cookie sheets

Breathe. C'mon, just breathe. You'll be just fine. It won't be that bad. You'll be fine. It's fine. You're going to be fine.

This is my mantra and motto. It's almost Hakuna Matata, the way I force myself to believe there are no worries when I believe there are a million and a half things to worry about.
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I just moved into a new apartment. I needed a new start some place closer to the freeway. It is almost cheaper than my last home and nicer too. I've been "moved in" for about a week and a half and I've only met one roommate and I am terrified. There are two more left and I don't know anything about any of them. I've been so scared to actually live here that I have only stayed the night once out of the 10 days of rent.

I found every reason to not actually stay night and they have almost been plausible. There was the holiday and the weather. It was holiday break and that meant no school; I might as well stay with my family, who lives closer to my work. I claimed bridal showers and temple nights and hair cuts. I had to move in and live here some time.

On the night I finally decided I would stay, I made pizza. There's nothing like pizza that can almost make you feel like home. Alexa and her fiance came down from the above apartment to join me. We watched a movie at her place. It was 10 o'clock when the movie ended and I began to shake. I was having flashbacks of my freshman semester.

I had borrowed a cookie sheet when everyone was away on Fall Break. It wasn't mine but I figured if I would wash it and put it back, it would be a problem. Cookie Sheet Owner came home early to see me removing food from the sheet. In a panic, I fell silent. She stared at me and went into her room. I figured everything would be fine. 
In the day that passed, she created her battalion and rested her voice for the true assault. Her comrade-in-arms had come home to find a dish had been chipped. I did her dishes, hoping it would finally make her happy, but it had fallen off the counter. They had sentenced me to hell. 
With the door open, they began to yell at me. They screamed about how I was to ask before using something and how dare I break her plate and everyone outside fell silent to listen. When they had let it all out, I left the apartment and went to my "boyfriend's" place. 
He had been cheating on me and I had been letting him. He blamed me for my disease that made it hard to walk as well as putting me in almost constant pain. He told me I couldn't complain because at least it wasn't ALS.

I couldn't let it happen again. I broke down in Alexa's apartment and began to cry. Anxiety is the worst and it's awful with medication (I've been told) and I know by personal experience, it's almost unlivable without. But it's fine. I'm going to be fine. I'll be fine.

My people were supposed to be coming over. They were going to stay until they knew I was well and I didn't think it was too much to ask. They knew how anxious I was about the entire thing and wanted me to feel safe; we're all supposed to be there for each other.

They never came.

I learned how to cope by myself. I don't need anyone anyway. I sat in my bed covered by the 7 insanely soft blankets I own, waiting for sleep to hit, when the one roommate I've met came home. She thought I was another roommate and burst into the room, ecstatic.

Albeit disappointed, she stuck around to ask how I was and how I've spent my time not at the apartment. When the formalities ended, she invited me to watch Gilmore Girls with her. I love Gilmore Girls and I finished the entire series last week, A Year in the Life and all.

My roommate is fine and friendly. She's mature and I don't think she'll be yelling at me about cookie sheets anyway.

Who yells about cookie sheets anyway?