The problem was I challenged him and he didn't like it. He didn't like how I did it. I had unknowingly created an enemy. Thing was, I wasn't up for the battle. I just couldn’t handle it. My mental health wasn't good. He was never going to be reasonable. He wouldn't even discuss it.
I wanted him to acknowledge my point, at least then there might be a compromise. But he just became loud and aggressive, showing me clearly who he was; I couldn't begin to imagine being like that, never mind getting away with it.
He was simply too much for me, and I had to accept that. He overwhelmed me, bullied me, and I let him, as I accepted and accepted and accepted what took place, knowing that I wasn't going to change it. I couldn't change him, so I'd have to change me.
This first encounter happened within minutes of my arrival. It was early afternoon and he was already home. We were in lockdown.
I was under the impression I lived here too, even though I'd only just arrived. I paid rent just like he did. This was my home now as well. It didn't matter if this guy had been here a year. It didn't give him the right to be an arsehole.
So I had to face him, because I couldn't let him bully me. If I just let him bully me he’d gain strength from my weakness. I had to do something. I needed to set a boundary because it seemed so unreasonable to think someone could install a home cinema system in a room in a shared house and watch a film that loudly. And yet he did.
If I was living in the terraced house next door, I’d find that level of volume intrusive, especially if my room backed onto his. But there was only a plasterboard wall between us, with the speaker just on the other side of it. It made the idea of living here seem impossible. And then I understood something. In order for him to behave this way in the first place, he wasn’t somebody who would be willing to change. “This is how I watch my films!!”, he announced aggressively. He was used to having the place to himself in the afternoons.
I didn't know what to do, but after I made two attempts at asking him to turn things down, and after asking the landlord to intervene, because now, not only was his TV too loud, but he was also smoking in what was a smoke-free house (he’d already been asked by the landlord to stop before and yet he hadn't), I stopped trying to make things change.
He might smoke less for a day or two when he agreed not to smoke anymore, but he never stopped. I didn’t notice it for a bit, which was something. But I knew a man like that takes back any concession he appears to make, so that within a short time, the smell of cigarette smoke got steadily more obvious again.
I had to accept that too, and this was a big one for me, because smoking had created feelings of hatred towards my mother when I was a kid, and she knew how much I hated it. Everywhere in the house, but worst of all, in the car, where I couldn't escape. She revealed her narcissism in dealing with me, one that I was now experiencing with this guy. The only difference being…I could do something about my mum. I could react to her. I could get mad.
But here I was faced by somebody I was not able to deal with. He was showing me something about myself. About how I had also been in my own way. There was nothing I could do but recognise it.
This was when I discovered how effective earplugs could be. They eliminated a lot more of the general sounds of the house, and almost all of the traffic noise of living by a main road.
In my now quieter internal space I'd read when he was in. I made the choice to do something that worked for me, rather than having to do things as a victim of the assault that was constantly coming at me, day in day out.
The important thing was… in order not to give him power, I had to be careful not to hate, or resent, not to feel negativity towards him. To do so would diminish me. This was not easy.
But slowly I learned to focus on what I could do, not what I couldn't. One thing I couldn't do though was just walk freely to the toilet in case I discovered he'd left it in a nasty state again. Traces of faeces in the bowl, smears on the seat, so that if I wanted to use it I had to clean it, and I couldn't clean it like I was his servant going around cleaning up after him while he just left it how he wanted. I had to clean it because I wanted to use it in a clean way, for me.
I'd try leaving it how he’d left it sometimes. I was able to accept it longer than one might think. It didn't help. I didn’t want to get angry at having to clean up after him. I wondered if he had some kind of problem, because whenever he went, it must have exploded out of him to deposit on the underside of the seat like that…meaning…his splash-back trajectory was high, which only comes about from a forceful liquid evacuation!
If I could imagine him struggling with a medical condition, would that help me accept him? His body hairs were all over the bathroom, especially long strands of head hair on the floor, with smaller beard trimming hairs in the sink, and it’s so easy to rinse them; just turn the tap on for a bit and move your hand around, yet even that somehow he wouldn't do.
Perhaps some of the problem was knowing that when he left it dirty, and came back to use it another time and found it clean, he could do it again, because he knew somebody (me) would do something about it, so he could behave exactly how he wanted.
Whenever I'd hear the short chirp of his car alarm arming itself, revealing he had returned, I knew within seconds the front door was going to bang louder than anyone else closed it. It would still cause me to jump even with my earplugs in. A few seconds later his room door would slam shut, making me jump again, whether I was watching something or my earplugs were in, I'd still be affected by the energy of this.
He usually came back out moments later, toilet roll in hand, use the toilet, then slam his door again just as loudly as he did the first time. Like he was angry. Always angry. So I knew I mustn't get angry. I had no way to express that anger if I did; no point being angry without being able to express it…not good for me. Makes me depressed.
