one side of the house is completely, and utterly, screwed. They've rented snakes, they've gone from all access points in the house, used chemicals that could melt a small child. There is a clog, and it will not break free. The cost of a plumber is completely out of the question.
Which has left us without a kitchen sink. Without a dishwasher. And without the ability to do laundry. Or really, even cook.
You don't realize how much you use water until you don't have access to it all over the house.
I should mention, that all the clothes that I do own, are somewhere, under that solid pile in my room. Somewhere under that is a dresser with my belongings, of clothes that smell like musk from sitting. So I am living in the same clothes I've been wearing since I started my journey in November.
My family, for some reason, in the days before our arrival decided to use ALL of the actual dishes instead of buying some disposable dishware.
I overheard my brother and father speaking about the state of the kitchen and no way to clean it. I heard my brother say, without a single hint of irony:
"You have a willing daughter to make do stuff, she's here now. Why not make her do it?"
Because that's the way it used to be.
My priorities have shifted. I am no longer their whipping post, their hunny-do, the person that picks up the shit when they just can't be bothered. Or anything my 21 year old unemployed brother can't be coerced to do because he needs to play video games all day.
Yes, I will help out. I will do my part. But I am not going back to doing everything for them. I have things I am responsible for, I have a future to plan. I have my entire life to take care of and I can't spend it taking care of those that refuse to take care of themselves.
I refuse to be the Stitchy I used to be.
A lot has changed.
I am a new person that needs to have my boundaries respected.
But first, I have to find the floor under all the shit so I can draw the line.
