That old house! Just last summer my parents bought a house. It's a nice place with hardwood floors and nice woodwork, but then there's my room in the basement. The first time I saw my room I almost cried. I hated it. I wasn't given a choice whether I liked it or not. My parents didn't seem to see how I felt and there was nothing I felt I could do about it. The floor was covered in leaves and other debris. The left wall was not yet finished. The studs and yellow insulation were still exposed. The front wall was half rotten from water damage and the rest of the adjacent walls were riddled with holes. The windows were covered in a layer of dust, cobwebs and insects, some dead, some alive. The door still needed to be hung on its hinges and there are two large holes in the ceiling that still need to be repaired. As everyone can see, I was completely defiant to feel that way. I would have had to accept it as my room or move out, which I wasn't financially stable to do at the time. I felt stuck and pissed off for being put in that kind of position. I had wondered why my parents would want to do this to me, they knew how I felt, it sure didn't feel like it. When all this happened I did my best to ignore it. I went for a run to find comfort in my girlfriend. Everything could have gone wrong, but as long as she was there I felt I was happy. I slept in his apartment, so I was able to avoid my room completely, but a few weeks later things got difficult between us and we broke up. She was the only thing that kept my worries at bay. She was my only source of comfort and she was gone forever. Now I was left with a life that looked like my room, torn to pieces and disgusting. It seemed like my life couldn't get any worse. I had spent the next few days sulking and feeling sorry for myself, not caring about anything. I soon started to realize that sitting around sulking would only make things worse.