I was so dead-set on living alone until you approached me about living with you and our (former) third roommate. You seemed nice through text and your social media painted you as somebody who was fun and bubbly and outgoing. So I figured I’d give you a chance.

All I have to say after the worst six months of my college experience (six because I, like our other roommate, chose to move out as soon as possible) is that I feel bad for the next roommates who decide to give you a chance.

I feel bad that they’re going to be put in one uncomfortable situation after the other, even though they make ask you to not do that anymore, like I did. Giving random guys the key to our house, even though I asked you not to. Allowing them to come in drunk at all hours of the night as they pleased, sometimes even stumbling into my room while I tried to sleep, even though I politely asked you not to. I feel bad for the next roommate that is going to have a drunken stranger stumble into their bed.

I feel bad that they are going to have their things gone through, moved, and touched. That you’re going to ignore them telling you no and go about your life anyways. That you’re going to invite yourself into their room when they’re gone and sift through their things. That you’re going to get rid of or move things of theirs in order to make your own life in that house easier.

I feel bad that they are going to go out with you to parties and the bars, only to find the angry and horrible person you turn into when you drink. I wonder if you will yell at them, yell at their friends, or lock them out of the house like you constantly would do to me when you were even the slightest bit intoxicated. I wonder if you will belittle them for not going out drinking with you on a Sunday or Monday night.

I feel bad that they are going to have to listen to you scream and swear and yell about the dishwasher being loaded the wrong way, whatever that means honestly. They’re probably going to have to listen to you rant and rave about there is hair on the floor in the family room or how somebody put their cereal down the garbage disposal.

I feel bad that there may be another odd girl out. That you may try to gang up on her too, as you did our poor third roommate. That you might disrespect her things, send her mean and threatening text messages, and constantly yell at her for the most miniscule of things. That you might drive her to her breaking point, running her out of the house before the first semester was even over.

I am not one to continue to hold onto the past, especially something as toxic as that living environment was. So I guess this is the one last remark I have to say now that I have finally moved out and onto better things. And I guess, in a weird way, I could thank you for doing some of the awful, backwards things that you did. In a way, I feel like it helped me grow up. Thank you for helping me realize I was way too mature to be blacking out on a Sunday night and stumbling home in the wee hours of Monday morning. Thank you for helping me realize I was too mature to be ganging up on somebody who had just as much rights to that house as you did. Thank you for making me feel so uncomfortable in my own home, so that I had to branch out and meet new people to find ways to be out of that environment. Because of you, I was able to meet some of my best friends.

I’m not trying to mother you or belittle you, either. I realize that it was your first year away from home, and some people have a hard time making adjustments to all of the new freedom that college throws your way. However, I do hope you realize just what you did to myself and our other roommate. I’m proud of myself for not retaliating in ways that you would’ve. I could’ve stooped to your level and began doing the same things as you just to infuriate you. But, once again, thank you for helping me realize that I am way too mature for that. I hope, soon, you realize you should be too.