BLACK MIRROR
“DO YOU REALLY need another ice-cream today?” “Surely you haven’t exercised enough for a bowl that big?” “Fuck, you’re looking fatter than yesterday”.
It’s a rite of passage to live in a subpar share house with frustrating housemates. You know, the type who leave dishes to pile up or pinch your last drop of milk. In my case, my flatmate teased me every time I sat down for dinner, opened the fridge door or looked at myself in the mirror. It was cruel and unrelenting. I wish I could have moved out. The problem was my tormentor was one I could never escape: myself.
At 17 I had left my bubble of family support in Adelaide and moved to the big smoke.
