There is no space for me

Some context: I live in a family house that is divided into six parts, one for each nuclear family. My nuclear family’s home is on the second floor, but there are six of us, and the space is extremely limited. Everything is cramped, no one has their own room, and there is only one bathroom.

It was 2019 when my grandfather fixed up a room on the first floor that was going to work as a living room. For the first time in my life, I felt like I had a space where I could just be myself. It was a big room with a table, a few sofas, and a bookshelf. There, I could study, exercise, paint, listen to music, and hardly anyone ever came in. I could escape from my mother’s yelling and the mess in my house. Having that room during the pandemic was the best thing, because living in such a small space with several people there all day was really overwhelming.

But then 2021 came, and my grandfather passed away. He was the person who made decisions about the main house. Little by little, I watched that big, empty room turn into a storage room. Now almost three quarters of the entire room is filled with tools, models, water containers, bicycles, and I don’t even know what else.

And I feel sad, because I want to be at home. I want to have time for myself, but there is nowhere for me to be.

There is no way to change things unless my dad buys a house, which is impossible.

And I don’t know what to do to stop feeling this way. My boyfriend tells me that I should focus on the good things. And yes, I understand that, but how am I supposed to focus on the good things when, every time I go to study, I run into that pile of stuff? And if I want to rest, there is too much noise at home. I feel trapped. I can’t do anything here, and I can’t go anywhere else either.

Going somewhere else means being with someone, but I want to be alone, or with my cat, but with no one else.