For anyone who thinks that living on your own would be the best thing in the world, this is your wake-up call.
This month marks the two-year anniversary of when I moved out of the house. Although I would never, ever, go back to living under the tyranny of my mom, it’d be nice not to have to worry about my rent, my car payment, my health insurance, my tuition (which I think I paid) and the most expensive item, food.
Since the beginning of high school, there wasn’t a day that passed where I didn’t think about how great it would be to live on my own.
Under the fascist rule of my mother, I often pondered what it would be like to be out on my own two feet. Parties all the time. Having the ability to do whatever I want, whenever I want. Having to answer to no one.
The thought was mesmerizing, like a dream of a monthlong vacation to Cancun, or winning the lottery. Moving out of the house and becoming an adult was a fantasy that was just that — a fantasy.
When I started at BC, I continued to live at home. And even though I was rarely home, the nagging, whining, groveling voice of my mother always seemed to follow me.
It got to the point where I could no longer stand to be in the house. In my mother’s eyes, I was still a kid. But I knew that I couldn’t afford not to be self-sufficient.
I called my best friend and he suggested that we get a place. I thought, “What a great idea.”
I lived with him and two other guys for six months. There were some times when I had fun. Like the time the cops came to the biggest party we had in our complex. And like the time I hooked up with my good-looking neighbor.
I could come home at 2 a.m., drink alcohol and have people over. No one told me what to do.
But, like any great adventure, I soon realized that I couldn’t piss away my day doing whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.
Like when I failed my third semester by not showing up.
There were other times where I didn’t have the financial backing I needed. Like when the fridge broke and we all had to scramble to find $100 apiece. The time my car’s tires were slashed by my ex. And the time when my roommate broke my shower.
But the worst was when I bounced my rent check. The roommates were upset. More importantly, I was broke. Who would I go to for help? I couldn’t face getting kicked out.
Grudgingly, I called my mom. She hadn’t heard from me in six months. She was still angry but knew I was in a bind and agreed to loan me money.
Since then, handling money is something that’s improved, but I sometimes still have trouble.
But to those of you thinking about moving out on your own, here’s my advice: Stay at home. You don’t know how good you have it.
Especially if your parents pick up the tab, keep on their good side and stay out of trouble. The less work you have to do, the less bills you must pay, the more sleep you’ll get, the better the student you’ll be and the more sane you’ll stay.
Simply put, even if mom and dad are nuts, it’s not like living in Afghanistan or being stuck in a prison. Sure they nag, but they’re used to it, you’ve probably had that happen to you your entire life and frankly, you probably deserve it.