So I learned not to be angry. He was just being who he was. Life would surely provide him with the experiences he needed, and there were times when I realised he was in conflict with authority by how many fines and tickets and other things of that nature came in. I could tell by the envelopes. Clearly how he was here, was just an indication of how he was out there. It wasn't simply a personal attack on me. I now understood that even psychopaths have to live somewhere.
And this one lived here. This was his room. And I didn't have to live here. I could choose to leave just as I chose to arrive. But I didn't want to. And so I chose to look at why this was affecting me so much. Look at my ego. My sense of self-importance. How dare he behave like this. Why should he get away with it? Somebody should do something!
Well, only I could do something. I had to accept it, and tolerate it, and notice the effect it had on me if I didn’t. I would avoid encountering him, and if I did, I would ignore him. No nod, no eye contact, no recognition. I would simply walk past him slowly as if he wasn't there. Slowly, mindfully, with great awareness of being in the present.
But I did acknowledge him once. I opened my door to go to the toilet, and discovered that he was putting a few things out of his room. Normally, if I heard him moving around, I would stay inside until his door slammed. So as I'm opening my door he comes out and puts something down, and he looks at me, and our eyes meet. I look at him and calmly and ever so slightly…nod. I think he nods back, but he moves back into his room to carry on, and I walk on slowly to the toilet. I felt like I’d just stopped being a victim; how much it had been overwhelming me.
It was the start of doing what I needed to do to live my way. There were days when I got most of the day without experiencing his presence at all. There was even a month when he seemed to have gone completely! But knowing that at any moment he could return, ensured I couldn't settle into feeling like this was how it was now. I couldn't let go of the idea that at any moment he would turn up. I had a month without him, which was nice, but not as nice as it currently is now that he's actually gone.
During that month I knew that at some point he would be back. Well, he's not coming back now. His room is completely empty. In fact he's been gone for a few weeks already and the feeling of lightness and of being able to be more of who I am has made me feel…well…more of who I am!
I behave more like I used to, more like when I was in the van, when I was free to be creative whenever the mood took me; to speak out loud, to do whatever I felt to express myself creatively. I’d barely done that here these last eight months. I couldn't type easily because my keyboard wasn’t working properly, so in order to write I’d dictate. But I needed to be alone, so I’d have to leave the building and go to the park or the nature reserve and make a recording. Then I'd come back and transcribe it, which actually gave me work to do. And I needed work to do.
The challenge of dealing with a Petty Tyrant taught me something about myself I don't think I could have realised without him. The situation could only change if something outside me changed it. And while someone else will be living in that room at some point soon, I don’t imagine they will be anything like him. They might even be considerate.
I wanted him to acknowledge my point, at least then there might be a compromise. But he just became loud and aggressive, showing me clearly who he was; I couldn't begin to imagine being like that, never mind getting away with it.
He was simply too much for me, and I had to accept that. He overwhelmed me, bullied me, and I let him, as I accepted and accepted and accepted what took place, knowing that I wasn't going to change it. I couldn't change him, so I'd have to change me.
This first encounter happened within minutes of my arrival. It was early afternoon and he was already home. We were in lockdown.
I was under the impression I lived here too, even though I'd only just arrived. I paid rent just like he did. This was my home now as well. It didn't matter if this guy had been here a year. It didn't give him the right to be an arsehole.
So I had to face him, because I couldn't let him bully me. If I just let him bully me he’d gain strength from my weakness. I had to do something. I needed to set a boundary because it seemed so unreasonable to think someone could install a home cinema system in a room in a shared house and watch a film that loudly. And yet he did.
If I was living in the terraced house next door, I’d find that level of volume intrusive, especially if my room backed onto his. But there was only a plasterboard wall between us, with the speaker just on the other side of it. It made the idea of living here seem impossible. And then I understood something. In order for him to behave this way in the first place, he wasn’t somebody who would be willing to change. “This is how I watch my films!!”, he announced aggressively. He was used to having the place to himself in the afternoons.
I didn't know what to do, but after I made two attempts at asking him to turn things down, and after asking the landlord to intervene, because now, not only was his TV too loud, but he was also smoking in what was a smoke-free house (he’d already been asked by the landlord to stop before and yet he hadn't), I stopped trying to make things change.
He might smoke less for a day or two when he agreed not to smoke anymore, but he never stopped. I didn’t notice it for a bit, which was something. But I knew a man like that takes back any concession he appears to make, so that within a short time, the smell of cigarette smoke got steadily more obvious again.
I had to accept that too, and this was a big one for me, because smoking had created feelings of hatred towards my mother when I was a kid, and she knew how much I hated it. Everywhere in the house, but worst of all, in the car, where I couldn't escape. She revealed her narcissism in dealing with me, one that I was now experiencing with this guy. The only difference being…I could do something about my mum. I could react to her. I could get mad.
But here I was faced by somebody I was not able to deal with. He was showing me something about myself. About how I had also been in my own way. There was nothing I could do but recognise it.
