I didn’t realize it has been that long.  I let my cousin Tracy move into my home in late 2002, after the death of his mother.  At the time, I told him it was just for a short time, until he could find a place of his own.  That, of course, never happened.  He’s been here nine years, and I’ve reached the end of my rope.  He’s paranoid schizophrenic, and has refused to take his medications for a long time now.  He self medicates with alcohol, until he runs out of money from his SSI check.  He thinks I let people in the house to mess with his stuff, and to steal his food.  Since I refuse to keep food in the house (every dollar I spend in food that he eats frees up a dollar of his to buy more beer), he convinces himself that what he bought was stolen, and that I allow it.  I’ve supposedly given out keys to the house to other people, so they can come in when he’s not here.  The list goes on, and everyone who is a relative of ours, or is a friend of mine, gets listed as the culprit in whatever fantasy he’s concocted.  He’s never been physically violent, only verbally, but I’ve had enough, regardless.

When he moved in, I told him what the situation was.  He knew I was gay, and that meant I might have company from time to time.  He assured me he was cool with that, and at first he was.  Now, I’m apparently fucking everyone that pops into his mind, from his daughter to random strangers passing by.  He rambles on, accusing me of being a “sick gay-lesbian-homosexual” that’s having sex with his daughter, his ex, or whoever.

When he moved in, he made me several promises:  He’d stay on his meds, no alcohol, and he’d smoke outside.  He’s broken every one of them.  He’s put holes in the walls of my house in three rooms, and has stained the carpets.  He broke the door frame to the kitchen-to-garage door.  He recently destroyed my front screen door, coming home so drunk he could barely walk, and fell right through it as he was trying to open it.  I had to follow after him wiping blood off my walls because he had fallen somewhere and was bleeding from the forehead where he had hit the ground.  He fell onto my end table, destroying a picture and frame sitting there.  I find shopping carts in my back yard, and things he digs out of trash cans in my garage.  I’ve had enough.

Well, it ends soon.  Today I gave him a 60 day notice, as required by California law.  If he’s still here at the end of that time, I’ll go to court and file eviction papers, and he’ll be thrown out, forcefully, if necessary.  Stay tuned.

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