Chris is jealous. There isn’t anything I can do about it.
Thirteen years ago, just before I became a student, I had the presence of mind to buy a flat. It was a shitty hole but it was mine. As the years have gone on, I’ve improved it. Nothing is original now to when I bought it. I’ve just had it valued and it’s tripled in price. He is angry with me because I bought and he didn’t. I only met him six years ago! I’m not quite sure what he expects me to do. He jokes about me being loaded. Of course, it isn’t real money. I am going to sell it, but I have to buy something else. I’m not suddenly going to be wealthy. I have to buy a place smaller than this so I’m actually downsizing. Still, that isn’t good enough.
We had a fight tonight, in a supermarket car park, about my flat. He stayed here once and didn’t look after it. I told him that I was now having to put right his damage but he wouldn’t accept any responsibility. He just went on about draughty windows and an erratic boiler, both of which have now been replaced. He stormed off and got a taxi home, despite me offering an olive branch and staying in the car park. He has sent me the obligatory vile text(s). I haven’t read them and have turned my phone off. Always having to have the last word, he took to Facebook. I replied asking if he really wanted to air this in public. He usually deletes my comments. This time he’s deleted me.
I don’t really get it. He has had significantly more money than me in his life. His family had money and mine didn’t. This has turned out, in the end, to be a good choice but for the six or seven years my flat was in negative equity, it didn’t feel like a good choice. When I ended up in court for not being able to pay my service charge, it didn’t feel like a positive. I couldn’t afford to live in it then and the rent I got didn’t cover the mortgage and service charge. Around the same time I was almost declared bankrupt. My mortgage provider decided to try and recall the loan, twice, and it felt like a fucking millstone then. I had so many suicidal thoughts. I ended up in a psychiatric hospital a couple of times.
Why can’t he just be supportive for once? Why can’t he be pleased for me that it’s actually worked out?