This was when I discovered how effective earplugs could be. They eliminated a lot more of the general sounds of the house, and almost all of the traffic noise of living by a main road.
In my now quieter internal space I'd read when he was in. I made the choice to do something that worked for me, rather than having to do things as a victim of the assault that was constantly coming at me, day in day out.
The important thing was… in order not to give him power, I had to be careful not to hate, or resent, not to feel negativity towards him. To do so would diminish me. This was not easy.
But slowly I learned to focus on what I could do, not what I couldn't. One thing I couldn't do though was just walk freely to the toilet in case I discovered he'd left it in a nasty state again. Traces of faeces in the bowl, smears on the seat, so that if I wanted to use it I had to clean it, and I couldn't clean it like I was his servant going around cleaning up after him while he just left it how he wanted. I had to clean it because I wanted to use it in a clean way, for me.
I'd try leaving it how he’d left it sometimes. I was able to accept it longer than one might think. It didn't help. I didn’t want to get angry at having to clean up after him. I wondered if he had some kind of problem, because whenever he went, it must have exploded out of him to deposit on the underside of the seat like that…meaning…his splash-back trajectory was high, which only comes about from a forceful liquid evacuation!
If I could imagine him struggling with a medical condition, would that help me accept him? His body hairs were all over the bathroom, especially long strands of head hair on the floor, with smaller beard trimming hairs in the sink, and it’s so easy to rinse them; just turn the tap on for a bit and move your hand around, yet even that somehow he wouldn't do.
Perhaps some of the problem was knowing that when he left it dirty, and came back to use it another time and found it clean, he could do it again, because he knew somebody (me) would do something about it, so he could behave exactly how he wanted.
Whenever I'd hear the short chirp of his car alarm arming itself, revealing he had returned, I knew within seconds the front door was going to bang louder than anyone else closed it. It would still cause me to jump even with my earplugs in. A few seconds later his room door would slam shut, making me jump again, whether I was watching something or my earplugs were in, I'd still be affected by the energy of this.
He usually came back out moments later, toilet roll in hand, use the toilet, then slam his door again just as loudly as he did the first time. Like he was angry. Always angry. So I knew I mustn't get angry. I had no way to express that anger if I did; no point being angry without being able to express it…not good for me. Makes me depressed.
So I learned not to be angry. He was just being who he was. Life would surely provide him with the experiences he needed, and there were times when I realised he was in conflict with authority by how many fines and tickets and other things of that nature came in. I could tell by the envelopes. Clearly how he was here, was just an indication of how he was out there. It wasn't simply a personal attack on me. I now understood that even psychopaths have to live somewhere.
And this one lived here. This was his room. And I didn't have to live here. I could choose to leave just as I chose to arrive. But I didn't want to. And so I chose to look at why this was affecting me so much. Look at my ego. My sense of self-importance. How dare he behave like this. Why should he get away with it? Somebody should do something!
Well, only I could do something. I had to accept it, and tolerate it, and notice the effect it had on me if I didn’t. I would avoid encountering him, and if I did, I would ignore him. No nod, no eye contact, no recognition. I would simply walk past him slowly as if he wasn't there. Slowly, mindfully, with great awareness of being in the present.
But I did acknowledge him once. I opened my door to go to the toilet, and discovered that he was putting a few things out of his room. Normally, if I heard him moving around, I would stay inside until his door slammed. So as I'm opening my door he comes out and puts something down, and he looks at me, and our eyes meet. I look at him and calmly and ever so slightly…nod. I think he nods back, but he moves back into his room to carry on, and I walk on slowly to the toilet. I felt like I’d just stopped being a victim; how much it had been overwhelming me.
It was the start of doing what I needed to do to live my way. There were days when I got most of the day without experiencing his presence at all. There was even a month when he seemed to have gone completely! But knowing that at any moment he could return, ensured I couldn't settle into feeling like this was how it was now. I couldn't let go of the idea that at any moment he would turn up. I had a month without him, which was nice, but not as nice as it currently is now that he's actually gone.
During that month I knew that at some point he would be back. Well, he's not coming back now. His room is completely empty. In fact he's been gone for a few weeks already and the feeling of lightness and of being able to be more of who I am has made me feel…well…more of who I am!
I behave more like I used to, more like when I was in the van, when I was free to be creative whenever the mood took me; to speak out loud, to do whatever I felt to express myself creatively. I’d barely done that here these last eight months. I couldn't type easily because my keyboard wasn’t working properly, so in order to write I’d dictate. But I needed to be alone, so I’d have to leave the building and go to the park or the nature reserve and make a recording. Then I'd come back and transcribe it, which actually gave me work to do. And I needed work to do.
The challenge of dealing with a Petty Tyrant taught me something about myself I don't think I could have realised without him. The situation could only change if something outside me changed it. And while someone else will be living in that room at some point soon, I don’t imagine they will be anything like him. They might even be considerate.
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